Chapter Nine #2
Her throat tickled, her nose twitched, and the next moment she was sneezing so hard she nearly dropped her book.
She fumbled for her handkerchief. “It’s nothing,” she wheezed, though it was decidedly something. Her lungs felt as though they were filling with wet wool.
Sebastian crossed the room in two long strides, his coat brushing her knee as he crouched. “You’re pallid,” he said low, scanning her face and the faint rash beginning along her neck. He turned on the maid and Paisley. “Out. Now.”
Paisley came with a smug face from behind Sebastian, his expression carved into a vicious smile just like he had when he was a boy.
“You accept the friendship of a man who’s hunting a maid down for kittens from the stables? How low can you fall, Miss Madeleine?”
“Out, Paisley,” Sebastian said, his voice a whipcrack.
But Paisley only tilted his head, his tone dripping with mockery. “What will your mother think if mine tells her you’ve decided to befriend a man who’d rather return a runt of the litter to its feline mother than find his place in society?”
Without waiting for a reply, he turned on his heel and strolled away tsking, every inch the satisfied predator.
Maddie’s pulse thudded in her ears. “A kitten?” she croaked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Sebastian nodded once. “Yes. He took it from the stables. But why?”
Her chest burned; each breath felt heavier than the last. “Because he’s known my reaction to cats since I was a child. Our mothers are friends…” She pressed a hand to her middle, the room tilting.
And in that dizzying moment, she wasn’t sure what unsettled her more—whether she was about to collapse into Sebastian’s arms… or whether that was precisely what Paisley had hoped she’d do in his.
The instant the door shut, Sebastian turned back to her. “How bad?”
“I’m—” She caught herself on a cough. “—quite… pink, I imagine.”
“That’s one word for it.” He slipped a cool handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it gently into her palm. “Do you have something for this? In your remedy etui?”
“In… my chamber. Third drawer left side. Under the lavender satchels.”
“Right.” He straightened as if ready to fetch it himself, then hesitated. “Do you need me to carry you?”
She narrowed her eyes over the handkerchief. “I may be spotted and wheezing, Sebastian, but I still possess the use of my legs.”
“You were swaying.”
“I was startled.”
“You’re still gripping on to the arm of that chair like it owes you money.”
Her lips twitched despite the prickling heat on her skin. “You are enjoying this far too much.”
“Not true,” he said, sliding a hand beneath her elbow. “I’m only enjoying about half of it—you are holding me. The rest is abject concern that you might collapse before we make it to the stairs.”
She let him draw her up, pretending she didn’t need the steadying pressure of his arm. “Rogue.”
“Protector of kittens and damsels in distress,” he corrected, curling her fingers into the crook of his elbow. “Come on, Maddie. Let’s get you breathing again.”
And though her skin burned, and her chest ached, she let herself lean into him just a fraction more than necessary.
*
Sebastian slowed his stride as they reached her chamber door, every muscle taut with the effort of not drawing her closer still. She’d held on to his arm the entire way, her fingers light but constant, the contact igniting something warm and treacherous under his ribs.
He hated the faint rasp in her breath, the unnatural flush on her cheeks. Hated her discomfort.
And yet… he loved that she hadn’t let go.
“I should apologize,” she murmured, pausing just inside the doorway. “Bothering you while you’re unwell—”
“Bothering me?” His voice came out low, rougher than intended. “Maddie, you’ve seen me sneeze on half the household. I think we’re well past politeness.”
Her lips curved, the ghost of a smile tugging at them, and for a moment he forgot entirely about the faint ache in his own chest. Her illness mattered more than his. She mattered more than—than anything. He would carry her up every stair in the castle if it meant she could breathe easily again.
He stayed in the threshold, bracing a shoulder against the doorframe. He should leave her to rest, fetch a maid, maintain the fragile propriety they’d both been raised to protect. But the thought of turning away now, of not seeing her steady again, tightened something deep in him.
“Ring for a maid,” she said softly, as if reading his thoughts. “For propriety’s sake.”
He didn’t move. “I’ll wait.”
“Sebastian—”
“I’ll wait here,” he amended, though his gaze remained fixed on her in a way that was anything but gentlemanly.
Not across the threshold, no, but close enough to see the faint rise and fall of her breath, the way the pulse fluttered in her throat.
Close enough to imagine crossing those few feet and catching her face in his hands.
If anything happened to her… The notion alone was enough to put a heavy, unfamiliar weight in his chest. He could picture it too clearly—her crumpling in the corridor, Paisley standing by with his smug detachment.
That man would run at the first sign of trouble, finger outstretched to assign blame.
Sebastian would never—could never—understand what drove a man like Paisley to be so unfeelingly cold and sheer evil.
“Eucalyptus oil,” she muttered as she dripped something from a vial onto a handkerchief.
She sank onto the edge of the bed, turning her face away to press the handkerchief to her nose.
He watched her, the fierce urge to protect her warring with the dangerous truth he’d been keeping at bay: somewhere between her lovely smile and her odd concoctions, she had slipped past his guard entirely.
He’d thought he could keep this in hand. But standing here, watching the soft curve of her shoulders rise with each careful breath, knowing how close he’d come to losing her—even to something as small as this—he felt the last of his resistance snap.
I think I might be falling in love.
Think?
In fact, I know so.
She glanced up and caught him watching her. Neither of them looked away.
If he stepped forward, if he touched her now, there’d be no mistaking it for gentlemanly concern. But he stayed where he was, holding himself in check by sheer will. His heart had already surrendered; the rest of him was only waiting for the right moment to follow.