But pretend as James might that all was normal, it was obvious he was rapidly growing more ill. He looked hollowed out—his face drawn and pale, his eyes bruised with shadows. Laura was not sure whether she felt more pity for his condition or irritation at his stubborn refusal to accept sympathy or aid.
One night, unable to sleep, Laura slipped down to the library after everyone else had retired. As she left the library, she saw James climbing the stairs. She hung back in the shadows, watching as he trudged upward, Demosthenes at his side. He gripped the banister, pulling himself up each step, exhaustion in every line of his body.
She knew then why he went to bed after the others. The stairs taxed his strength, and he didn’t want anyone to see his weakness. The man was so stubborn and contrary it made her want to scream, but she could not help admiring his dogged determination. James would go down fighting.
Sorrow welled up in her chest. Blast him. She didn’t want to feel anything for James. She already missed her father with a steady ache. It seemed most unfair that she must add sorrow for James as well.
He paused on the landing, bracing himself against the railing, his head hanging. Demosthenes gazed up at him and whined softly. Laura could no longer stand still. She darted across the entry and up the stairs. He turned at the noise of her footsteps and frowned.
“What the devil—”
“Don’t,” she told him crisply. “I am not going to stand by and let you act like a fool just because you’re too proud to allow anyone to help you.” She lifted his free arm and hooked it over her shoulders, sliding her arm around his waist.
For once James made no protest, just started up the remaining stairs. Demosthenes bounded up before them and stood waiting.
“What happened?” Laura kept her voice crisp, knowing that sympathy would only make James more resistive.
For a moment she thought he wasn’t going to answer, but then he said, his whisper quick and harsh, “I felt dizzy, and . . . I couldn’t see. For a moment, I was blind.”
chapter 11
James leaned more heavily against her as they went, his steps slowing. When they reached his room, Demosthenes took up his post outside James’s door, fiercely watching the hall, as if he could keep the danger at bay. Laura blinked tears from her eyes.
They weaved across the floor to his bed, and Laura eased James down on it, grateful for the servants’ custom of turning down the bed. He started to lie down, but she grabbed both his arms, stopping him.
“Wait. Let me get your jacket first.” She reached out to grasp his lapels.
He pushed weakly at her hand. “No. I can do it.”
“Oh, do shut up, James.” Laura pulled the garment off him. He was, apparently, feeling too bad to put up any more protest, but sat docilely as she started on his waistcoat and ascot.
“How far do you plan to go?” he asked drily.
“It’s encouraging that you feel enough improved to make annoying comments,” she told him, giving him a little push back onto the bed. “Where do you hurt?”
“Where do I not?” He lay back, raising his hands to his head and squeezing as if he could crush out the pain. “My head is the worst. Damn it, I wish it would just get it over with.”
Laura looked at his drawn face and brushed her hand across his forehead, gently pushing back his hair. “I’ll get you something for the pain.”
“I don’t need—” He stopped and sighed. “Laudanum makes me ill.”
“Then I won’t give you any.” She pulled the covers up over him and crossed to the door. Demosthenes turned to regard her, but did not give way. Laura reached down and stroked the dog’s head. “Don’t worry. I’m coming back.”
She gave his shoulders an extra pat. The mastiff let out a long sigh that sounded much like James’s and stood aside, leaving a narrow space open for her to leave. Laura went to her room and pulled her father’s bag from the bottom of her wardrobe.
It occurred to her that she should probably put on something besides her nightgown and robe. She had never been around any man but her father in only her nightclothes. But she didn’t want to take the time, and it was scarcely as if James would notice or care in his condition.
Picking up the medical kit, she returned to James’s room. Demosthenes, who had remained standing at the door, flopped down across the doorway after she entered and laid his head on his paws, closing his eyes. Apparently he had decided it was safe to leave James in her care. Laura shut the door softly behind her and tiptoed across the floor.
“You needn’t sneak,” a voice said from the dark. “I’m not asleep.”