The Rakehell Regency Romance Collection Volume 2(241)

For he had all but decided to knock on Belle's door, to see if she would speak with him, if perhaps there was some way to admit that he had been harsh and hasty with her.



But by the time he headed up the stairs and pressed his ear to the door, all was silent within. He could detect no trace of candlelight escaping from under the door.



Let the poor girl sleep. There would be plenty of time to talk in the morning…



As soon as Blake had left the room after they had so nearly made love, Belle had darted out of bed and got dressed. All her petticoats on underneath her heaviest burgundy wool gown were not enough to keep her warm. She put on two pairs of stockings and her boots, and lay back down on the bed under the covers fully dressed, yet still she could not get warm.



Finally she got up and went to see the apothecary, who was attending James and Mr. Greengage in the room next door.



"I think I have a slight fever," she admitted when the kindly older man asked what the trouble was.



"I'm sure the doctor- "



"Oh, he's already done so much for me," she said, quickly shaking her head. "I don't want to trouble him about something so minor as a sore throat and chills when he has three others to look after.



"In any event, I also wanted to ask you a favor. Would you have any objection to escorting me to my brother in London? I need to get there for Christmas you see, and he'll be awfully worried if I'm not there in time," she fibbed.



The older man nodded. "I would be delighted to have your company. But as I believe I mentioned before, I'm leaving very early in the morning tomorrow. I too have to be with my family by Christmas Day, and will be riding post. Can you withstand the pace after the terrible accident which you've just been involved in?"



"I'll be fine. I do thank you. Leave word with the maid to give me a half an hour before you are to depart to break my fast, and I shall await your convenience."



"All right, if you're sure?" He wondered precisely what the relationship was between the gorgeous young woman and the tall, handsome doctor, but he was too delicate to pry. Another poor ruined girl, he thought with regret.



She nodded. "I'm sure."



Her face seemed unclouded by worry, or anything to hide, so he said, "Six o'clock then. We shall leave at half past six. We shall meet in the small parlor for a hearty breakfast and then go."



"Thank you. Good night."



"What about your fever?" he reminded her.



She started guiltily. "Yes, any medicine for it?"



"Drink this cordial now and go to bed."



"Thank you. I'll see you in the morning."



"I'll go give the orders to the maidservant now."



He went below to make arrangements for their departure.



When he had finished, he brought up some food to James and Mr. Greengage. He poked his head around the door to see John and found the carriage driver and his employer both sound asleep. So he went off to his own little corner where he had settled for his stay, and began to pack for the morning.



Arabella tossed and turned all night, hardly able to settle for an instant due to her flaming skin, her suffused flesh below her waist. What on earth had he done to her? She dared touch herself to see if anything felt amiss and nearly rocketed off the bed. He said he had not harmed her. He was a doctor. Surely he would not have…



No, he had tried to warn her against all sorts of things. He had helped her, protected her. He could not possibly have given her an illness. He had only given her an awareness of herself which she had never possessed before. It was both exhilarating and terrifying. These overwhelming needs-where had they come from and why had she never felt them before? Was it for all men, or just Dr. Sanderson?



But the worst question of all was, what was she to do now that he never wanted to see her again? Was she simply to pine away for the sake of an unrequited love? Were these sensations always going to be there as a reminder of what she had nearly had? Would they subside, never to be felt again?



The rap on her door at six was a welcome end to her fevered thrashings. She barely touched breakfast, managing only a mouthful of coffee and some toast. Mr. Samuels had ordered bacon, eggs, sausage, black pudding, and a small beefsteak each, with mountains of bread and hot buttered toast. She had all to do not to be sick looking at it.



"I tell you what. We'll wrap it up for the journey," he suggested kindly when he saw her pick at the food.



"All right."



"I can see you're still a bit feverish. It'll be all right, lass, you'll see."



He piled her into the carriage with hot water bottle, foot warmers, and a profusion of travelling rugs.