Midnight My Love (7 page)

She shook her head. "Robert's been
surrounded by strangers for too long. I think we can manage. How
long do you think the fever will last?"

"I can't say exactly, but I'd estimate three
days or so. It will get worse before it gets better. From the looks
of him, I'd say tonight will tell the tale. Give him the cinchona
bark to reduce the fever. Make him drink plenty of clear liquids
and he'll do. Good luck, Miss Alex." He inclined his head toward
Rochdale. "A pleasure, my lord. Now, don't bother to show me out,"
he said good naturedly, "I know my way."

Damien watched as Alexandra took a turn
about the room. She went to the escritoire to get a pen and paper,
then resumed her seat. He knew she was distressed about Robert. He
wanted to help relieve her anxiety and ease her burden.

"I'll take the midnight watch," he said
brusquely. "I never go to bed before dawn. I'll watch over Rob
during the night."

Alexandra turned grateful eyes toward him.
Damien remembered those green eyes smoldering with passion. He
stood abruptly. "If you need me before then, I'll be in the
observatory." He walked quickly to the door.

"What about dinner?" Alexandra called after
him.

Damien stopped and looked back. "Don't stand
on ceremony with me, Miss Turlington. While Robert's so ill,
there's no need for formal meals. Send me up a couple of sandwiches
and some ale. That will suffice." Resisting the impulse to stay, he
made his way to the observatory thinking that Alex looked as if he
were abandoning her. Squaring his shoulders, Damien decided he
didn't care.

****

Alex sat in her brother's dimly lit room and
anxiously watched as he tossed restlessly beneath the covers. The
clock on the mantel showed a quarter to twelve. She knew Rochdale
would come shortly to relieve her. He would help administer the
next dose of medicine, then maybe she could go lie down awhile.

Robert's fever had grown steadily higher;
the Peruvian bark the doctor prescribed had proven ineffective.
Alex bathed her brother's forehead with a cloth soaked in
lavender-water. She tried to coax him to sip some of the barley
water Cook had sent up.

As the fever climbed, Robert became more
agitated. He dozed fitfully, kicking the sheets away and mumbling
deliriously. When he did awaken, he stared unseeingly at Alexandra.
Time and again, she bathed his fevered cheeks and turned his
pillows for him. He would rest quietly for a short while, only to
start tossing and turning again.

When Rochdale knocked on the door at
midnight, Alexandra felt she'd been in the sickroom for days. She
gladly greeted the viscount as he came toward the bed.

Rochdale looked down at Robert, then at
Alexandra. "You've had a rough time of it, I see," he said
quietly.

"Yes, his fever is mounting." She replaced
the cloth on Robert's forehead with a fresh one, glad to turn away.
It would never do to let Rochdale know the relief she felt when he
walked into the room. "I hope it breaks in a few hours. Perhaps I
should stay," she said, shoving her hair off her forehead.

When he didn't answer, Alex looked up.
Rochdale was watching her with brooding eyes. The candlelight
mellowed his sharp features and she thought him extremely
attractive. Against her will, she felt an overwhelming desire to
feel his arms around her again in a strong embrace. She wanted to
lean her head on his shoulder and share the burdens crushing down
on her.

Alex turned to the nightstand and began
preparing Robert's medicine. She must be extremely tired to be
feeling such nonsensical things. Rochdale had no interest in her.
He didn't even want to be friends. None of it mattered, any way.
She was going to marry Carlisle, after all.

Rochdale walked over to where Alex was
mixing the dose of medicine. Her hand trembled and she spilled some
of the laudanum she was measuring. Why did he stand so close?

His hard body brushed against her as he
reached for the draft causing her stomach to flutter and her
breasts to ache. She glanced up into the golden-brown eyes, then
quickly turned toward the bed before the treacherous sensations
made her do something stupid like beg him to hold her, comfort her,
kiss her.

Goodness. She was more tired than she
realized.

"I'll lift Robert's head and you give him
the laudanum," she said softly.

Rochdale nodded curtly. When the medicine
was administered, she plumped the pillows and tucked the sheet
under her brother's chin. "Maybe he'll be able to rest now," Alex
said. Avoiding Rochdale's intensive gaze, she sat in the wing chair
near the fireplace.

The viscount came toward her. She trembled,
thinking he looked like a panther stalking its prey. The bedroom
was dark; Robert was asleep; she was alone with Rochdale.

He grasped Alexandra's hands and pulled her
to her feet. With his hand on the small of her back, he guided her
toward the door. "You, my dear, are going straight to bed."

She tried to halt their progress, but the
strong hand pushed her out into the hall. "I can't leave Robert
while he's still so feverish," she protested.

"You can and you will," Rochdale said
firmly. "We agreed to divide the watches, Miss Turlington. You
won't be worth half a groat if you stay up all night." He looked
down at her with a smile--half devilish, half tender. "Go to bed
and don't worry about Robert. I promise to wake you if he worsens."
He closed the door in her face and Alex made her way to her
bedchamber. Would she ever understand Rochdale?

It was midmorning by the time
Damien crossed the black and white tiled foyer in the front
hallway, making his way to the library. He had spent a long night,
keeping watch over Robert. The fever finally broke around six and
the patient was now sleeping soundly.

Damien had discarded his jacket and cravat
during the night. His shirt was badly wrinkled and he was in need
of a shave. He had just finished a substantial breakfast; now he
would retire to bed. He wanted something to read to help lull him
to sleep.

The knocker sounded on the front door.
Damien looked around expecting to see the butler or a footman
answer the summons. He reached the library door and the knocker
sounded again. He paused, but no one came. Shrugging his shoulders,
he decided to answer the door himself.

Sir Howard Carlisle stood
on the threshold. He held a basket of lemons and oranges in one
hand and a bouquet of pink roses in the other. The squire's mouth
dropped when he saw who had answered the door. "Rochdale!" he
ejaculated. "What are
you
doing here!" Carlisle's cheeks flushed in
annoyance.

Damien smiled as he
considered the basket and flowers. "I'm staying here, Carlisle," he
said smoothly. "What are
you
doing here, old fellow?"

"I've come to see how Turlington goes on, of
course," Sir Howard said. "Why are you answering the door, my lord?
Where is Sterling?" He tried to look past the viscount.

Damien opened the door wider to admit the
visitor. The squire stood in the hallway and stared at the
viscount's shirt. Damien bowed. "You must excuse my state of
undress, Carlisle. It's been a long night. I see you've brought
some fruit for our invalid. Very thoughtful. Are the roses also for
Robert?"

"No, no. The flowers are for Miss
Turlington, my lord. You must know Miss Turlington and I . . ."
Carlisle stopped, his eyes widening as he glanced toward the
stairs.

Damien turned. Alexandra came down the
staircase, looking delightfully sleep-flushed. She wore an emerald
green dressing gown and her long chestnut hair tumbled around her
shoulders. As if it were yesterday, he could still remember the
feel of that glorious hair entwined in his fingers. He thought she
had never appeared more desirable.

Alexandra stopped midway down the stairs
when she saw Carlisle. Damien watched as she drew her wrapper close
and pushed her hair back behind her shoulders.

"Carlisle!" she exclaimed. "You're up and
about early, I see." She started down the stairs again. "Rochdale,
Robert is awake and asking for you. I know you are about to retire,
but would you please come with me and see what he wants? He won't
tell me for some reason."

Damien met her at the bottom of the stairs,
taking her hands in his. "Yes, of course, my love. But don't you
think you should dress first?" He grinned as her eyes grew
round.

Carlisle stepped forward hastily. "Unhand
the lady, Rochdale. Miss Turlington is as good as betrothed to me.
Unhand her I say, or name your seconds!"

"Certainly, Carlisle. I'd be happy to meet
you anytime, any place you choose," Damien purred. He regarded his
opponent with menacing eyes.

A shriek from the top of
the stairs broke the terrible tableau. "Alexandra
Turlington!
Why
are you standing there in
dishabille
in front of two
men
?" Aunt Haygood
stared in horror at her niece. "I
knew
it! I knew you wouldn't be safe
with
him
in the
house," she moaned, clutching the tray she was carrying with such
force the tea service rattled.

"Come upstairs immediately and clothe
yourself properly!" Miss Haygood commanded. "As if I don't have
enough to worry about with an invalid in the house. I made this
Willow-bark tea especially for dear Robert. Has his fever broken?
Oh, dear! Oh, dear! I feel my lumbago starting up again!"

Damien lifted Alexandra's hands to his lips,
and placed a light kiss on each wrist. "Go get dressed," he said
huskily, releasing her hands which were now bunched into fists. He
smiled with wicked amusement and climbed the stairs two at a time.
"Allow me to help you, Miss Haygood," he called.

"Rochdale!" Carlisle cried. "You haven't
heard the last of this. I demand satisfaction!"

Damien took the tray from Miss Haygood and
looked down at the irate squire. "I'd be delighted to give you your
due, except I doubt Miss Turlington would wish blood shed on her
account. After she is dressed, perhaps she will explain these
extenuating circumstances to the best of her ability."

Alex turned to follow Rochdale. "Carlisle,"
she called over her shoulder, "make yourself at home in the Blue
Saloon. I'll be down as soon as possible." She started up the
stairs.

"Miss Turlington! Please!" Sir Howard
exclaimed.

"I won't be long," Alex said, pausing a
moment to flash a quick smile at her suitor.

She entered Robert's room without knocking.
Rochdale was seated by her brother's bed talking quietly. Aunt
Haygood had gone straight to her room.

Both men turned to look at
her. Robert was the first to speak. "Alex, you really should get
dressed. It isn't proper for you to be in your dressing gown in
front of Demon. You
know
what he is," he reminded his sister. "Everyone
does." He managed a weak grin.

Alexandra stood by the
door, her eyes dangerously bright. "Yes, I
do
know what he is. Merely the most
despicable man I've ever had the misfortune to encounter." She
rounded on the viscount. "If I were a man, I'd call you out for the
outrageous behavior you exhibited in the hall." Her voice was
carefully controlled. "Carlisle is no match for you. He's good and
kind and virtuous--"

"Carlisle!" Robert
interrupted. "What's
he
doing here?"

Rochdale walked to the end
of the bed. "I believe Carlisle is paying his addresses to your
sister--if I haven't mistaken the matter?" His golden eyes
flickered with amusement as he looked at Alexandra. "And
if
you were a man, my
dear, we would not be having this foolish conversation." He turned
to Robert. "You will be interested to know this is the second
challenge I've received in the past half-hour. And I thought things
would be devilishly slow here at Willowmede."

Robert tried to sit up. "Go to bed, Demon.
You're starting to ramble. Now, what's all this about Carlisle?" he
said, turning toward his sister. "That strutting peacock cannot be
seriously courting you?"

"Carlisle is
not
a peacock," she
said. "I shall marry the squire if I so choose! You have no say in
the matter, whatsoever." Opening the door with a jerk, Alex looked
back at both men. "I'm glad I was able to provide you two this much
needed diversion, especially since we're so dull here at
Willowmede." Turning on her heel, she swept out of the
room.

She rang for her maid who helped her into a
morning gown of pale peach muslin. Maggie gathered Alexandra's hair
into a chignon, leaving wispy tendrils framing her face.

After she finished dressing, Alex sat and
stared at her image in the mirror. She was so angry she could spit.
Would she ever understand Rochdale? Did she really want to? When
she had met him at the bottom of the stairs, passion surged between
them as he took her hands in his large warm grasp. The wicked gleam
in his eyes and the sardonic tone he used with Carlisle told her he
was only amusing himself.

Now she had to face
Carlisle. What would she say to him? What
could
she say?

There was a light tap at her door. Jenny
opened it halfway and peeked in. "Good, you're awake. Did you have
a rough night with Robert? How is he? I thought I'd sit with him
after I had a bite to eat." Her smile faded. "What's wrong,
dearest? Surely Robert's not worse! Tell me he's not worse,
Alex!"

"No, no. Robert's better. Much better. In
fact, I left him enjoying a private joke with Rochdale," Alex
reassured her friend.