Ten Ways to Ruin

Louisa nodded and strode from the room.

While she was gone, Emma refreshed the water and placed a cool cloth on his forehead and the back of his neck. “Simon, you have to fight this. I will not lose you.”

He groaned as if he understood her words. Watching him suffer was slowly killing her. Every time the laudanum wore off, he started to moan in pain.

Emma glanced over at the door as Louisa returned. “Well?”

“A footman ran to get Mr. Anderson,” Louisa replied. “I came to give you a break. Why don’t you try to get some sleep?”

Her damn tears started again. “I cannot, Louisa. I can’t leave him.”

Louisa clutched Emma’s shoulders and pulled her away from Simon. “You are going to make yourself ill. I’ll be here. Now, go rest.”

Emma returned to her bedroom but couldn’t sleep. She paced the room until she heard the surgeon’s footsteps getting close. Without a thought, she followed him into Simon’s bedchamber.

“Miss Drake, it is highly inappropriate that you are in the room while I exam Mr. Kingsley.” The stuffy man placed his small valise down on the bedside table.

“She stays, Mr. Anderson.” Louisa’s order brooked no denial.

Emma almost smiled at her sister’s imposing tone.

“As you wish, Your Grace.” The surgeon inspected the wound and shook his head.

“What is wrong?” Emma whispered.

He turned toward with a scowl. “I am not sure yet. The stitches are fi

ne. There is a slight redness to the incision, but that’s normal. I fear I cannot account for his fever.”

Emma fought to catch her breath. “What does that mean?”

“It means the wound is not infected. I’m sorry to say it most likely means his blood is.”

Emma sank into the chair. “Even I know that is terrible.”

Louisa glared at the doctor.

“I am making an assumption, Miss Drake. There is no way I can be certain.” The surgeon shuffled through his bag and brought out a small vial. “Give this to him four times a day with water. It might bring down the fever.” He paused and then whispered to Louisa. “Your Grace, you should prepare yourself for the worse.”

EMMA REFUSED TO LEAVE Simon’s bedside for the next two nights. His fever never became high enough that he hallucinated. And yet, if he had, at least she would have been able to hear his voice. She missed the timber of his voice when he spoke to her, complimented, or even scolded her.

“Dammit!” She wiped away the tears that fell. Letting her head rest on his chest, she whispered, “You can’t leave me, Simon. I love you.”

“About damn time you said so.” His voice sounded raspy and dry and so beautiful to her.

Emma sat up and looked down at him. His eyes remained closed, but there was a slight upward turn to his lips. She shook her head. Had her imagination had taken hold of her senses?

“Simon?”

“I love you, too,” he mumbled with a smile.

“Simon!” She clasped his hand and brought it to her lips. “I love you so much, you damned fool.”

“Water.”

“Oh, of course.” Emma grabbed the glass and then lifted his neck. He drank a few sips and then turned his head away.

“How long?”