Vanquishing the Viscount (Wayward in Wessex) by Keysian Elizabeth

Author:Keysian, Elizabeth
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: historical romance, romance novel, historical romance novels, romance stories, sexy historical romance, sensual historical romance, historical love stories, alpha hero, alpha hero romance, historical women's action and adventure, aristocrat romance, English historical romance, Regency romance, British romance, viscount hero romance, titled hero romance, British historical romance, British Regency, Wessex romance, Wessex love stories, Wessex aristocracy, Jane Austin's Bath, Cotswolds love stories
Publisher: Entangled Publishing, LLC
Published: 2018-04-08T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Three

With the return of daylight came a return of the fever. James tipped off his blankets but couldn’t work out how to get out of his shirt. He’d have to ring for someone—but who would come? Was he at the inn, or somewhere else?

Shafts of bright sunlight sliced through the gaps in the shutters, giving enough light for him to confirm that he wasn’t in his own bed. He lay in an ancient truckle bed, with a wooden bench pushed up against it and a tester thrown across both pieces of furniture, so the sleeping space was broad enough for two.

A lamp burning low illuminated linen-fold paneling wrought in oak and much holed by boring insects. One wall of the room was draped with a faded tapestry showing a hunting scene, and for a moment he wondered if he’d been transported back in time.

By God, but he had a raging thirst. He looked round for the bell pull, realized there wasn’t one, and called out.

A middle-aged woman entered, wearing—to his relief—the clothing of a present-day servant, rather than an Elizabethan one. She lowered her eyes and made him an elaborate curtsy as she inquired, “Shall I call for Miss Emma, sir?”

“Miss Emma?”

“Indeed, your lordship, the young lady as has been looking after you. She’ll have your medicine ready, sir, and I can get you some breakfast now if you want it.”

He ran a hand across his brow. Why couldn’t he remember? Why did it feel as though his whole world had skidded to a halt, like a horse refusing a jump?

Suddenly the vision of a beautiful, compassionate face flooded his mind, and everything steadied as the memories flooded back. “Emma. Ah yes. Miss Hibbert.”

“Miss d’Ibert, if it pleases your lordship,” the servant corrected.

Of course. “Send her in, would you? And I’d like a fresh pitcher of water, if you please.”

The woman curtsied her way out, then spoke to someone just outside the door. “I think his lordship might be feeling a bit better, but he complains of being thirsty. Shall I fetch him more drinking water?”

“Do that, please, Sarah,” said a familiar voice.

Emma’s voice. Thank heaven. At least he wasn’t among strangers.

“I’ll fetch the basin and a clean cloth,” she said. “It sounds like the fever’s coming on again.”

She was right—he was feeling exceedingly hot. Once again, he tried to struggle out of his stifling nightshirt, but felt weak as a kitten. He’d almost given up when he heard the door open again.

Emma set an ewer and basin by his bedside and speared him with an unfriendly eye. Reaching for his nightshirt, she wrenched it off, then pushed him back against his pillows, flung aside the shutters, and opened the window, letting the sunshine flood in.

Returning smartly to the bed, she dabbed his hot face and neck, then moved the cloth down to moisten his chest with the cooling water. He was thus able to get a better look at her and martial his thoughts.

What trouble he must have

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