CHAPTER11
In the darkest depths of the night, Emma was jolted from sleep by the heat radiating from Hart’s body as he thrashed in the covers at her side, muttering something indistinguishable. Her sleep-fogged mind was initially confused, torn as she had been from the depths of a sated slumber. She reached for him as she blinked the sleep from her eyes. Her hand connected with his bare shoulder.
He was not just hot.
He was scalding, his skin covered in a fine sheen of sweat.
Her heart lurched.
She gave him a slight shake. “Hart?”
He groaned, muttering.
Emma reached for his forehead, her eyes still adjusting to the flickering light from the fire in the grate and the shadows dancing through the room. “Hart, can you hear me?”
His head was even hotter.
“Em?” he croaked, the sound weak and rough, as far-flung as possible from the vital, commanding man who had made love to her so thoroughly before they had both fallen asleep.
“Do you feel ill?” she asked, thinking of his wound.
An infection would certainly cause a fever.
“Cold,” he said, his teeth chattering. “So bleeding cold.”
That was cause for further concern. The night air held a chill, but the room remained a comfortable temperature, even on Emma’s own bare arms.
“I am going to look for a brace of candles to light,” she told him. “Stay where you are.”
“Christ. Don’t th-th-think I can.”
More chattering teeth marked his stuttered response.
The fear inside her grew as she threw back the bedclothes, careful to keep him covered, and slipped from the bed. Moving with as much haste as she dared, she felt her way to the table where a brace of candles had been placed earlier whilst she had been at her bath. Taking them up, she went next to the hearth. The warmth emanating from the fire reached her bare toes, but she was scarcely aware of it as she patted the mantel in search of spills. Her fumbling fingers found a collection of them.
The groan from the bed made her heart leap. There was no mistaking that sound, the raw agony in Hart’s voice. He was ill and in pain.
She knelt at the hearth and held the spill to the glowing coals with a shaking hand, gratified when it lit with instant ease. Still shaking, she lit each candle with the flame before tossing the remnant into the hearth to join the smoldering relics of last night’s fire.
By the ghostly light filtering around the window coverings, she judged the hour to be early morning. Enough time for a fever to begin ravaging him. She took up the brace and placed it on a bedside table, her breath catching when light illuminated his face. Hart had slung an arm over his eyes to ward against the sudden brightness, but she could see the strain in the rigidity of his jaw. His dark hair was wet with perspiration, and his entire body was wracked by a series of shivers.
“I need to look at your wound,” she told him. “Only for a moment.”
“Blow out the bleeding candles,” he growled. “T-too bright.”
“I must be able to see.” Determined to have a look at his side, she peeled back the counterpane.
His wound was red, swollen, and angry looking, ooze leaking from between the uneven stitches.
Good heavens.
Her worse fears were confirmed.
“Hart,” she said with as much false calm as she could muster, “your wound is infected. We must call for a physician.”
“I’ll not see a bleeding piss prophet,” he growled. “I’m well enough. Go back to sleep.”
His teeth gave another violent chatter as he issued the pronouncement. Gently, she moved the arm he had slung over his eyes, guiding it away so she could see his face. His brow was covered in sweat, his hair matted to his forehead, and his eyes were bloodshot.
She had to do something for him. But what? She was in the midst of strange territory, in a gaming hell. The true impact of being removed from all that had been familiar to her hit Emma like a blow. She could not call for her father’s physician, as she would have done at home. And she knew almost no one here save Hugh and Lily.
Perhaps they would know what to do.
She tucked the covers around him gently and took up the brace of candles. “I will be back, my love. Stay here where you are warm until I return.”
“I ain’t bleeding g-going anywhere,” he said, “and neither are you.”
Emma most decidedly was, but she did not argue. Instead, she pulled on a gown with calm, methodical motions. Hart was sick, and he needed aid. If he did not receive it soon…
No, she would not think it.
“What d’you think you’re doing, milady?” he demanded from the bed as she took up the brace of candles again.
“I am going to find your sister or Hugh,” she said. “I shan’t be gone long.”