Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 91373 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 457(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91373 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 457(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
It seemed to take a huge effort, but thankfully, she drank it. Then just as quickly, she fell asleep against me. I lay there in the bed, watching her flushed chest rise and fall in calm breaths, my arm going numb. My belly grumbled. I needed to eat and so did she.
Somehow, I couldn’t quite force myself to move, however, as this was the most restful I’d seen her since my arrival.
I’d sit a little longer with her, let her rest a bit more before I shook her awake to force-feed her. I chuckled at the thought. If she hadn’t liked me before this, the little mouse was going to hate me by the time she recovered.
Six
SARAH
All I wanted to do was sleep. So it was extremely irritating when that dreadful man kept waking me up to force pills and water down my throat, and then he made me chew on bland slices of buttery toast. I was cognizant enough to know it was Mr. Cavendish, but I didn’t have the energy to ask him why he was here or mistrust his intentions.
However, I woke up during the night, shivering and shaking so badly, I must have made a noise because suddenly, Cavendish was in the doorway. He hurried to the bed as my eyes adjusted to the dark, and I vaguely noted his rumpled, sleep-creased appearance.
“Bloody hell, little mouse,” he muttered. “You’re shivering enough to start an earthquake.”
“S-so c-c-cold,” I chittered, my teeth clattering together as I shook.
“Maybe your fever is breaking,” he murmured.
Suddenly, Cavendish threw off my duvet and sat down on the bed. Alarm cut through my daze. “W-w-what are y-you d-d-oing?”
“Body heat,” he explained with surprising patience. “Turn on your side and pretend I’m someone you like.”
“I-I don’t th-think s-so.” I had enough presence of mind to remember I didn’t know this man.
“I’d have to be the worst sort of reprobate to take advantage of a sick woman. And while I am actually a reprobate, I’m not the worst sort. I promise you, I just want to warm you up. It’s all very innocent. But I’ll get out of the bed if you want me to.”
I wanted heat badly enough to trust him just a wee bit, so I turned onto my side. I jolted as his arm wrapped around me, tugging me close to him. He pulled the duvet back over us.
To my astonishment, the heat of his body soaked into mine and while my shivering didn’t entirely abate, I did feel warmer.
“Go to sleep, darling,” Cavendish murmured against my hair as he tightened his arm around me.
The next morning, my eyes opened to find sunlight spilling in through the cracks in the window covering. My mind felt clearer and as I checked myself, I realized while I was still sticky with sweat, I didn’t feel feverish. I pressed a hand to my chest and the skin was much cooler to the touch than before.
I tried to breathe out in relief and realized how stuffed my nose was. My head still ached too. And when I swallowed, it hurt like hell.
A memory of last night hit me.
Theo Cavendish was here … and he’d slept in this bed beside me.
No.
That couldn’t be right.
Could it?
I pushed up with a groan, and the room swayed but not as badly as before. The movement, however, set off a tickle in my nose and I sneezed. It wasn’t pretty. Ugh, I needed a hanky. Turning my gaze to the bedside table, I was surprised to see a fresh glass of orange juice, two paracetamol, and a box of tissues.
I’d just wiped my runny nose when a familiar, deep, extremely posh voice said, “Ah, good, you’re awake.” Looking up, I watched Cavendish stride into the room, fully dressed and hair slightly damp, as if he might have showered. He looked well-slept and not at all disheveled. “How are you feeling?”
This man had spent all day yesterday and last night looking after me. Why? Confused, I replied in a thick, bunged-up voice, “I think my fever has broken. What are you doing here?”
“Let’s test that, shall we?” he replied instead and reached for something on the bedside table. I realized it was a thermometer. “Open up.”
I took it from him with shaky hands and stuck the instrument into my mouth. We stared at each other, his gaze searching, mine questioning, as I let the thing sit until it beeped. Taking it out, I read the digital screen. “Says 37.3°.”
“Congratulations, little mouse, your fever has broken.”
“Yay,” I replied sarcastically. “I sound like hell.”
“Yes, you do. But the worst is over.” He gestured to the paracetamol. “Take those, drink up, and I’ll bring you something to eat.”
“Did you … did you sleep in here with me last night?”
“You were shivering quite badly, so I provided body heat. You warmed up almost immediately.” He smirked. “I have that effect on women.”