* * *
“Hot.”
Miranda opened her eyes and sat up in her chair as Daniel rasped out a single word.
“Here.” Miranda reached for the pewter tankard of water and powdered willow bark she’d mixed while he’d slept and moved to the edge of the bed. She sat down beside him, anchoring the sheet into place at his waist, preserving his modesty as Daniel thrashed against the bed linens.
“Hot,” Daniel muttered. “Too hot.”
“I know,” Miranda answered, shifting her position, supporting his head and shoulders as she placed the rim of the tankard against his lips. “But you must stop thrashing about the bed,” she told him. “Else you’ll tear your stitches once again.”
“Burning.”
“Drink this,” she urged. “It will make you feel better.”
“What?”
“Willow bark and water.” she told him. “Drink it all down like a good boy and I’ll cool you off with a nice sponge bath.”
“No willow bark,” he complained.
“Yes, willow bark,” she insisted. “Alyssa says it’s good for you. So drink this and I’ll give you a cool, refreshing bath you’ll enjoy.” She bumped the tankard against his lips once again.
Daniel grimaced and tried to refuse the medicine, but Miranda gave him no choice. Tipping the tankard, she forced him to drink—or to drown.
“Good with the bad, Your Grace,” she reminded him. “Dark and light. That’s the way life works.”
Daniel drained the tankard, then blinked up at her, his surprise at finding her beside him clearly evident. “Miranda?”
“Yes, Miranda.” She set the tankard aside and eased Daniel back down on the pillows, then stood up and turned her back to him and crossed to the window. She opened the window a crack to allow the cool night air into the room, then filled the washbasin with tepid water and reached for a clean cloth.
Miranda managed to hide her disappointment when she returned to the bedside and placed the bowl on the table. She dipped the cloth in the water and wrung it out, then firmed her lips together, focused all of her attention on the center of Daniel’s chest, and began gently sponging the perspiration from his upper torso. He’d been surprised to see her sitting on the bed beside him. Daniel had clearly expected someone else.
“Miranda?”
She recognized the note of urgency in his voice and looked at his face. It was a grayish green color, and the drops of perspiration on his forehead seemed to have tripled. “I’m here.” She took a step toward the head of the bed.
“Sick.” Daniel rolled to his side and braced himself on his elbow and forearm, hung his head over the side of the bed, and
heaved the contents of his stomach all over Miranda’s silk skirts.
“Blast it, Daniel!” Miranda exclaimed as she viewed the mess he had made of her dress. “First you bleed all over me and now this!” The beautiful pale green ball gown her modiste had fashioned to fit her to perfection so Miranda would be certain to catch the Duke of Sussex’s eye had caught everything except his eye. She knew he couldn’t help it, but that did nothing to change the fact that Daniel had bled upon it and been ill upon it, but hadn’t appeared to notice how the style flattered her figure, displaying her bosom and her long legs to perfection, or how the pale green color complimented her auburn hair and made her eyes look green. Her lovely ball gown was ruined, but Miranda barely had time to mourn its destruction. She scrambled to locate the chamberpot as Daniel was ill once again.
Miranda held his head until his retching subsided, then wiped his face and neck with a cool cloth. The stench filling her nostrils nearly overpowered her. Her stomach roiled in protest, and Miranda struggled to keep from disgracing herself as she poured the water from the wash bowl into the chamber pot, then placed the lid on it and slid the pot under the bed.
She helped Daniel lie back against the pillows, then filled the tankard with warm water and offered it to him.
“No more,” Daniel gasped.
“It isn’t willow bark,” she told him. “It’s warm water. To rinse your mouth.”
Daniel rinsed his mouth and spat in the basin Miranda held for him. The effort it took exhausted him. His teeth began to chatter as he lay back against the pillows. Miranda recovered the chamber pot, lifted the lid, and dumped the water from the basin into the container, covering it with the lid and pushing it back under the bed. She pulled the single sheet up to Daniel’s chin, then unfolded the coverlet at the foot of the bed and drew it over Daniel’s torso. She tucked the sheet and coverlet tightly around Daniel’s shoulders.
“Cold,” he murmured.
Miranda closed the window and crossed over to the fireplace to stir to life the coals she’d banked. One look at Daniel told her he was suffering fever and chills in equal measures. His eyes were closed and his teeth were chattering. Miranda’s heart went out to him. She knew from her own personal experience that as soon as he succeeded in getting warm, he’d become too warm, and as soon as he succeeded in cooling off, he’d be chilled to the bone.
Reaching up behind her, Miranda unfastened her dress, then pushed it down over her hips, allowing it to pool around her feet. She untied the laces of her short corset, noting as she did so, that her corset, and the silk chemise beneath it, were dotted with stains where Daniel’s blood had seeped through the layers of silk. Miranda pulled off her corset, shrugged out of her chemise, rolled her stockings down her legs, and stepped out of her fine silk drawers, dismayed to find that all of her garments were stained with vomit and reeked of stale whisky and the remnants of Daniel’s last meal.