The door shut quietly behind her grandfather, and then Sally took a deep gulping breath, bracing her hands on the bed. She was not brave. She was trembling with fear and equal parts of relief too. Felix had not left her without saying good-bye. He had been moved to protect everyone’s safety. She looked into his face and swore to think better of him from now on and not jump to conclusions. She touched his brow gently and discovered him scorching.
“Felix? Can you hear me?” she whispered, soothing his skin with her fingertips. “You have to help me undress you. You might be too heavy for me to lift on my own.”
He mumbled something unintelligible she hoped was agreement. She attacked his clothing, removing his pocket watch and a few coins tucked into his pockets, then rolled him to remove his waistcoat, unbuttoned the fall of his trousers, and then forced his shirt up over his head. He did help a little, but his efforts seemed uncoordinated and just a touch confused at what was going on.
When his torso was bare, she worked on his lower portions, peeling his breeches down his hips and legs and removing the stockings on his feet. His skin, wherever she touched him, was slick with sweat and burning hot all the way to the soles of his long feet.
She tossed the sodden bundle aside and raised the sheet up to his waist just as someone knocked loudly on the door. Startled, she took a moment to compose herself before answering. “Come in,” she called.
Her elder brother’s valet stuck his face and little else through the door. Despite his reluctance to enter the room, she was relieved to see the man. “You can take the captain’s uniform and have it laundered and pressed.”
“Begging your pardon, my lady, but His Grace suggested it might need to be burned.”
“Burned?” The idea of Felix without his captain’s uniform shocked her. “I do not know that you need go that far or so soon. Felix, the captain that is, will need it for when he returns to his ship.”
The valet wavered. “I will have to come back for it if he worsens.”
Sally swallowed. The idea of Felix in a worse state filled her with utter dread. “Thank you, Rodmell. I do not understand how this could happen. He seemed so healthy last night. So vital.”
“And this morning too when I laid out his uniform, if a bit out of sorts and short of temper.”
Most likely her fault. She twisted her fingers in the sheet near his hip, feeling guilty and ashamed that their last words to each other had been angry ones. They had once gotten on together so well. Holding a grudge against him now seemed pointless.
“The duke said you wished for chips of ice and other things,” Rodmell said as he hefted items through the door. “I have also brought canvas sacks to put the ice into.”
“Thank you, Rodmell.” Sally nodded. “I did forget to ask for those.”
“Are you feeling all right, my lady? No fever in yourself, I trust.”
“I am in excellent health as always,” she assured the man.
“Good.” The man peeked at the half-naked captain quickly, then averted his eyes. “If there is anything else you need, the duke has bid me remain outside the door until his fever passes. Just call for me.”
Sally nodded, appreciating the support even if it was simply a lingering presence down the hall that she could depend upon. Her brother’s valet was a member of the staff whom she had learned to depend upon over the years, and she would now too. She did not know what she would do if Felix worsened. If he died… She could not bear to consider that outcome. Rodmell departed with a bob of his head, leaving her alone with her former betrothed.
Practicality would help her manage and keep her panic at bay.
Sally marched to the door, grabbed the first heavy pail and small canvas sacks, and hauled them across the room. She dumped enough ice into the washbasin to fill it. Next she stuffed the sack to halfway and laid it atop Hastings’s sweaty head. He flinched. “This will help cool you,” she promised him.
She placed several sacks of ice about his body, one beneath the sole of
each hot foot under the sheet, another two beside each arm. He hissed when anything touched him at first and then sighed after the shock of the cold lessened. She took a soft cloth and filled that with just enough ice to lay upon his chest without burning his skin. There was also an empty tankard beside the bed, and she filled that with ice before perching at his side on the mattress.
“Felix?” Sally brushed a piece of ice against his dry lips and watched it melt into his mouth. “You must get better. The Selfridge needs you. You have a ship to command. A war to fight and win. I will not have your death on my conscience. We should not have argued.”
To that he grumbled her name, but then a shuddering sigh left him and he swallowed down a little of the melted ice. She continued to feed him ice chips, holding them even when he sucked her fingers into his mouth too to get at the moisture.
When he began to shiver, Sally removed the ice packs and drew the sheet up to his chin. She rubbed his body briskly and promised him he would recover soon. Too soon though he thrashed about enough to dislodge the sheet and, entirely nude, began to sweat once more. Sally patted his skin dry and reapplied the ice packs, offering comfort as the afternoon progressed toward evening. She swept the beeswax salve across his lips, lips that had brought her so much pleasure last night, now twisted with pain and misery. Doubt wormed its way into her heart that recovery might be beyond him. She had never known anyone to fever so fast and not die from it.
She was terrified as never before. He might die before they made peace. She eased onto the bed and took his hand in hers. A useless action since he likely did not understand what she was doing. She wished she had not told him she hated him, but she could not forgive him for leaving her alone with her desires.
Desires that had not abated in the intervening years.
“Lover, come back to me,” she whispered, brushing his unruly hair from his face. “Do not dare leave me again.”
The door opened suddenly, and caught by surprise, Sally bolted up from the bed.
A stranger preceded her grandfather into the room, a rough-looking fellow with gaunt cheeks, unruly black hair, and the bluest eyes she had ever beheld. But they were cold eyes. Hard and unfriendly.