Julie Garwood - Castles

He felt like hell when he saw the tears in her eyes. "I'm sorry," he muttered. "You aren't a burden. Your current situation, however, is a mess. Wouldn't you agree with that evaluation?" he asked.

"Yes, I would agree."

Colin rubbed his brow in an absentminded action and was surprised to feel the perspiration there. He tugged on his cravat next. Damn, it was hot in the study. The fire from the hearth was putting out more heat than was necessary, he supposed. He thought about taking off his jacket but was too weary to go to the trouble now.

"It's a very serious situation, Colin," she added when he didn't respond to her earlier agreement.

"But it isn't the end of the world, is it? You're looking overwhelmed by it all."

"I am overwhelmed," she cried out. "Raymond was injured tonight. Have you already forgotten? He could have been killed. And you… you could have been hurt too."

He was frowning again. She was almost sorry she'd reminded him of the incident. She decided not to end the evening on such a sour note.

"I've forgotten my manners," she blurted out. "I should say thank you now."

"You should? Why?"

"Because you apologized," she explained. "I know it was difficult for you."

"And how would you know that?"

"Your voice got all gruff, and you were glaring at me. Yes, it was difficult. Yet you did say you were sorry. That makes your apology all the more pleasing to me."

She walked back over to his side. Before she lost her courage, she leaned forward and kissed him on his cheek. "I still prefer your father for my guardian," she told him, hoping to gain a smile. "He's much easier to…"

She was searching for the right word. He gave it to her. "Manipulate?"

She laughed. "Yes."

"My four little sisters have worn him down. He's been turned into milk toast by all those women."

Colin let out a weary sigh and rubbed his brow again. He'd developed a pounding headache in the last few minutes, and he could barely concentrate on the topic at hand. "Go to bed, Alesandra. It's late and you've had quite a day."

She started to leave, then paused. "Are you feeling all right? Your face looks terribly pale to me."

"I feel fine," he told her. "Go to bed."

He told the lie easily. He didn't feel at all fine, however. He felt like hell. His insides were on fire. His stomach was reacting as though he'd just swallowed a hot piece of coal. His skin was clammy and hot, and he found himself thanking God he hadn't had much to eat tonight. The mere thought of food made him want to gag.

Colin was certain he would feel better once he had gotten some sleep. At one o'clock in the morning he was wishing he could close his eyes and die.

By three o'clock, he thought he had.

He was burning up with fever, and damn if he hadn't thrown up at least twenty times the paltry little apple he'd eaten before he left for the opera.

His stomach finally accepted the fact that there wasn't anything more to get rid of and settled down into a tight knot. Colin sprawled out on the bed, face down, with his arms spread wide.

Oh, yes, death would have been a treat.

Chapter 5

She wouldn't let him die. She wouldn't leave him alone either. The minute she was awakened by the sounds of retching coming from Colin's bedroom, she threw off her covers and got out of bed.

Alesandra didn't care about appearances. It didn't matter to her if going into his bedroom would be looked upon as inappropriate behavior; Colin needed her help, and he was going to get it.

By the time she put on her robe and went next door, Colin was back in his bed. He was sprawled out on his stomach on top of the covers. He was stark naked. She tried not to notice. Colin had opened both windows and the room was now so frigid with cold she could see her breath. The drapes billowed out like inflated balloons from the hard, spitting wind and rain coming through the windows.

"Dear God, are you trying to kill yourself?" she asked.

Colin didn't answer her. She hurried over to shut the windows before turning to the bed. Only one side of Colin's face was visible to her, yet that was quite enough for her to surmise from his tortured expression how miserable he was feeling.

It was a struggle, but she finally was able to tug the covers out from under him and then cover him up and properly tuck him in. He told her to leave him the hell alone. She ignored that order. She put the back of her hand to his forehead, felt the heat there, and immediately went to fetch a cold, wet cloth.

Colin was too weak to fight her. She spent the rest of the night with him, mopping his brow every five minutes or so and holding the chamber pot for him just as often. He wasn't able to throw up anything more, for his stomach was empty now, but he still made the most horrible gagging sounds trying.

He wanted water. She wouldn't let him have any. She tried reasoning with him, but he wasn't in the mood to listen to her. Thankfully he was too exhausted to get the water by himself.

"If you swallow anything, it's going to come right back up. I've had this illness, Colin. I know what I'm talking about. Now close your eyes and try to get some rest. You're going to feel better tomorrow." She wanted to give him a bit of hope, and for that reason she deliberately lied. If Colin followed the same course as everyone else, he was going to be miserable for a good week. Her prediction proved accurate. He wasn't feeling any better the following day, or the day after that. She personally tended to him. She wouldn't let Flannaghan or Valena into the chamber, fearing they would also catch the illness if they got too close to Colin. Flannaghan tried to argue with her. Colin was his responsibility, after all, and he should be the one to tend to him. It was his noble duty, he explained, to put himself at risk.

Alesandra countered with the explanation that she had already suffered with the illness and was therefore the only one suited to see to Colin's needs. It was highly doubtful she would get sick again. Flannaghan, however, would be taking a much greater gamble, and how would they all ever get along if he became too sick to take care of them?

Flannaghan was finally convinced. He was kept busy with the running of the household, and even took on the added duty of answering all of her correspondence. The town house was off-limits to all callers. The physician, Sir Winters, returned to look at Raymond's injury, and while he was there Alesandra consulted him about Colin's illness. The physician didn't go into Colin's bedroom, for he had no wish to contract the illness, but he left a tonic he thought might settle the patient's irritable stomach and suggested sponge baths to cool the fever.

Colin was a difficult patient. Alesandra tried to follow the physician's advice by giving Colin a sponge bath late that night when his temperature increased. She stroked his chest and arms with the cooling cloth first, then turned to his legs. He seemed to be asleep, but when she touched his scarred leg, he almost came off the bed.

"I would like to die in peace, Alesandra. Now get the hell out of here."

His hoarse bellow didn't affect her, for she was still reeling from the sight of his injured leg. The calf was a mass of scar tissue from the back of his knee to the edge of his heel. Alesandra didn't know how he'd come by the injury, but the agony he must have endured tore at her heart.

She thought it a miracle he could walk at all. Colin jerked the covers over his legs and told her again, though in a much more weary tone of voice, to leave his room.

There were tears in her eyes. She thought he might have seen them. She didn't want him to know the brief glimpse at his leg had caused that reaction. Colin was a proud, unbending man. He didn't want her pity, she knew, and he was obviously prickly about the scar.