Abruptly, her stomach gave an alarming little jump, and she felt a peculiar dry sensation in her mouth. She at least remembered to rise slowly. “Andrew, I am going to have to leave you for a moment.”
He was on his feet, looking both perturbed and concerned as he blocked Astrid’s path to the door. “You are still getting sick?”
“Apparently so. I will be only a moment.”
She slid around him with all haste, because nothing, not nausea, not weak knees, not anything was going to keep Astrid from enjoying Andrew’s company on this pretty fall morning.
Ten
Andrew waited alone in the breakfast room for all of ten minutes before following Astrid upstairs, because it seemed there was not another soul in the house. Not a footman to find a maid, not a maid to look in on the lady of the house, not a housekeeper to explain why the staff was least in sight.
He came upon Astrid in the first bedroom at the top of the stairs, curled up on the floor at the foot of her bed. She clutched her stomach, her complexion dead white, her teeth clenched, but what terrified Andrew nearly beyond speech was her stillness.
When in good health, Astrid moved. She talked with her hands, she marched about the house, she moved through her life.
Andrew knelt beside her and pushed her hair off her damp forehead, noting again the bruise there, and hoping she couldn’t tell his hand was shaking. “What’s amiss, love? Did you faint again? Is it the baby?”
She shook her head and moaned as her whole body trembled and her hand flattened over the slight mound of her belly. Having learned a few things in his travels, Andrew cupped her jaw.
“Open your eyes, sweetheart. Just for a moment.”
She managed this, though apparently the light hurt her eyes, and with good reason, for her pupils had dilated to encompass much of her irises.
Poison, which meant every moment counted.
Andrew retrieved a big porcelain washbasin from her bureau, rolled Astrid to her side, unceremoniously pried her mouth open, and inserted a finger down her throat. She retched violently, sprawled across his legs, her face over the basin. When he saw she’d lost every iota of her breakfast, he let her sink back into a panting crouch.
She looked dazed rather than angry, which alarmed Andrew even more.
“I’m going to carry you to the bed, dear heart, then get rid of this basin and fetch you some water. Is there a maid who can help you into a nightgown?”
“Day off. Only the housekeeper’s about, and she’s gone to market.”
He scooped her up as gently as he could and laid her on the bed. The basin he left covered in the hallway, and from the bedroom next door he retrieved a drinking glass as well as a pitcher, basin, and towel.
All the while, Andrew prayed, prayed like he hadn’t prayed since rising seas and a howling wind had threatened nearly everybody he held dear, and taken one he’d never had a chance to hold dear.
He drew the draperies over both of Astrid’s bedroom windows and shut her door, then eased off her shoes and sat her up to loosen the buttons down the back of her gown. The dress came off, and then her jumps, leaving her in only her chemise.
Pale, wan, and so frightfully quiet.
One part of his mind noted the changes in her body. She was riper all around—breasts, belly, hips, everywhere, and the added flesh looked marvelous on her.
Another part alternated between prayers and curses, while he busied himself finding a clean nightgown, which he substituted for the chemise. Next he rolled her stockings off, knowing each movement was causing Astrid distress.
When he had her clothed in only a nightgown, he offered her a sip of water. She struggled to sit up, so he propped her against his chest and held the glass against her lips as she took a few swallows.
“That’s enough for now, and the next order of business ought to be summoning your physician.”
Astrid shivered and croaked a name at him and a direction. Andrew stuck his head out the window and bellowed for his tiger to fetch the damned doctor—the hand of Almighty God could not have forced Andrew to leave Astrid alone in that house—then pulled a rocking chair from a corner of the room and sat right next to the bed.
“Feeling better?”
“I feel awful,” she wailed quietly. “This is not my usual bout of the queasies.”
“The doctor is on his way, and he’ll be able to tell us more,” Andrew replied with a calm he did not feel. He smoothed her hair back and once again noted the discoloration near her hairline. “You have yet to tell me how you got this great bruise.”
“Fell,” she said, her eyes drifting shut. “Fainted at the top of the stairs. Douglas found me.”
Andrew’s hand went still on her hair, then resumed the caress meant to soothe them both. He continued to stroke her face, to hold her hand, and to offer her occasional sips of water until he heard a banging on the front door three-quarters of an hour later.