His Californian Countess Read Online Free PDF Page B

refreshing she left it open.
    When she looked back at him he was no longer awake, lying so still it frightened her till she saw his chest rise with a breath. Her worry over treating him as a patient, after the sensual dreams she’d had, vanished. She hesitantly laid her hand over his heart. And wished she hadn’t, for his heart didn’t beat at the same rate as hers. It fluttered in so quick a rhythm she could scarcely count the beats.
    His skin beneath her hand was dry and burning to the touch. His neck, shoulders and most of his torso were bright red with the rash. And her only weapons in the battle were a cool cloth, the powders Dr. Bennet had given her and the herbal teas she’d concocted.
     
    She worked at it hour upon hour. Sometimes she wiped him down and, occasionally, when her arms and legs grew too tired to work, she covered his torso, limbs and forehead with wet cloths. That respite gave her the strength to begin all over again.
    Twice more through the night she spooned the powders mixed with water into his mouth. She constantly tried to get him to drink the tea. He was often like a little bird, taking what was offered, but with his eyes shut. Other times he shook his head, refusing anything nourishing.
    He developed a rattling cough about the noon hour the next day. She looked in her book, but neither there nor in the doctor’s instructions was a cough mentioned. Exhausted, with little sleep since the first night aboard, Amber sat next to his bed, put her head back and slept.
    In her dreams Lord Adair visited. Manly, healthy and hungry—for her. Now that she knew his name she moaned it aloud as he kissed her. “Jamie.”

Chapter Three
    J amie woke, his skin on fire. His bed pitched and tilted, making his head swim. “Stop!” he yelled and was immediately sorry. He took a gasping breath past a throat that must have been sliced to ribbons by some fiend with a knife. Then someone raked fire across his chest. But the fire was cold. He shivered. Cold should feel good, but it made his skin burn all the more.
    “I’m so sorry,” a sweet voice crooned. “I’m trying to keep your fever down. Maybe if I just laid the cloth on your chest. Would that feel better? I’m sorry I didn’t know this hurt you so.”
    The voice. He knew that voice. He forced his eyes open. “Pixie? Is it you?”
    “My name is Amber. I do believe thinking of me as Helena is less annoying than this fixation you have with pixies. Why do you persist in this?”
    What a foolish question, he thought. “You look…like a pixie,” he gasped. “Tiny.”
    “I’m quite capable.” His pixie grew somehow, then seemed to float over him, frowning down at him. Herfrown wasn’t the least threatening, though. It was quite the most adorable frown he’d ever seen. He smiled at that. Although he felt like death, she lightened his spirits. “Ever met…a pixie?” he challenged. “Wily…creatures. Eire’s full of…the little people.”
    “But we’re in America. Well, not exactly there just now, as we’re on the high seas, but this is an American ship. It’s even called the Young America. ”
    He struggled to grasp that. “On a ship? Why am I…on a ship?”
    “You were searching for Helena Conwell and mistook me for her,” his pixie explained.
    He was looking for Helena? Oh, yes. He had to make sure she was safe. And he’d left Meara in New York recuperating. He swallowed. Oh, God. He was sick. He wasn’t supposed to get sick. Not like this. What if he died and left Meara to the mercy of Uncle Oswald? She wasn’t safe.
    Tears blinded him and he closed his eyes to hide the depth of his emotions. “Meara,” he said, wanting to explain why his lovely nursemaid had to make sure he lived, but the name came out sounding as if he were crying. He kept his eyes closed, feeling the tears he couldn’t stop run into his hair. Embarrassed and desperate, he decided to hide in the sleep that called to him. He’d hidden the real him for years