Page 27 of A Daring Pursuit (The Clandestine Sapphire Society #2)

“Y ou did the right thing, poppet. But you’re not a doctor yet.” Noah was quick to reassure his young cousin with a hug two mornings later, giving him full view of Geneva. The gray morning reflected her face, pale still but for red flags dotting her cheeks, which did nothing to make him feel better. Inside, he was frantic. Their patient was feverish, her body chilled.

Isabelle’s tears dampened his shoulder. “She won’t die, will she?”

Docia strolled in. “Don’t be ridiculous, Isabelle. Geneva is much too stubborn to go out with a whimper.” Her words, while tough and nonsensical, trembled, betraying her worry.

“She’s right.” Noah swallowed against the constriction in his throat then cleared it. “You’ve been here all night, darling. Go eat, then get some rest.” He sent a silent plea to his longtime nemesis.

“Come, Isabelle.” Docia steadied her voice, adopting her usual pragmatic tone, and held out a hand for Isabelle. “Let Noah stay with her. I expect he’ll expire from heartbreak otherwise.”

Isabelle stepped back and peered up at him, her face damp. “Heartbreak?” She didn’t have to sound so hopeful. “All right. I do feel somewhat faint with hunger. Where’s Julius?”

Noah pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed her face with it. “He’s with the others. They are searching for signs of the man responsible before another onslaught of rain pelts us into the sea. Go now.”

She wiped her nose and nodded. With his hands on her shoulders, he turned her toward Docia, mouthing thank you .

“Eat, then sleep, Isabelle.”

The hour was early. Or seemed so, at least. Five, six, he wasn’t certain. A glance at the clock told him four-fifteen. He went to the basin and took a clean cloth, dipped it in cool water, and wrung it out. At the bed, he set it on the nearby table. He straightened the coverlets about Geneva then laid the back of his hand against her forehead.

She was burning up. He took the cloth and smoothed it over her cheeks, then, folding it over, pressed it against her forehead. He felt a little ill himself seeing how stark the red spots on each cheek stood out. He hurried back to the basin and hauled it to the bedside table. And with methodic intent, he went through the process of soaking another cloth with which to cool her wrists.

Minute after minute, he continued through. Time marched with Noah having no idea how long he worked. He was grateful for the lack of interruptions and stayed resolute to his mission. With each pass, he took up her clammy, chilled hand in his, squeezed lightly, then pushed on. There may have been an occasional touch of his lips.

Exhaustion fed his fear until he was afraid it would cripple him. He paused, taking a moment to just look at her. That elfin face. The dark lashes, mere shadows against the circles beneath her eyes in an otherwise stark pallor. The full lips chapped and peeling. The scratches were well on their way to healing, barely scabs now. He touched the cloth against one corner of one and prayed.

A second later, her lashes fluttered and opened. The navy hue of her eyes appeared black in the low-lit chamber. Perspiration beaded her hairline and upper lip.

“Thank God,” he breathed. Noah poured out a glass of water and lowered to the side of the bed. He brushed a few strands of tangled hair from her face. “How do you feel? Would a spot of tea sit well with you?”

She nodded and snuggled deeper within the covers.

“All right, love. I’ll hurry.”

Her response was simple—a closing of her eyes and slipping down, finally, thankfully, into a restful slumber.

He rose from the bed and went out to knock on Pasha’s door.

The door flew back. Her eyes widened. “Sir?”

“I sent Isabelle to bed. Miss Wimbley requires tea. Could you see to that and have Mrs. Knagg heat water for her? That will help her rest more comfortably.”

“Oh, yes. Thank you, sir. I’ll be right there.”

With a sharp incline of his head, Noah hurried back to Geneva.

She kicked at the coverlets. “It’s too hot.”

“It’s all right, love. Your fever has broken. Pasha has gone for tea.” He moved to the bed and helped her to sitting. “Come on, love. Open your eyes.”

Geneva groaned, and he nearly sobbed with joy at the ill-fated sound.

*

Geneva’s arms felt as if they were ladened with lead. Just opening her eyes hurt. Frustration brought a rush of tears surging. “I can’t move, you scoundrel.”

“Calm yourself, Geneva. I’ll help.”

“Calm myself,” she repeated in breathless fury. “ Calm myself.” The last of that phrase was muffled against a broad shoulder as the covers were stripped away. She gasped just as Noah propped her against the pillows as if she weighed no more than a toy doll. “ Sir .” That squeak surely did not belong to her.

Just as quickly, her night rail was adjusted and the counterpane tucked once more about her waist.

He stood and cast an inscrutable intensity over her that had her checking to make certain the she was really covered. “How do you feel?”

Overheated. “Better. Thirsty,” she amended.

In an instant, a glass was in her hand. There was nothing dignified in her haste to slake her thirst. Neither were the snuffles that had an embarrassing rheum running from her nose. “It isn’t proper for you to be here.” Now she sounded like a petulant child except for the scratchy tone that resembled a frog she’d once encountered at St. James’s Park lake.

A glint of humor lit Noah’s eyes. He opened his mouth, but she stayed him with an open palm.

“Don’t,” she croaked, fearing her blurred vision would spill down her cheeks. “I-I need a cloth to wash my-my face.” The words ended with a horrid, unfeminine cough.

Without a word, he dipped a cloth into the basin that had somehow appeared on the bedside table rather than its usual place on the sideboard and handed it over. “I believe you’ve contracted an ague,” he said gruffly.

Evidently so. Nodding, she accepted the strip of linen, and with open palms, she ran the cool dampness over her face, clearing her matted eyes. All under that vigilant perusal. She buried her face within it and held her breath for a long, long moment before breathing out. Then, lifting her face, she nearly cried for the sweetness she saw in his eyes.

She squeezed the cloth and water dribbled over her fingers, so he promptly relieved her of the cloth. He set it on the bedside table then dropped into a chair and took her hand. “You don’t have to pretend with me, Geneva.”

“Pretend what? I’m no good at pretending.”

He smiled then, and her eyes, in fact, watered. She’d completely lost control of her faculties. Every one of them. At the top of that horrifying list? Her emotions.

“It’s one of your most admirable qualities,” he said.

“I didn’t give you leave to call me—”

“Ah, but don’t you remember? You did indeed, Geneva Wimbley. And I refuse to allow you to retract the invitation.”

A vague memory did register. “How long ago was that?”

“A day or so.”

She grunted in a way Docia would chastise her for outright. “Where is everyone?”

“I am here for morning duties. Isabelle and Docia spent the night and left only an hour ago. Pasha is assembling tea for you. Something to eat as well, I hope, as I forgot to mention that.”

The crossness in Geneva’s chest loosened. “Isabelle needs her rest. What is Mrs. Oshea thinking in allowing her in a sickroom?”

Again, that lovely smile embedded itself in Geneva’s heart. “There is no keeping her at bay. Verda is helpless against Isabelle’s tenacity. The girl has high aspirations. She wishes to be a doctor. I worry for her disappointment.”

“Bah.” Geneva waved out a hand then quickly covered her mouth in a cough. “Change never occurs without those who do not rush headlong into the fray.”

His dark-gray eyes penetrated through to her soul. “You know something of that, don’t you?”

She met his eyes then dropped her gaze. “I do, indeed.”

“What are you working on now?”

She smiled. “Nothing, for obvious reasons. But I do have an article to complete on the advantages of educating the masses.”

“Perhaps you would consider doing one on the importance of women doctors.”

She stared at him—speechless— surely he was jesting . But his expression clearly showed he was not. “I believe that is an excellent notion,” she said slowly. “I’ll do anything to help Isabelle.”

He leaned forward and took her hand. “There is something I must tell you.”

Her stomach dipped. “What?” she asked with an impending sense of dread.

“I don’t know where or if this plays into your presence at Stonemare—” His wince was barely discernable, sending the spike of apprehension deeper, but she refrained from speaking. “There was an entry in my father’s records for Miss Greensley’s school. I expect it was for your tuition.”

Geneva took a deep breath and let it out in a long, even stream. What was she supposed to do with such information? The pain in her head began pounding with visions of that swirling greatcoat when seconds ago, she’d forgotten it altogether.

“What is it? Geneva. Love, I’m sorry. I thought you should know.”

His voice penetrated through the black surge that had hit with a vengeance. Eventually, the black ebbed to gray with specks of light. She pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead. “It’s all right,” she croaked out, the scratch in her throat pulsating. “We suspected, didn’t we?”

“Yes, darling, we did.”

“Why? Why would he do such a thing?”

He snorted. “It certainly wasn’t out of the goodness of his heart.”

The pounding in her head intensified. The black, swirling greatcoat, the gravelly voice. The disdain, the disgust. “Send her to the Black Widow when she’s of an age. Hell, I’ll even pay the exorbitant fees it’ll require.”

These bits of memory teasing her at will were maddening.

She lifted her eyes, meeting his. “Who the devil is the Black Widow?”

“A Mrs. Dove-Lyon,” Noah said slowly, rubbing a palm over the back of his neck. A slow flush crawled into his face and Geneva stilled, dread spreading through her like that flush on his face.

“Mrs. Dove-Lyon. The Black Widow of Whitehall. I-I’ve heard of her. She—” Geneva swallowed. “She…”

He grabbed her hand. “Don’t. Whatever it is—if it had anything to do with my father, put it out of your mind. Now. You’re here. At Stonemare. With me.” He brought her hand to his lips until they rested firmly on her knuckles. “With others who care about you.”

“But—”

“No! Whatever it is, put it out of your mind. Promise me.” His fingers tightened on hers. “Promise.”

“I-I promise,” she whispered, tears stinging.