His Perfect Game (17 page)

He didn’t comment as he continued his task. As he held Lord Merrick up, she slid the trousers off while being careful not to touch his skin. Once he lay completely unclothed, she drew the coverlet back up to his neck.

“Thank you,” she whispered without making eye contact.

“Don’t worry. He will be all right.” He lightly touched her shoulder. “I’ll speak with Holland for you. I have known him for far too long, so he will listen to me. You can’t do this alone.”

As soon as he left, she went to the water basin and collected the bathing supplies. She refused to allow her discomfort to delay her and risk giving her husband a chill. Despite her concerns, she would take care of him.

Beginning with the easier part, she stroked the wet cloth across his face. She had done this many times over the past week, and she never tired of the chore. Not only did she enjoy the contact with him, but she could always imagine doing it as he watched her with his intense eyes.

Slipping the sheet down to his waist, she cringed at the sight of the infection. Taking care to apply as little pressure as possible, she gently rubbed the cloth over him. Although he teetered on the brink of death, she could not contain her fascination of seeing his naked body.

A dusting of hair covered his muscles, trailing down underneath the sheets. He was perfect, and she could not resist the urge to run her fingers across his chest. She marveled at the texture and wished she had received an opportunity before he lay here dying.

A voice in the back of her mind reminded her she would have had her chance if she had allowed him into her bedchamber that night. She could have prevented this as he would have been safe with her. Swallowing the painful recap of her mistake, she lifted her hands off him. She could not forgive herself, so dwelling on where the blame belonged would not serve her now.

After cleansing his upper body, she poured brandy over the wound, hoping the alcohol would help lessen the infection. He gasped, bringing her attention to his face, but his eyes remained closed. She wondered if she had imagined the sound. At this point, she would give anything to have him wake up.

Turning back to her task, she bundled his upper body. As she stood back, she tried to work up enough courage to complete the next part. She felt as though she were taking advantage of his unconscious state. Biting her lower lip, she reached for the sheet covering his lower body.

She kept her eyes averted from the one place she was most curious about and started on his feet. Working her way upward, she took her time with each of his powerful legs. Although she told herself her attention stemmed from her desire to be thorough, she enjoyed touching him and learning his body.

Moving her attention to his most private area, she was surprised to see it sticking straight up. As she rubbed the cloth over him, he grew even larger. Her mouth fell open, and she quickly stepped away, but could not remove her eyes. Curious, she edged forward and timidly brushed her fingers along his length.

Lord Merrick groaned.

Drawing back, she saw that his lips parted and his steely grey eyes rested upon her. Heat flooded her cheeks, and she hastily used the sheet to cover him.

“I’m sorry,” she said, another wave of warmth washing over her. “I just wanted to bathe you and . . . I’m so sorry.”

He moved his mouth, but no sound escaped. Snapping out of her embarrassment, she grabbed a glass of water and held his head as he drained the cup.

“More?” she asked. At his nod, she refilled the cup and assisted him again.

“Cold,” he rasped, barely audible.

“Of course.” She ran to his dressing room and quickly located two more blankets to wrap around him. “I’m glad to see you awake.”

“Need . . . need fire angel.”

Her heart sank. He spoke nonsense. A clear sign his condition had worsened. Tears stung her eyes. Unable to help herself, she gently wrapped her arms around her husband and buried her face in his neck. She could not let him die. He had become too important to her.

“Mmm, my warm angel.” He rubbed his face up against her.

Realizing he needed her, she climbed into his bed and wrapped as much of her around him as possible without moving him or touching his chest. Although useful, the position provided her comfort as well. She savored those nights she’d woken up snuggled close to him.

Exhaustion overtook her as she lay against him. Too many sleepless nights and worrying had taken its toll on her. Soon, his body felt cooler than usual, which gave her hope. Satisfied with his temperature and with his brief consciousness, she fell asleep.

Greyson’s eyes opened to see his wife standing over him. Her focus was on his upper body as she buttoned his shirt. His body felt sore, and his chest ached, making him wonder what she’d done to him. How could he not remember an experience that would leave his body as such?

Studying her face, she didn’t have the look of a well-pleasured woman. No, she appeared tired, haggard even. Her lips were drawn tight, and her dress was wrinkled.

“Did I miss something?” he croaked.

She jumped. “Lord Merrick! You’re awake.”

The smile she bestowed upon him made his heart ache. She had not looked at him like that since before they were wed. He found the idea strange that she would be so pleased to see him awake. What had happened to him?

In a rush, his memory returned. Algers. Greyson’s hands clenched as he thought about the man’s threat. His wife appeared unharmed, but he . . . he had been shot. Reaching up to touch his chest, he felt a bandage wrapped tightly around it.

“Would you like some water?” she asked, then before he could respond, she slid her arm around his neck and fed him the water like a baby. He didn’t appreciate the assumption that he would need help, nor did he care to be treated like this, but his thirst was too great to complain.

After draining the glass, he dropped his head back against her arm, exhausted. The bullet must have taken quite a toll on him. Never before had he felt so worn out after a simple task.

“More?” She straightened then walked over to the pitcher.

Lacking the energy, he shook his head. She returned to the side of the bed and watched him, then reached out and lightly touched his forehead. Shocked at her familiarity, he grabbed her hand. Her mouth fell open as she stared at him.

“What is going on?” he demanded, although lacking his normal authority.

“Are you truly awake this time?”

“Is that not obvious?” He wondered if he’d gone mad or if she had. Nothing made sense.

“I should get Holland. It’s a miracle.” After another breathtaking smile, she hurried from the room, leaving his door open.

With her gone, he shifted, refusing to remain there like an invalid. Biting his lip against the pain, he shifted himself into a sitting position. Breathing heavily, he scooted himself backward, putting the pillows behind him. The task took more strength than it should have. Exhausted, he fell back against the pillows.

From his new vantage point, he could survey his surroundings. Besides his normal belongings, there were cloths, blankets, and basins of water on various surfaces. He also noticed a rocking chair close by his bed. His bedchamber had been turned into a sick room.

When Holland arrived with Lady Merrick, his butler’s eyes held happiness and awe, whereas his wife’s held pride. He felt like he were on display, and he didn’t like it at all.

“My lord, how are you feeling?” Holland asked him in a gentle voice, one normally reserved for a child.

“Besides the obvious, I suppose I can’t complain.”

“Excellent. Is there anything I can get for you?”

Greyson debated chastising him for his behavior, but decided to let it go. For the moment, at least.

“I’m famished and could use something to eat.”

“At once, my lord.” Holland smiled and turned to leave, but Lady Merrick reached out to stop him.

“Just broth. If he handles it well, we will add to it.”

“Very good, my lady.”

Greyson inwardly seethed. First she treated him like a baby, and now she overruled his orders to his servants. Then, to make matters worse, they’d obediently took her suggestions over his. She’d never shown such courage before. What exactly had occurred while he was out of commission?

When the door clicked shut, she didn’t even look in his direction. Instead she flitted about the room, tidying up and refolding perfectly folded towels. She appeared nervous, and he wondered how she could go from touching him freely to not being able to look at him.

“From the unusual reaction, I take it I have been out for a while.”

“Yes.” She still didn’t look at him.

“How long?”

Her pause was telling and most frustrating. “Almost a fortnight.” She turned to him as he drew his head back in shock. “You suffered an infection from the bullet. We began to lose hope that you would ever recover.”

Two weeks . . . it was unheard of to survive a fever after so long. The awe he’d observed today was explainable now. After such a long period, he could not believe his fortune either.

Before he could question her further, Holland returned with the steaming broth. Greyson’s stomach growled at the sight.

Instead of bringing it to him as he expected, Holland presented it to Lady Merrick. She took it and brought it to the bed, positioning herself as she had with the water. It was too much. Pointing out his weakness in private was bad enough, but to do so in front of a member of his staff crossed the line.

Grabbing the cup, Greyson glared at her, then spoke to his butler. “That will be all for now, Holland.”

Without looking to see if the man exited the room, Greyson waited to hear the click of the door.

Lady Merrick stood, placed her hands on her hips, and glared down at him. Anger lit her face. If he had not been so angry, he would have enjoyed seeing her so full of passion.

“Do you honestly believe you no longer require my assistance?”

The reminder of how she had been forced to help him fueled his rage. “Why are you so quick to believe I need it now?”

“You are not fully recovered yet. If you allow me to assist you, you will improve in time.”

“Don’t act concerned for me. For all I know you enjoyed running the house without me to interfere. I noticed how quickly Holland deferred to your judgment over mine.”

“For your benefit,” she yelled, incredulous. “Everything is always for your benefit.”

“Not all. I believe you like having me weak and at your mercy, but no longer. I’m not a child in need of mothering.”

“Then stop acting like one.”

Her accusation slapped him in the face and his head reared back. Throughout his life, he’d suffered many insults. The majority of them he’d silenced with his fists, but the words could never be erased. However, he’d never been treated thusly in his own home. The last two weeks had thrown everything off. He would just have to re-teach his wife where her place was in his house.

“As soon as I return to my former self, beware. Things are going to change around here,” he warned darkly.

To his surprise, she didn’t respond with anger, but shrank back from him. Her eyes went wide and her hands fidgeted with the fabric of her dress. She was afraid. Although he wanted to feel satisfaction by her cowering, he felt like an ass.

He regretted threatening her. As he tried to form the correct words to apologize, she ran from the room. Feeling exhausted from the argument, he set the broth down on the tray, before sinking further into the pillows. His wife was right. He needed help, but he would be damned if he allowed her to continue to see him helpless.

Being injured had already proved his weakness, and then to not have the necessary strength to ward off infection had compounded the situation. Women didn’t like men who were feeble. They desired protection from a capable man.

“Good morning, Greyson.” Jonathan entered the room, unannounced. “Lady Merrick told me you were better today.”

“Apparently. She knows best.” Greyson meant to be sarcastic, but Jonathan simply smiled and nodded.

“I know. That woman is amazing. She never left your side. Did she tell you how she saved your life?”

“No.” Greyson felt his eyes widen, surprised his wife had cared enough to see to him personally. He quickly schooled his expression, not liking the reverent tone Jonathan had used when talking about her.

“She didn’t care for Doctor Jones, so she sent him packing and took over your care personally.”

Greyson couldn’t believe she would do such a thing. Was she really concerned over his health, or had she hoped he would die? He wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer. Thinking of her made him feel uncomfortable, and he could no longer hear of how much she had observed his weakness.

“I’m so sorry this happened to you. I feel responsible.” Jonathan’s normally joking manner dissolved as misery entered his face.

“Why? The one to blame is the man who had the gun.”

“I tried to flush the thief out by spreading rumors. I didn’t think it would work so quickly, or I would have been there.”

“Don’t blame yourself. Your plan worked.”

Although surprised by Jonathan’s involvement, Greyson didn’t want his friend to feel guilty. Typically Jonathan took a more active role only when specifically asked to do so. It was unusual for him to attempt something of this scale by himself.

“But at what cost? I can’t believe—”

“Forget about it. I would rather talk about the holes in my memory of that night. How did I even get home? I remember being shot, then waking up this morning.” He did remember other things he didn’t wish to relay. A wild red-headed angel tended to him more than once from what he could recall. She had been soft, warm, and so real. He wondered if she had been assigned to him at night. Would she return tonight? He hoped for an opportunity to meet her, and perhaps touch the fire again.

He shook his head. His wife didn’t want him, and most likely the angel wouldn’t either. Why was nothing ever simple?

“Nathaniel found you and hired a hackney to bring you here.” Jonathan sat on the rocking chair and leaned forward. “From the trail of blood leaving your office, I imagined you had an unobstructed view of your attacker in order to get a clear shot. Who was it? Who shot you?”