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her
Christian name was telling; it implied an intimacy between them
that she knew nothing about. How much had he been involved in her
care? It was frustrating in the extreme that she couldn’t
remember.
    His hand ran over the sheets and then he
opened his dark eyes. “Beth?” He quickly pushed himself up to a
sitting position, looking around the room—for her.
    His eyes quickly came to rest upon her and
he smiled sleepily. She was surprised that it seemed to be in
genuine pleasure. “Beth…I mean, Mrs. Eliott. You’re up. How are you
feeling?”
    “I’ve been better.” Her voice emerged as a
hoarse rasp. It hurt to talk.
    Lord Rothsburgh frowned and immediately got
up from the bed. She was grateful that his loose shirt now
concealed his inopportune arousal, especially when he poured her a
glass of water from a jug on the nightstand and brought it over to
her.
    “Here, drink this, Be—Mrs. Eliott.”
    She dutifully took the glass, taking care
not to brush her fingers against his, and took a much needed drink.
After a few painful sips she paused.
    “Razor blade throat?” he asked.
    “Very much so,” she croaked.
    “You don’t have to talk.” To her surprise,
he suddenly reached out and tenderly felt her brow. “At least your
fever has broken,” he said with a smile, his gaze wandering over
her face.
    As if to belie his pronouncement, she felt
her whole face flush. She couldn’t bear his close scrutiny and
gentle touch. It was a stark reminder that Hugh had never touched
her with care or kindness. Her heart was pounding in her
chest—surely Lord Rothsburgh must hear it and suspect how affected
she was by him. His raw masculine beauty was difficult to deal with
even at a distance. This closeness was too much.
    To break the moment, she suddenly thrust the
glass toward him. “I’ve had enough. Thank you.”
    He quirked an eyebrow then to her relief, he
moved away to replace the glass on the nightstand. Then he sat on
the edge of the bed directly opposite her, a thoughtful expression
in his eyes.
    He’d said she didn’t need to talk but she
had to. She needed to find out exactly what had happened, and
perhaps even more importantly, she needed to work out what she
would do next.
    But first she needed to convey her
thankfulness to the marquess for taking her in—before she lost her
nerve. She drew in a shaky breath and met his eyes. “I’m at a loss
as to what to say, Lord Rothsburgh, other than I’m so sorry to have
inconvenienced you—”
    He snorted. “What nonsense, Mrs. Eliott. You
really don’t need to apologize. It’s not as if you contracted the
ague intentionally.”
    She frowned. “Nevertheless, my lord, I feel
I must apologize for having put you and your staff out at such a
difficult time. My arrival on your doorstep was without invitation.
That, in and of itself, was presumptuous of me to say the least.
And then to force such a burden of care upon you…whatever you say,
my lord, I feel compelled to express my gratitude. I am in your
debt.”
    Lord Rothsburgh inclined his head. “Your
thanks is duly noted, Mrs. Eliott. But I must insist there is no
indebtedness on your part.”
    She nodded. His words were reassuring but
she still felt awkward beyond imagining. And flustered. She
supposed that being clothed only in a shawl and nightrail in front
of a very casually dressed Lord Rothsburgh, wasn’t helping matters.
Nevertheless, she needed to broach the next difficult topic on her
mind.
    Dredging up her courage, she spoke again.
“Thank you for your graciousness. However, I must say, my lord,
that I am more than a bit troubled by the circumstances which I
find myself in.”
    He raised a quizzical eyebrow.
    She gestured at herself, and then toward him
and the rest of the room. “This seems…highly inappropriate…to say
the least.”
    Lord Rothsburgh shook his head, his wide
mouth tilting into a wry smile. He rested his forearms on his
thighs and looked up at her. “You’ve been