The Rakehell Regency(38)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN



Josephine and Emma entered the chamber shortly thereafter, and put an end to Vanessa's swirling thoughts as to why Clifford was so adamant that they were to be married. She ached all over, but knew she had to get up and out of her crumpled linens to regain her peace of mind. <br> <br> The housekeeper came in a short time later with a white lawn nightgown and a heavy dressing gown in a rich brocade, and offered her a bath.



"Yes, please, that would be most refreshing.



"We have a special bathing chamber off the kitchen, so I will instruct the servants to fill the tub, and settle you in the room we've prepared for you upstairs."



They wrapped her in her own cloak and Clifford's to protect her modesty. She swung her legs off the bed and took a few tentative steps before her knees began to buckle.



"Clifford!" Josephine called.



He entered the room at once, and lifted the patient up into his arms as though she were as light as a feather.



"Lead the way, please, Mistress Evans."



"This way, sir," she indicated, heading toward the back of the house to the bathing chamber, complete with commode and a large wood and porcelain tub.



Vanessa was blushing to the roots of her hair at the way she was pressed so closely to Clifford's chest, but there was little she could do, being so weak. She did not want to make a fool of herself by fussing when he was only trying to help.



And if she was being completely honest, she would have to admit that she was rather enjoying the sensation of being held so closely that she could peer into his sapphire eyes. She recalled the girlish crush she had had upon him so many years before, but it was as nothing compared to the breathless sensation he evoked every time he looked at her. It was like a slow smoldering flame had been ignited in her bosom, and even lower down in the pit of her belly.



She thought she detected a bemused expression in his bright eyes as he stared down at her, and was pleased. At least he was not looking at her in disgust, as well he might considering how badly she must smell and look after having been so ill.



She knew she was not ugly, but nor was she a raving beauty like the two blonde Jerome sisters, often held up to her as models of deportment and femininity when she had been growing up. They had certainly grown even lovelier with the passage of time. She tried to suppress a sudden, uncharacteristic twinge of envy. They were no doubt spoken of with the utmost adulation, rather than sniggered at for being eccentric and bookish.



For the first time, Vanessa wished she were delicate, blonde and feminine as she compared herself to the two striking young women. Yet Clifford did not seem in the least interested in them, but rather hung on her every word.



Clifford placed her on a low stool by the fireplace in the bathing chamber, and kissing her hand, withdrew before she even had a chance to thank him.



She looked at the other women to see if they had remarked upon his attentions to her, but found all three of them busily getting her bath ready.



After availing herself of the commode, she allowed herself to be led to the steaming tub, and soaked peacefully in the hot water for some time, until she felt as if her illness had finally seeped out of her pores.



Upon rising from the tub, Vanessa felt her legs jellying again, so allowed the women to dress her quickly before placing her back on the stool. They examined her feet and arms for bruises, and applied some delicately scented unguent. They wrapped her feet in soft bandages, all the while exclaiming over her evident flight down to the road in nothing but her stockings.



"It turned so cold last night that it is a wonder you didn't catch your death," Emma commented as she combed out Vanessa's auburn tresses and spread them over her shoulders, the better to allow them to dry in front of the fire.



"Please, I can do it myself," she protested, embarrassed at the young girl's ministrations.



Then she pulled herself up short. The Jerome sisters were the same age as herself, yet Josephine was due to be married, and Emma seemed a most capable woman. She viewed herself as older because she had had so many responsibilities at her aunt's estate. Perhaps it would do her a world of good to enjoy herself, to allow the attentions of a few handsome men. But all the male sex she had met had been mere boys compared to Clifford, callow tongue-tied youths.



Then she berated herself for the frivolous thoughts. Her aunt Agatha was dead, and she was ill. What was she thinking?



And there was certainly no enjoyment to be had at her house, or anywhere else for that matter, until this whole debacle was resolved.



Gerald had spoken ill of their nearest neighbor every chance he had had. However, thus far everything she had learned about Clifford had not caused her the slightest bit of unease. She had overheard snippets of his conversation with Dr. Gold when she had lapsed in and out of consciousness, and saw that he cared about family, friends, and his obligations. He seemed to be a man of his word.