Page 75 of The Duchess Trap
Relief came like the first breath after surfacing from deep water. He hadn’t allowed himself to hope through the night. Not with the way Henry’s breathing had faltered, or with the shadows gathering around his eyes.
But now, as the weak dawn pressed against the shutters, the boy slept, alive and safe.
Catherine let out a long breath that turned into a sob. She pressed her hands to her mouth, eyes bright with tears.
“He’s going to live,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “He’s really—he’s going to live.”
Duncan didn’t trust his voice. He only nodded. His heart was full of gratitude that he did not have the words to express.
The door opened quietly, and Mrs. Simms appeared, red-eyed with a frown on her face. Behind her, the physician entered, coat still damp from the rain. He carried himself with brisk confidence, his gaze sweeping the room.
“Well?” Duncan asked.
The physician stepped forward, placing his hand on the boy’s brow. He nodded once. “The fever has broken. He’ll sleep for hours, but it’s the good kind of sleep; the body’s mending now. He’s past the danger.”
Catherine let out a shaky breath and sagged forward, her hand finding Duncan’s sleeve in gratitude.
“Thank you,” she murmured to the doctor, to Mrs. Simms, perhaps to the heavens themselves.
The physician smiled faintly. “You’ve both done well. Not many survive such a night. Your Grace…” He inclined his head toward Duncan. “Your timing was impeccable. Without those medicines and the ice, I daresay we’d have lost him.”
Catherine turned toward him, her eyes luminous with exhaustion and something deeper, unguarded.
“You…you sent for the medication?”
Duncan shrugged. “Before I left our townhouse, I sent a messenger to the apothecary. I did not know what had already been done, but…”
“Why did you fail to tell me of your intervention last night?” Catherine blinked at him, suddenly wide-eyed.
“I forgot,” Duncan answered simply. “In my haste to get here and battle through the rain, I…”
“You saved him,” she said softly.
Duncan shook his head. “No. I merely provided what was in my power to give.”
Catherine stared at him. “When I administered those medications last night, I prayed that they would make a difference. I hoped that all our efforts would be enough. I…Words cannot express…”
Duncan saw tears glittering in the corners of her eyes.
“Our efforts were enough. Henry will be just fine.”
Their gazes held a long moment, heavy with everything they’d endured in that small, stifling room. The scent of vinegar and smoke lingered in the air, but the heaviness that had gripped it all night had lifted.
The physician cleared his throat. “He’ll recover fully. Keep him warm but not hot, light broth when he wakes. I’ll send instructions for the rest. For now, I suggest you both rest as well.”
Catherine smiled faintly. “Rest sounds impossible.”
“Then at least eat something,” the doctor said kindly before taking his leave.
When the door shut, silence returned, soft and fragile, but peaceful now.
Catherine looked down at the boy once more, smoothing the blanket over his chest. “He’ll be all right.”
Duncan watched her, the line of her neck, the curve of her shoulders beneath the wrinkled gown. She’d only closed her eyes for ten minutes, yet she was radiant in a way that stole his breath. He wanted to reach for her again, to brush away the stray strands of hair that clung to her face, but he didn’t.
Instead, he said quietly, “We should go home.”
She hesitated, glancing toward Henry. “I can’t leave him.”
