Chapter 14 #2
“All right,” she conceded, though her eyes still lingered on his pale face. “Will we see you for dinner, perhaps? It is almost time.”
Nathaniel glanced back at the mountains of paperwork on his desk and shook his head reluctantly. “Probably no. I shall have my dinner brought here to the study. I do not wish to leave just yet, lest I lose my train of thought in what I am doing.”
Euphemia sighed, knowing there was no use in pushing him further today. “All right. Have a good night then.”
She turned and quietly made her way out of the study, closing the heavy oak door softly behind her. Walking down the corridor, a lingering thread of worry for his health still tugged at her mind, but it was outweighed by a blossoming happiness.
There was no friction between them.
After days of agonizing, they had still managed to have a good, easy conversation. The fear that had haunted her for two weeks... the dread that they would inevitably go back to being awkward strangers around each other instantly evaporated into the evening air.
The darkness of Nathaniel’s bedchamber was absolute, but the heat consuming his body felt like a living, suffocating thing.
Every muscle in his frame was locked in a dull, radiating ache, and his spine felt as though it had been forged from lead.
When consciousness finally dragged him up from the depths of a restless, dreamless sleep, it was not the pain that woke him, but a sudden, strikingly pleasant sensation.
Something incredibly cool and soothing was resting against his throbbing forehead.
Nathaniel didn’t open his eyes just yet. His eyelids felt impossibly heavy, lined with a burning grit that made even the thought of light agonizing. He slowly lifted a heavy arm, his fingers reaching upward to touch his brow to investigate the sensation.
Instead, his knuckles brushed against a soft, damp cloth, and then his fingers closed around something else, a small, slender hand that was holding the cloth in place.
His grip tightened instinctively on the delicate wrist. Nathaniel forced his eyes open, blinking through the heavy shadows of the room until his vision finally focused.
Euphemia was seated on the edge of his mattress.
The dim light of a single candle on the bedside table cast her features in a soft light.
As he stared up at her, the undeniable reality of his physical state crashed down upon him.
The room seemed to tilt slightly, a wave of dizziness washing through his head.
She had been right. He had stubbornly dismissed her warnings in the study as mere exhaustion, convincing himself that a difficult fortnight and a few hours under the afternoon sun were all that ailed him.
But the fierce, violent shivering that suddenly racked his chest told a completely different story. He was down. He was undeniably, thoroughly sick.
Yet, looking up at her, a profound confusion clouded his fever-ridden mind.
“Euphemia?” he asked, trying to confirm if he was dreaming or not.
“Yes, Your Grace,” she answered softly. She didn’t pull her wrist from his grip, but her other hand gently adjusted the cool cloth, pressing it firmer against his burning skin.
“What... what are you doing here?” he asked, trying to sit up, though his body instantly refused the command, pinning him flat against the pillows.
“I couldn’t sleep,” she confessed, her eyes searching his face.
“I was worried about you. I decided I would simply check on you to ease my mind, and it seems my instincts were correct. Your fever has spiked terribly.” She offered him a small, almost apologetic smile as she dipped a second cloth into a basin of cold water on the nightstand, wringing it out with a soft splash.
“I am trying to bring your temperature down. You are practically radiating heat.”
Nathaniel shook his head slightly against the pillow, a faint groan escaping him. “You do not need to do this. I am fine. I shall have a servant summon the physician first thing in the morning. You should not be awake. Go to bed.”
“No,” she replied instantly. She gently replaced the warm cloth on his forehead with the freshly cooled one, the icy shock of it making his breath catch.
“You do not get a say in this matter at this point, Nathaniel. I told you that you were ill, and you refused to listen. Frankly, you look far too tired to fight me about it right now.”
He opened his mouth to offer another stubborn protest, but as he looked at her face, and the determination in her eyes, the words died in his throat. She was entirely right. He possessed absolutely no strength to argue with her, let alone physical force to make her leave.
“So,” Euphemia murmured. “I am just going to do what I want. Respectfully, of course.”
Nathaniel swallowed hard, his throat tight as he forced his gaze to remain fixed on her face. Yet, in the intimate, confines of his bedchamber, his senses were working against him.
For all his discipline, he could not entirely dull the sudden awareness of her proximity. He had seen her in various states of elegant dress, but never like this... so close, within the private sanctuary of his own rooms, clad in a soft, simple nightgown that offered a breathtaking vulnerability.
When her fingers brushed his cheek to secure the cloth, her skin felt impossibly soft against his skin. A faint scent of lavender and clean rain drifted from her hair, wrapping around him and cutting through the air of the room.
A dangerous, low heat that had absolutely nothing to do with his illness stirred deep within his chest, sending a jolt straight to his brain.
She really had to leave.
If she stayed a moment longer, he wasn’t certain he could maintain the proper distance expected of a gentleman.
“Euphemia,” he said, roughly. “I do not mean to be entirely stubborn. Truly. But you... you really must retreat to your own chambers now. I am capable of managing this myself.”
Instead of rising, Euphemia merely adjusted her position on the edge of the mattress, smoothing her skirts and settling in further.
“I shall return to my room once you have fallen asleep, and once I am fully convinced that this fever has begun to break. Not a moment before. You see, Nathaniel, I can be remarkably stubborn too when the situation calls for it.”
Nathaniel let his head fall back against the pillows, a frustrated groan trapped in his throat.
He couldn’t help himself. His eyes drifted over her again.
Her hair was completely down, cascading over her shoulders in lush waves that practically begged to be touched.
He was really looking at her now, unable to look away.
In truth, his stubbornness over the past two weeks had been nothing more than a desperate shield. Ever since the night of the ball, his mind had been in a state of absolute chaos.
Her innocent, yet deeply piercing questions about love, the lingering heat of their dance, and the intensity of their conversation in her bedchamber had done something inexplicable to his brain. He didn’t understand the fierce pull he felt toward her, and it terrified him.
He had convinced himself that throwing his entire being into his work and putting physical space between them would reset the boundaries.
He needed everything back in its proper place.
With the chaotic ruin of the northern tenant farms demanding his absolute focus, he simply could not afford the intoxicating distraction that Euphemia was rapidly becoming.
Space was supposed to cure this madness. Yet, here she was, shattering his carefully constructed walls with a bucket of cold water and a damp cloth.
“Why must you be so incredibly stubborn, Nathaniel?” she asked softly, her eyes searching his face as she dipped the cloth into the basin once more. “A normal man accepts help when he is ill. But you fight it as though it were an insult to your character.”
“I am not intentional about being stubborn,” he replied defensively. “There are simply things in my life that I want, and I prefer to achieve them exactly when and how I intend to. I do not care for delays. That is why I can be stubborn.”
Euphemia let out a soft, breathy laugh, the sound sending a strange ripple through his veins.
“That is almost the exact definition of being stubborn, you know.” She set the cloth aside for a moment, leaning slightly closer as she tilted her head.
“But tell me, what of you? You are stubborn most of the time. What is it that you want, Euphemia?”
Euphemia went completely silent, her lips parting slightly as her breath hitched. Nathaniel stared up at her, his eyes locked onto hers, waiting through the thick, charged stillness for an answer she seemed suddenly terrified to give.
“What is it that you want, Euphemia?” he asked again, his eyes opening even more.
He asked because he could feel it... the sensation that there was something she was purposefully leaving unsaid. In that moment, wrapped in the warm, isolated little bubble they had carved out of the dark, an almost overwhelming notion took root in his chest.
Looking at her, he felt an urge to grant her absolutely anything her heart desired, to hand her the world if she only named it.
It was a terrifyingly deep revelation. This was exactly why he had tried so hard to put distance between them over the past fortnight.
He was already neck-deep in whatever this feeling was, entirely defenseless against her.
Euphemia swallowed, her gaze flickering down to his lips before rising back to meet his eyes. “You have already given it to me, Nathaniel,” she whispered.
His brow furrowed slightly, the fever making his thoughts move a fraction slower. “Given you what?”