One Day for a Valet

Chapter 27

The two days and nights that followed plodded forward with an eerie sort of timelessness. Sofia’s fever rose and fell but never broke, and she remained asleep or incoherent. No amount of cooling baths, willow bark tea, and pleading words altered the course of her illness. Christopher baulked at the suggestion he rest in a bed and flatly refused the offer of relief so he might bathe or eat a proper meal. He knew he looked dreadful—his clothes were rumpled, rough stubble covered his jaw, and his hair had fallen into a state of complete anarchy.

Even consumed with near-constant anxiety, Christopher could appreciate the irony of the situation. He had become the foul-mouthed beast threatening to drown Oliver’s boots in a rain barrel, while Oliver tolerated his every threat with unprecedented grace.

When both Gabriel and Oliver proved unsuccessful at luring Christopher from Sofia’s side, they sent Violet.

“No,” Christopher told her on sight.

“I haven’t even said anything.” Violet leaned down and kissed his bristled cheek.

“But you were going to, and then you were going to bat your eyes, or tell me the children worry for me, or claim that seeing me thus is upsetting to your fragile condition. And the answer would still be no. Give me a plate of food and leave me be. Gabriel can see to your fragile condition well enough.”

Violet dragged a chair closer to Christopher’s and sat down. “That’s nonsense. I’m not fragile and you know it. And why would I bring you another plate of food when the last one still sits untouched? The children do worry for you, but they worry for Sofia as well, and they both understand why you wish to remain close. Zach even argued with Gabriel in your defence. He was quite determined.”

Christopher smiled despite his dark mood. “I believe that may be Oliver’s doing. I overheard them conversing before… before all of this happened. Zach is ready to stretch his wings a bit and Oliver was rather supportive.” Christopher laid a hand on Violet’s forearm and squeezed. “Despite Zachariah’s differences, he is like every boy in his eagerness to become a man. And you are like any good mother in your eagerness to protect him from the world.”

Violet looked away, her expression despondent. “If you won’t let me take your place at her bedside for a few minutes, can I at least stay and talk with you awhile?”

“Of course.”

“What you said about Zachariah… I don’t know how to let him do that. I see him struggling. And not in the ways every other fourteen-year-old boy struggles. It’s not the typical childhood hardships. I watch his pulse skip in his throat when he feels the weight of eyes on him, and I want to step between him and whoever’s watching. I hear him stutter, and I ache to be his voice. How do I sit and do nothing when I can ease his way?”

“Because you cannot be his voice. Only he can choose his words, even if they emerge on a stammer. He is becoming a man, and he can only feel a man’s pride if his deeds and accomplishments are his own.”

Violet shook her head again, agitated. “You weren’t around when he was a child. His grandfather and sire were brutal to him.”

“But he’s not a lad anymore. He’s had years of your unwavering love to nurture and empower him. That will be his armour when he walks into battle as a man, and no one will be able to strip it away.”

Violet closed her eyes against the truth, against a future that would ask for every bit as much strength and bravery from her as it would from Zach. A future where she would transition from a mama who protects a boy to a parent who dusts off a fallen man and encourages him to trust himself and try again.

Her eyes opened wider, glinting with a mixture of vexation and amusement. “How did we end up discussing Zachariah? I am meant to be pushing you in the direction of a cake of soap.”

“Yes, well, your inability to follow a single path is one of the loveliest things about you Violet.”

His gaze drew back to Sofia, relief from the previous moment’s distraction fizzling away. “I left her. She watched me go, Violet. I can’t leave her again.”

“I’m not suggesting you wash in the Pacific Ocean. Go to the ducal suite three doors from here. You know it has an excellent bathtub. My bed is also wonderfully soft. Go on now, don’t be stubborn.”

When he didn’t budge, she stood, grabbed his shirtfront, and hauled him to his feet.

Christopher held up his hands in defeat. “It was a dirty trick sending in a pregnant woman. I have no means of fighting back.”

She flashed him a triumphant grin.

“I’ll take a bath, but then I’m coming straight back.”

“And a twenty-minute nap. You have bags beneath your eyes, dearest. It’s really rather unattractive.”

“No nap.”

“And a shave. I think I sliced my lower lip when I kissed your cheek.”

“No shave, Violet. Christ, you’re a bully.”

“Use of a comb would also not be remiss.”

“Violet!”

“Come here then, and I will do it for you.” She reached for Sofia’s brush, and he cast her a parting glare before walking out the door. He could hear her laugh as he made his way down the hall, eager to bathe and return.

Unnaturally bright lightassaulted Sofia as she attempted to blink the heat and sand from her eyes. Pain lanced through her shoulder, and with it, unwanted memories lanced through her mind. The immobilising fear of those filthy men, relief as Christopher burst into the yard, and the crater he had carved in her chest when he turned and walked away.

Laden with grief, Sofia allowed her muscles to unspool limply against the mattress as she considered the hours and days that lay ahead. It was no more than she deserved.

“Oh, thank God! You’re awake!” Violet chirped and dropped a rather crooked baby stocking and a pair of knitting needles to the floor.

Sofia was glad to see Violet, truly she was, and she tried hard not to let any of her disappointment show. It was remarkable that anyone in this house cared enough to sit by her bedside and she wouldn’t be ungrateful.

Sofia glanced at the abandoned knitting and forced her lips into the approximation of a smile. “You should let me handle the knitting of baby apparel. That stocking is terrible.”

Violet scrunched her nose. “It was meant to be a bonnet, but I grew tired of counting stitches. I’m so glad to see you awake. We’ve been so worried.”

“We,” she assumed, meant Violet and Oliver. Perhaps Gabriel, unless he had reconsidered his benevolent treatment of her. She almost hoped Gabriel had experienced a change of heart just so that Christopher would not be alone in his grief. If Gabriel was angry as well, he and Christopher could drink and curse her name together. It was always more satisfying to blaspheme with a good friend at your side. She didn’t want him to be alone, even if she couldn’t be the one to ease his distress.

Violet handed her a glass of water. “Drink slowly.” Only when the cool, clean water swished across her tongue did she become aware of the dry stickiness in her mouth. She drained the glass.

“Can I have another?”

Violet looked hesitantly at the empty glass. “I don’t know if you should take so much at once. If you vomit, Christopher will have my head.”

Sofia’s gaze snapped up and took in Violet’s soft smile.

“You didn’t think he would remain angry with you forever, did you?”

Sofia blinked.

“Oh, I see. You did. Well, you were wrong. He’s been beside you every minute, a worried, grouchy beast.”

Sofia scanned the room for evidence that Christopher had been nearby. She spotted a waistcoat slung carelessly over the back of a chair. Before she could consider the wisdom of doing so, Sofia pushed back the covers, stepped to the floor, and reached for the silky cloth. Violet stretched a steadying arm about her waist… and they both tumbled to the carpet below.

Two sets of footsteps pounded down the hallway, and the door was thrust open. Gabriel, keen eyes trained on his wife, and Christopher, shirtless and dripping wet with his trousers half buttoned, charged into the room. At the sight of Sofia, Christopher gripped the doorway, his grey eyes wide and unmistakably filled with joy. And then he was there, words and kisses intermingled as if he couldn’t decide which was more important. His fingertips drifted across her cheekbones, her neck, her arms. Vaguely, she was aware of Gabriel performing a similar assessment of his wife amidst a gentle chastisement about taking care.

“We’ll give you two a few moments to catch up,” Gabriel said, tucking his wife beneath one arm.

“He means to kiss,” Violet clarified unnecessarily.

Sofia felt Christopher’s smile against her neck. “I hope he counts slowly.”

Mindful of her shoulder,Christopher lifted Sofia from the floor and laid her on the bed, following her body with his own. When she opened her mouth to speak, he stopped her with the hard press of his lips.

“Not yet,” he said between ravenous sweeps of her mouth. “I need to feel you here in my arms.” He kissed her again. “Against my lips.” And again. “Warm and alive beneath my fingers.”

“I need tooth powder!”

He sank his fingers into her hair and lifted her face to his. “My love, if you persist in interrupting, this will take twice as long.”

His mouth trailed to her cheek and jaw, nuzzling his face into her throat before returning to her lips. Only once they were both gasping for breath did his primal need to reassure himself that she was alive and well begin to abate.

He laid on his side, propped on one elbow and looking down at her, his fingers still busily mapping the contours of her face.

She pressed her palm to his bare chest, where his heart still beat wildly in relief. “I’m so sorry,” Sofia said.

He shook his head and a droplet of water from his hair fell onto her nose. “Apologise if you feel you must, but it’s me who was entirely in the wrong. Your situation was impossible to navigate. I behaved like a heartless barbarian.”

“You were hurt and upset. Understandably so,” she argued.

“No. I asked you to trust me. I promised you my devotion and then assumed the very worst of you at the first little bump in the road.”

“It’s not exactly a little bump, Christopher.”

He shrugged. “Regardless of which Anson is meant to be sitting in Parliament, I love you and I’ll never give you cause to wonder about it again.”

The devastation in Sofia’s eyes when he’d forced himself to walk away haunted him. Even if she hadn’t been transparent about her motives upon arrival, she had told him enough. He had seen enough to know with absolute certainty that she was at the mercy of her circumstances. But in the moment he’d learned of her betrayal, he had been eight years old and helpless all over again, his heart pulverised by another woman whose secret would lay waste to his home and family. Only this time it was worse because he had tried so hard to be enough for her.

“Stop it,” Sofia chided with a poke to his ribs.

“Stop what?”

“Self-flagellating. I can hear it in your silence. Stop blaming yourself for the moment it took to sort things out in your head.” She sighed, frustration evident in the sound, then combed her hands into his hair and kissed his nose. “How are Gabriel and Violet? Do the servants know about?—”

“No one knows. I’ll tell you everything… everything I know, anyway. But outside of one brief conversation with Gabriel, I’ve spent every moment in this room, consumed by my worry for you. I tried to talk with him yesterday when he came for an update on your condition, but he avoided my questions so skilfully that I didn’t realise what he’d done until he’d quit the room. But before we broach that conversation, you should rest and eat. Would you like more water? Or to see your brother now? He’s probably with Gabriel, they’ve been spending quite a lot of time together over the past few days?—”

“Days! I was asleep for days?”

“Less asleep than delirious with fever. You are never to put me through anything like that again. My God, Sofia…” Christopher wrapped himself around her then, and just like that, all the anxiety of the days before bore down upon him again. His body demanded further reassurance that she was awake and would recover, that she didn’t hate him for his unforgivable mistakes, that she was his. Christopher closed his eyes, willing the racket in his chest and head to subside. He commanded his body to slow down, to harness its enthusiasm to an intensity safe for her. There was nothing of moderation in the way he longed to cover her mouth with his, her body with his.

He pressed his forehead to hers, his mouth achingly close to her lips. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t. You kissed me before and you didn’t hurt me.”

“I could have. I shouldn’t have kissed you like that.”

She tipped her face up to his, cutting through the scant distance between them and brushing sweet, reassuring kisses across his lower lip. Each kiss asked for more and clawed at his crumbling resistance.

“Sofia,” he groaned at the flutter of her warm, wet tongue. “I feel?—”

She caught his lower lip between her teeth with a teasing scrape and he felt it like a brush of her fingertips from his navel to his cock.

“Tell me what you feel.”

“Hungry for the taste of your skin. Hot and shivery. Intoxicated by the trust I see in your eyes.”

“Then believe what you see there and kiss me.” She waited for him. Waited for his first hesitant touch to grow certain. Waited for his sigh of relief that she was all right. That they were all right. And then she came alive beneath him, following his lead with such tenderness that it left him throbbing. He was careful not to hurt her, allowing them to sizzle without combusting into flames, and they sank into the comfort of one another for endless perfect minutes.

A knock sounded at the door and Christopher rolled away just in time for Doctor Higgins to stroll into the room.

Higgins chuckled, his eyebrows raised clear to his hairline. “I am pleased to see our patient is awake. Though clearly not as pleased as Mr Keene. He’s been quite at loose ends, Miss Lioni.” The doctor cleared his throat. “Perhaps you might want to acquire a shirt, Christopher… and button your falls.”

Violet popped her head through the doorway. “I think his state of déshabillé can only aid in a swift recovery!”

Christopher looked away to hide his blush and made for the exit.

“I haven’t hada fever in five days. If I have to eat another meal staring at this wall, I’ll go mad.” Sofia tried to cross her arms in protest, but winced as her brain promptly reminded her that she had been shot ten days before.

Christopher looked up from his novel. “I’ll have my meal brought up and we can suffer the boring wall together.”

“You’re being a tyrant. I want to move around.”

He placed the book face-down in his lap, pinning her with an obstinate glare. “And you are being bull-headed. You have been moving around, according to the doctor’s prescribed treatment.” He flipped his book over, licked his finger, and turned a page.

This had been the vicious cycle for the last several days.

The previous night, after she’d eaten a full meal and had a thorough bath to prove to him she had largely recovered, Sofia had tried everything short of dragging his body to coax him into her bed. But Christopher had refused, then gone a step further and retired to his own room rather than the chair at her bedside for the first time since she had been hurt. She wanted him close to her, but he was equally stubborn about creating inflexible boundaries while she recovered.

Since the day she had awoken, he had done little more than bus her forehead like a spinster aunt. Sofia’s tolerance for his prudishness was dwindling quickly. She was fairly certain her body wouldn’t tolerate the sort of intimacies she longed for, but his complete abstinence from her touch was beyond excessive. If she couldn’t coax some kind of physical affection from Christopher, she at least wanted to spend a meal at the table with her brother and friends.

He stood and stretched as if she hadn’t said anything at all.

“I will see you downstairs for supper,” she stated flatly.

“It’s too soon.”

“Then you’ll have to climb into this bed and make me stay here.” She deployed a coy, flirtatious smile, purposefully lowering her lashes.

He laughed. “It’s too soon for that as well.”

“I miss you, Christopher.”

His jaw tightened, and he walked to her bed but did not sit down. “I miss you too.”

Leaning down, he angled for her cheek, but she blocked his progress with a flat palm to his chest. “Kiss my cheek again and I will find a foil and cut you from navel to nipple. Wounded or not, you know I’m equally proficient with either hand.”

Christopher wrenched back as if she had actually cut him.

“You behave as if you take my threat seriously,” she scoffed, confused. Sofia held out her hand like an olive branch.

He shook his head with a rueful smile. “No. Not that. I-it’s…”

He stammered adorably, and she considered accepting even his dry dowager kiss just to touch him again.

“You are,” he began again, equally inarticulately, “inexperienced. Naive… in a sweet way.” He added the last bit when she lifted her chin. “You say and do things without realising how they affect me. It was easier to keep my head when our future remained uncertain, but now that the only obstacle between us is a quickly healing hole in your shoulder, I find it’s much more difficult to stay the course and allow you time to heal.”

Sofia considered his words, searching for anything she had said or done that would have piqued his interest, but she could think of nothing.

He smiled at her quizzical expression, and she decided she didn’t want him to kiss her after all. “Do not bother, Christopher. If you are going to look at me as if I am a child then I don’t need to know.”

“There is absolutely nothing childlike about you,” he said, his voice dropping low and serious. He took a tentative step toward her, then another. “Equally proficient with either hand, are you?” Her earlier words fell from his lips in an entirely different tone. With the syllables drawn out, it suddenly sounded rather roguish, alluring. “You cast out the comment as a casual threat, but in my imagination, that dexterous right hand found an entirely different occupation than the pommel of your foil.”

Her eyes flicked down to her perfectly functional hand, and an understanding smirk crept across her face. She recalled how he had brought himself off with a few strokes and wished he wasn’t so many blasted steps away.

“I see,” she said.

“Good.” His shoulders relaxed. “So you will have mercy on me for a few more days?”

She licked her lips. “No.”

“Vixen.”

“Dowager.”

“I will see you at dinner.”

He threw up one hand and walked away.