the
memory of him collapsing in front of her the morning after their makeshift
wedding. The shock and despair of that time echoed back to her. Her throat went
dry. Her insides went watery.
She shook off the memories, the keening sense of loss. She
wouldn’t lose him again.
His room was smoky, which couldn’t be good for a man with
the cane disease. He needed fresh air and fast. She grabbed him under the arms
and tugged him toward a window. He seemed to revive a little although his head
lolled as she dragged him across the floor. She let him lie as she fumbled with
the catch and then threw the casements wide. Cold air blasted inside.
She grabbed a chair and turned it to face the window. “Beau,
you need fresh air.”
She couldn’t, wouldn’t, let him die—not when the weakness of
his lungs was her fault, too.
He stared at her, a circle of white around the blue of his
eyes and his lips turning faintly purple.
Ignoring the way his warm skin seemed to awaken a part of
her she’d much rather remain asleep, she reached for him. Hauling him into the
chair would have been impossible except he seemed to recognize the need to
breathe the fresh air and struggled to plop into the chair.
Clearly the movement drained him. She pushed his head toward
the open window. Twisting away, she hauled the counterpane off the bed and
thrust it around him, her fingers encountering a welt on his shoulder. She
didn’t have time to puzzle it out. The smoke had to be cleared, he needed
medicine, and he needed it now.
She yanked on the bellpull then grabbed a poker and shoved
the burning pieces into the fireplace. Opening a second window she fanned the
air, shooing the smoke away from him.
Beau was slumped forward, his forehead resting on the
casement. He had to breathe the outside air. She went back to him and pulled
his head up, her fingers against the cool skin of his forehead “Breathe. Try to
relax and breathe.”
His hand clamped around her wrist and her heart jolted.
He turned his head and heaved out, “Don’t...”
Don’t what? Don’t be near him, don’t touch him, don’t...
“Leave...me.”
A rush of hope flooded her body leaving it weak. Her knees
buckled. Did he want her with him? “No, never, but I have to get my medicine
kit. I have herbs that will help.”
She twisted her wrist free of his grasp but didn’t miss the
panic in his eyes. It tore her to leave him even for the brief time it would
take her to retrieve her kit. She hoped the herbs that had been sitting for
years retained their potency. “I will not be far. Just in the room next.”
She ran to her room and the dressing room but had to fetch
and light a candle to see. The delays ticked in her head turning seconds into
minutes and each minute into an hour. The outer door of the suite clicked open
and she breathed a little easier, knowing help had come. The black leather of
her case blended into the shadows of the cabinet until finally she found it by
touch and yanked it out.
Holding her dressing gown closed at the throat she ran back
toward Beau’s room.
An under-footman blocked her entrance. “He’s not decent, my
lady.”
“ Mon Dieu , I am to help.” She raised the case hoping
that Beau hadn’t barred her. Then having no patience for either of them, she
shoved the unyielding boy out of the way.
“Bring...my...son,” rasped out Beau.
“No. He cannot see this.” Yvette winced. Beau wanted to see
Etienne because he thought he was dying. Did she have the right to deny him?
The thought sent icy currents running through her veins. “You will see him in
the morning when you tell him you cannot teach him to ride the horse.”
Beau twisted. The pleading was gone from his eyes. In its
place was anger. Good, the emotion would help him fight the constriction of his
lungs.
She pointed to the window. “Breathe.”
The under-footman was shutting the second window. “Night air
is poisonous.”
“The smoke is what is poisonous.” She reached
memory of him collapsing in front of her the morning after their makeshift
wedding. The shock and despair of that time echoed back to her. Her throat went
dry. Her insides went watery.
She shook off the memories, the keening sense of loss. She
wouldn’t lose him again.
His room was smoky, which couldn’t be good for a man with
the cane disease. He needed fresh air and fast. She grabbed him under the arms
and tugged him toward a window. He seemed to revive a little although his head
lolled as she dragged him across the floor. She let him lie as she fumbled with
the catch and then threw the casements wide. Cold air blasted inside.
She grabbed a chair and turned it to face the window. “Beau,
you need fresh air.”
She couldn’t, wouldn’t, let him die—not when the weakness of
his lungs was her fault, too.
He stared at her, a circle of white around the blue of his
eyes and his lips turning faintly purple.
Ignoring the way his warm skin seemed to awaken a part of
her she’d much rather remain asleep, she reached for him. Hauling him into the
chair would have been impossible except he seemed to recognize the need to
breathe the fresh air and struggled to plop into the chair.
Clearly the movement drained him. She pushed his head toward
the open window. Twisting away, she hauled the counterpane off the bed and
thrust it around him, her fingers encountering a welt on his shoulder. She
didn’t have time to puzzle it out. The smoke had to be cleared, he needed
medicine, and he needed it now.
She yanked on the bellpull then grabbed a poker and shoved
the burning pieces into the fireplace. Opening a second window she fanned the
air, shooing the smoke away from him.
Beau was slumped forward, his forehead resting on the
casement. He had to breathe the outside air. She went back to him and pulled
his head up, her fingers against the cool skin of his forehead “Breathe. Try to
relax and breathe.”
His hand clamped around her wrist and her heart jolted.
He turned his head and heaved out, “Don’t...”
Don’t what? Don’t be near him, don’t touch him, don’t...
“Leave...me.”
A rush of hope flooded her body leaving it weak. Her knees
buckled. Did he want her with him? “No, never, but I have to get my medicine
kit. I have herbs that will help.”
She twisted her wrist free of his grasp but didn’t miss the
panic in his eyes. It tore her to leave him even for the brief time it would
take her to retrieve her kit. She hoped the herbs that had been sitting for
years retained their potency. “I will not be far. Just in the room next.”
She ran to her room and the dressing room but had to fetch
and light a candle to see. The delays ticked in her head turning seconds into
minutes and each minute into an hour. The outer door of the suite clicked open
and she breathed a little easier, knowing help had come. The black leather of
her case blended into the shadows of the cabinet until finally she found it by
touch and yanked it out.
Holding her dressing gown closed at the throat she ran back
toward Beau’s room.
An under-footman blocked her entrance. “He’s not decent, my
lady.”
“ Mon Dieu , I am to help.” She raised the case hoping
that Beau hadn’t barred her. Then having no patience for either of them, she
shoved the unyielding boy out of the way.
“Bring...my...son,” rasped out Beau.
“No. He cannot see this.” Yvette winced. Beau wanted to see
Etienne because he thought he was dying. Did she have the right to deny him?
The thought sent icy currents running through her veins. “You will see him in
the morning when you tell him you cannot teach him to ride the horse.”
Beau twisted. The pleading was gone from his eyes. In its
place was anger. Good, the emotion would help him fight the constriction of his
lungs.
She pointed to the window. “Breathe.”
The under-footman was shutting the second window. “Night air
is poisonous.”
“The smoke is what is poisonous.” She reached
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