A Vixen For The Devilish Duke (Steamy Historical Regency Romance) Page 7

  Adelia smiled sardonically. “I’m mopping your fevered brow.” She raised a hand to push the Dowager Duchess’s curls out of the way and lay her palm against her hot forehead.

  “Mmm.” The Dowager Duchess nodded, her eyes slipping closed once more.

  “You’re burning up. What should I do?” Adelia asked.

  There was no response, and Adelia shook the lady in her lap lightly. The Dowager Duchess’s only response was to groan in protest and press her face more firmly against Adelia’s leg with a sleepy cough.

  Adelia sighed and hefted the patient off her, depositing her on her back in the bed once again. Her Grace seemed only barely aware of what was happening and didn’t move as Adelia stripped her of her nightgown, returning to try and soothe her fever with the damp cloth.

  She wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that, the Dowager Duchess in a feverish daze and Adelia with a wet cloth in her hand, but gradually light begun to filter into the room between the slats in the window shutters.

  She noted that the Dowager Duchess had been still for quite some time, her breathing even, if not slightly congested, and figured she’d done enough if the patient was resting comfortably at last.

  Adelia pulled the blankets from the foot of the bed up over the Dowager Duchess’s back and patted her on the shoulder. She was surprised and relieved to see the patient’s eyes drift open at the gesture. Blinking several times, as if she was trying to get her bearings, she lifted her head slightly.

  “You said your name was Adelia?”

  “Yes, Your Grace, I’m at your service,” Adelia said.

  The Dowager Duchess sighed, coughed, and let her head flop back down, eyes shutting again. “What’s going on?”

  “You’ve been quite feverish. I’ve been your nurse.” Adelia responded, and felt something in her chest unclench at the slight smile that graced the Dowager Duchess’s lips at the statement.

  “Thank you for that,” the Dowager Duchess mumbled. She shifted around until she was on her stomach and burrowed deeper into her blankets.

  “You should know that I’m having someone fetch the physician, as well as your son, as soon as I leave here,” Adelia said, leaning down to brush her hand across the back of the patient’s neck.

  Still too warm, but not as bad as previously.

  The Dowager Duchess shook her head, voice slurred with sleep. “No physician. Jus’ want to sleep.”

  At that, Adelia rolled her eyes toward the ceiling and sighed heavily at the burden of having the responsibility for the Dowager Duchess’ life like this. Adelia was grateful, though, when she drifted off peacefully.

  With a sigh, she seated herself in the previously abandoned chair at the Dowager Duchess’s bedside, and tipped herself backward, closing her eyes. The Dowager Duchess’s condition did seem less urgent than it did earlier. Perhaps she would get some rest herself before she fetched the physician.

  * * *

  Harry entered his mother’s bed chamber to find that the room was quite a mess. Half of his mother’s blankets were trailing on the floor and her nurse, Miss Raby, was passed out on a chair, her mouth open. He stared in surprise, at a loss as to what he should do. His hand rose, reaching for Miss Raby’s shoulder in order to shake her awake but then he thought about how mortified she would be if she knew he had seen her like this.

  He checked on his mother and saw that she was breathing relatively easily even though her color was heightened. He put his hand on her forehead briefly, noting with concern that she was warmer than normal.

  He cast his eyes to the fireplace, where the fire was banked. Stepping out of the room briefly, he summoned a footman.

  “Get Mrs. Belvedere please,” he commanded.

  “Yes, Your Grace.” The footman sketched a bow before disappearing toward the kitchens. Soon after, Mrs. Belvedere appeared, looking harassed and smelling of cinnamon and yeast. She must have been baking bread.

  “I need you to wake the nurse. It looks like she has been here all night. She should go to bed. And fetch my mother’s lady’s maid please, to sit with her.”

  “Yes, Your Grace.”

  The Duke stepped outside and let Mrs. Belvedere be the one to straighten things out inside. He heard the murmur of voices, Miss Raby’s sounding a little urgent. Before he could think about it, he was stepping back into the room.

  “Is there a problem?” he asked.

  She turned to face him, blinking at his abrupt appearance but apparently too tired to react any further. “If you can fetch a physician to see to your mother…she’s had a fever all night.”

  “Is that so?” Harry moved closer instantly concerned, “And how does she fare?”

  “She seems better but I am no expert.” Miss Raby said.

  Harry gave her a smile. “Thank you, for looking after her all night.”

  “It was my pleasure,” she shook her head, pursing her lips as if she was afraid she’d said the wrong thing. “I mean it is my duty to do so and I was glad to do it.”

  “I do understand.” Harry said gently, “And thank you all the same.” He looked up at his housekeeper, “Mrs. Belvedere, would you be so kind as to send for the physician?”

  “Yes, of course, Your Grace.”

  Chapter 8

  Mirror Images

  Harry was grateful to Miss Raby for her care of his mother, staying up all night when it was not her duty to do so. But he was also puzzled as to why she did not raise the alarm when his mother’s fever spiked or call someone in to relieve her.

  It was just one more aspect to the mystery that was Miss Raby that he was determined to solve.

  Summoning Mrs. Belvedere, he asked her to ascertain the reason why the Dowager Duchess’ lady’s maid had not relieved Miss Raby. Then he went in to his mother’s chambers to wait for the physician. The housekeeper returned in no time at all to report that it seemed the lady’s maid had caught the same ague that was plaguing his mother. That made him even more determined to speak with the local physician.

  He was glad of the relationship he had fostered with Mr. Barnes the physician, for he arrived in no time at all.

  After a thorough examination of the Dowager Duchess, the physician’s conclusion was that she had suffered a fever overnight but was already on the way to recovery. “Whatever care she received was adequate to assist her in overcoming this challenge.”

  “Is it related to the difficulty in breathing?” Harry asked anxiously.

  “Very likely in her weakened state it was easy for the fever to overcome her. But I do assure you that she is doing well and her nurse did an excellent job.”

  Harry nodded with relief. “Well, thank you for stopping by.”

  “I have left a tincture and the receipt for some tisanes to be made up for her. If her fever spikes again, you may call me, any time day or night, and I shall come by and bleed her.”

  “That is very gracious of you, Mr. Barnes.”

  The physician waved away his thanks. “It is my pleasure.” He did pocket the pouch of gold coins that Harry passed him with alacrity, refused an invitation to breakfast, and took off on his rounds. He no doubt had other patients to call on, being the only physician for miles.

  Harry decided to have breakfast with his mother. “And make sure you take something to Miss Raby. I have no doubt she will be hungry when she wakens or perhaps she has not fallen asleep yet,” he told Mrs. Belvedere.

  “Yes, Your Grace, we have already sent a tray to her chambers.”

  “Very good, Mrs. Belvedere.”

  He sat back, drinking his coffee as he watched his mother’s chest rise and fall. The blankets had been neatly folded at the foot of her bed and she was covered with just a sheet as she was still a little warm. The fire was roaring in the grate as it would not do for her to freeze either. A delicate balance, indeed, had to be struck.

  “Mother?” he called quietly and was quite startled when she snorted and opened her eyes, looking with confusion around her.

 
“Oh,” she said as her eyes fell on him.

  “Mother,” Harry got out of his chair, lurching forward to lean at her bedside and take her hand in his. “How are you feeling?”

  “Tired. I’m quite tired.” The Dowager Duchess said before looking around. “Where is she?”

  Harry frowned. “Where’s who, Mother?”

  “She said her name was Adelia Raby. She’s my nurse?”

  “Oh,” the worried frown cleared from Harry’s forehead. “I sent her off to bed. You wore her out.”

  “Oh.” His mother smiled, closing her eyes. “Poor girl.”

  “She will be back later. You should rest. I understand you had quite the eventful night.”

  “Oh yes. It was quite the party we had.” The Dowager Duchess’ voice was droll, even as sleep pulled her under. Harry felt tears prick his eyes. He missed his mother so much.

  “Sleep, Mother. I shall watch over you.”

  * * *

  The housekeeper brought some rum-infused turtle soup for Adelia to drink before she slept. She wasn’t sure it was a good idea as she was already feeling dizzy with tiredness but the soup was delicious and she was hungry. She collapsed on the bed afterward, a slight smile on her face, not even bothering to wash up first.

  She drifted off into dreamland, floating on a cloud of wellbeing and drunkenness.

  She woke up as the sun was just sinking toward the horizon. Feeling disoriented, she got up and walked out of her chamber. She needed somebody to tell her what day it was and where she was because she was feeling a tad confused.

  A tall figure at the end of the corridor had her stopping short.

  “Oh, there you are, awake at last.” He had a deep baritone that made her stomach twist with unfamiliar emotions. She blinked a few times, trying to bring him into focus.

  “Miss Raby?” he said.

  “Yes? That’s me.”

  “Are you quite all right?”

  Adelia thought about that, looking down at her slightly swaying body. She wouldn’t say she was all right exactly. A little confused maybe, still tired and disoriented, but really feeling no pain. So technically she supposed she was fine.

  “I’m fine,” she slurred.

  The man walked toward her, his brow furrowing with concern.

  “Are you sure?”

  “No.”

  She smiled at him as he came to a stop in front of her. He was really quite tall, and well dressed. She admired the breadth of his shoulders, her hand lifting of its own volition to trace patterns on his waistcoat.

  “Your chest is quite hard,” she confided in him.

  “Is that so?” he seemed amused. She couldn’t imagine why. There was nothing amusing about a hard chest. Admirable maybe, but not amusing. She leaned against his chest, feeling a little tired.

  “Miss Raby? What is this?” his arm came around her shoulders, warm and strong.

  “Hmm,” she said leaning even more against him. “Feels very good.”

  His arm tightened for a moment around her and then loosened. “I think somebody had a little something to drink.”

  She moved her head from his shoulder to blink up at him. “Who did?”

  He smiled wide and amused. “You did, my dear. What have you drunk?”

  “N-nothing,” Adelia’s brow furrowed as she tried to remember whether that was true or not. She really felt quite dizzy and the man’s countenance kept fading in and out as if she was losing her vision. She blinked a few times, staring up at him.

  “You have quite a nice mouth.” She said and watched as he bit his bottom lip and then released it. It plumped up, nice and shiny and inviting and she wanted to touch it with her tongue. Going up on tiptoe, she did just that. He made a sound of surprise and tried to pull back but then she sucked his lip into her mouth. The arm around her shoulders became like a steel band and he was pulling her closer to him, his tongue seeking entrance into her mouth.

  Lazily she parted her lips, letting go of his bottom lip and allowing him to plunder her.

  “Hmm,” she moaned, feeling all tingly and even more dizzy. She was glad that his hand was very tight about her because otherwise she might have fallen to the ground.

  His other hand trailed up and down her back exploring hungrily as he made a low growling sound in his throat.

  Suddenly and to her everlasting disappointment, he pulled back, his face pale with shock. “Forgive me,” he whispered, “I do not know what got into me.”

  She grinned slowly, gazing up at him dreamily. “I do believe it’s your tongue which got into me,” she said and then giggled.

  His eyes narrowed. “Clearly you are not in your right mind.” He turned toward the stairway and shouted, “Footman!”

  Another man came thundering up the stairs and he sent him off to find somebody. Then he turned back toward her. “Come, let’s get you back into your bed.”

  “My bed?” she asked dopily but turned as he propelled her, “I think I just came from there.”

  “Yes, well, you should go back,” he said.

  “Why?” she knew she was whining but she really did not think she could get back up again if she lay down.

  “Because something’s wrong my dear, and we shall make you better, don’t worry. But for now, you need to be in bed.”

  “All right,” she said quietly and let him lead her to her chamber and tuck her into bed. In the back of her mind she knew that he really should not be doing this, he should not be in her chambers and she should not be touching him so freely. But it was a tiny voice, easily dismissed as she enjoyed the warmth of him as he leaned over her, tucking her in.

  “Ah, Mrs. Belvedere,” he said straightening up, “Miss Raby seems a bit worse for wear. Did you by any chance serve her with anything alcoholic?”

  “Er, yes, Your Grace. I put some rum in her turtle soup. To help her sleep.”

  “Hmm.” His Grace looked thoughtfully down at her, “That would explain it. Her color is a bit high, would you have someone check on her periodically? Let her sleep through the night. Someone else will have to take over from Annabella when her shift watching Mother is over.”

  “Yes, Your Grace.”

  His Grace sighed. “I’m sorry to give you so much more to do, Mrs. Belvedere.”

  “Och, it is nothing. The poor girl probably exhausted herself sick and the rum has made her forget herself. Fear not, I shall watch over her.”

  Adelia’s eyes closed and before she knew it, she was snoring gently.

  * * *

  The Duke wanted to do something to cheer them all up once the sickness had cleared from the household. Before it was done, five of the servants had fallen ill. Miss Raby, once she got well, was excellent at caring not just for his mother but the other servants as well.

  “If you’ll forgive me for saying so, Your Grace, I’m very excited for this puppet show. I cannot thank you enough for arranging it.” Miss Raby gazed up at him, clasping her hands to her bosom, a light skip in her step. Her eyes were bright and her cheeks rosy. It really was a very pretty picture.

  “You went above and beyond in the care of my mother and you deserve to be feted,” The Duke said as he and Miss Raby made their way toward the courtyard at Rosemond manor. “I am exceedingly grateful for your help, Miss Raby.”

  Miss Raby blushed, eyes fluttering with confusion. “Well, I thank you anyway.”

  His smile widened.

  “I hope you will keep us company during the show.” The wistfulness of her tone pulled at his heart strings.

  He came to a stop, gallantly raising her gloved hand to his lips. “Of course I shall.” He then lowered it, although he did not release her hand. “I enjoy a good puppet show as much as the next Duke.”

  Miss Raby smiled shyly, probably still mortified from her inebriated forwardness the other night. The Duke, on the other hand, recalled it with much affection. “That is good,” she fidgeted with her hands, flicking short glances at him, “I have to admit I have never seen one from
up close.” Her golden eyes were sweet but the curve of her lips was lush and tempting. If he did not have such self-control, and were they not surrounded by his household, all headed to the bottom of the garden where the stage was set up, he might have been tempted to do more than look.

  “Well, may this one not be your last,” he murmured as they continued walking.