Page 8 of A Touch of Charm (Miracles on Harley Street #3)
W hen Andre climbed back up the stairs with a packet of ice, Thea was in front of him. What an idiot he was allowing a princess to come to his cellar.
“I must apologize, Thea,” he said, wrapping the ice tighter in the towel as if the cold seeping through the cotton could also cool his thoughts.
“Why?” She turned over her shoulder while holding the thin metal bar as a railing to the cellar. Andre’s heart quickened when he looked up at her. With the light from the kitchen above, her curly blonde flyaways looked like a halo around her face.
He’d been holding up the lantern so she could see where she was going in the narrow staircase connecting the kitchen and the cellar, but the orange glow from the lantern now shone like gold on her perfect features. But her intelligent eyes caught Andre off guard. He swallowed hard and almost forgot how one lifts a foot to climb stairs when his gaze fell involuntarily to her behind. She shuffled and reached the top of the stairs just when Andre thought her backside looked like a fresh pear hanging from a tree in the height of summer. Juicy, delicious, and utterly forbidden.
“This is not a place for a princess.”
“I followed you to the cellar, and I’m glad I did. Your icebox is brilliant. I’m glad I had the opportunity to see it.” She cast him a smile that nearly made his heart shatter.
Since this was the first time in his life that he couldn’t pursue a woman, he wished he’d been born at a different time and titled so he could pursue the princess. She was precious, intelligent, and oh so beautiful. When her eyes met his, his stomach twisted with joy that he got her attention—but he wanted more. But it was the first time in his life that Andre felt inadequate in such a profound, irrevocable way. He was helpless.
The only thing he could help with was keeping the princess safe—from Baron von List, his lackeys, and himself.
Overwhelmed by the desire coursing through him, Andre gathered the food and followed Thea with the tray, the ice nestled beside the fruit meant for Stan.
When they arrived upstairs, Andre pushed the door open with his shoulder, balancing the tray in his hands, expecting to see Stan in the throes of pain. Instead, his eyes landed on Thea, who quickly swept a loose strand behind her ear and blushed furiously upon seeing Stan.
The room held an air of fragile tension. Thea’s face, bright pink, showed traces of vulnerability she’d kept hidden before, even in the carriage after the highwaymen kidnapped her. What could have shaken this strong woman terribly in just the past few minutes. What did Stan know and didn’t want him to find out?
Andre gently set the tray down on the side table, the clink of porcelain breaking the silence. He straightened, his gaze meeting Thea’s, and held it momentarily before dropping it respectfully.
“I gathered some refreshments,” he said, his voice steady and calm, though his heart ached at the sight of her distress. “Peppermint tea, for Mary if she wakes up, and other things that might help.”
He glanced over his shoulder, confirming again that the child was safe after the earlier attack. The little girl was still sleeping in the room across the hall, cozily wrapped under the blankets he’d provided. That’s good; children need to rest.
Thea nodded, her eyes glistening but grateful. Stan rose from his bed, giving Andre a slight nod of thanks before coming toward the biscuits and nuts.
Andre busied himself, pouring the tea, the fragrant steam rising as he worked. He placed a cup before Thea and offered her the honey jar. She managed a small smile, a fragile gesture that spoke volumes.
“Thank you, Andre,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. Andre inclined his head, carefully placing the piece of ice wrapped in the towel on Stan’s shoulder, right where the incision was. Heat was one of the many signs of infections and Andre’s suspicion that the cut could have been unclean had been confirmed. He could tell that the wound was infected by the heat emanating from it and how quickly it melted the ice, visible from the wet stain on the towel, and he hoped the cooling would slow the process.
“If you need anything else, just let me know.” His words were simple, but they carried sincere depth.
He turned to leave again, but Thea’s voice stopped him. “Andre, please stay. For a while.”
He paused, studying her face. Something in her eyes was a plea for normalcy, for someone to share the moment’s weight. He gave a slight nod and sat on the only chair while Thea and Stan sat on the bed, the room settling into a more comfortable silence.
Andre felt a sense of quiet resolve as Stan chewed the crunchy biscuits, and the scent of tea mingled with the warm spices from the biscuits. He was here for whatever they needed, ready to offer a steady presence amid their turmoil.
“I’m not going to be able to sleep if Thea is still in danger,” Stan said.
“Let me stay awake and stand guard,” Andre said. “You should cool the incision. Perhaps it will Lessen the effects ofinfection.”
“You look like Fr?ulein Schmidt,” Stan said to Thea, but Andre knew it was a joke about him when Stan set the ice down to help himself to a cup of tea.
“Our governess?” Thea tugged at her simple dress.
Stan laughed, then winced and dropped his arm again, pressing the ice onto it with the other hand. “Our governess was a rather stern woman, surely a spinster, with no greater pleasure than conjugating verbs in Latin,” he told Andre.
“Mine was called Signorina Bianca. She also made us conjugate and declinate, and I don’t remember how many times I had to write the capitals on the map of Europe,” Andre said.
“You had a governess?” Thea asked.
Andre was instantly sorry and wondered if he’d said too much.
“Were your parents wealthy?” Stan asked.
Andre pursed his lips. He’d said too much, indeed.
“There were three of us. I had a brother and a sister, and hiring someone to provide our education was worth it.” There, that should explain away the expense of a governess for a doctor. Did Stan know that Andre’s father was a famous doctor indeed?
Stan arched a brow. “Was that in Florence? During Napoleon’s rule?”
Thea inclined her head. “Is that when your family fled to Vienna? It is where you said you studied.”
He had undoubtedly overstepped; his royal guests were adept at discerning double entendres and reading between the lines.
“I should let you get some rest.” Andre made for the door. “Stan, call me if you need anything. I’ll be in my chambers upstairs, the second door on the right.”
Andre shut the door and hurried up the stairs, a storm brewing inside him. As he locked his chamber door, he leaned against it, wishing he could lock away his thoughts just as quickly.
The night had been chaotic, but it wasn’t the chaos that troubled him the most. It was the sight of Thea and Stan coming together after so long apart. It made him long for his family, who felt like shadows from another life. Would they even recognize him now? He hadn’t tried since before he’d gone to India, but what if he’d given up the hope of finding his family too soon? The thought that they might still be alive somewhere tugged at his heart.
But finding them meant giving up the life he had built as Dr. Andre Fernando. It was a life he had carefully crafted, one where his past remained hidden. Yet, with Thea, his heart refused to stay silent. Her presence stirred feelings he shouldn’t have. Protecting her was his duty, but it was her heart he wanted to shield, not just her safety.
Andre was no warrior like Stan, skilled in handling danger and diplomacy. He was a healer, grounded in the quiet of his practice. Yet, for Thea, he would brave the unknown. The chill of the night seeped into his bones, but all he could think about was the warmth of her gaze. In the quiet of his chambers, he made a silent promise. For now, he’d keep their secrets safe, all while staying as far away from her as possible.
*
The next day, Thea blinked at the clock on the desk and realized it was a little after eight in the morning. She needed a moment to realize where she was, that her brother was in the room next door, and she was curled up under a thin white sheet, her back stiff from sleeping without moving. Books about refraction, lenses, and a careful sketch of what seemed like angles of light coming into an eye with various numbers scribbled on the sides lay on the desk. She was quickly reminded that she was in the oculist’s room at the practice.
Andre’s practice—the handsome and exceptionally kind man who had inexplicably but wholeheartedly earned her and her brother’s trust.
What an odd and rare thought. Thea shook her head. Andre must be quite exceptional for the royal family of Transylvania to find someone who earned their trust so quickly.
Thea wanted to know more about him. He had an air of elegance as if he were bred to be a prince himself, and yet he was strong like a sawyer or woodsman back home, working with large logs of heavy wood.
Warmth spread through her when she considered how hard his chest had been when Stan shoved her against him in the dark of night, when the men had attacked. The unease in her chest built relentlessly.
Before she could think about her brother’s imposed rule, that the dashing Italian doctor would accompany her wherever she went, the commotion outside the door caught her attention. She glanced through the open connecting door and saw that Mary had made her bed just as Thea had taught her.
“Thea?” Stan groaned as he turned on the doorknob and grimaced when he tried to move his arm to wave to her in lieu of a “good morning.”
“Someone’s busy,” she said, stepping to the standing looking glass in the corner next to the bed. “I have to find Mary and send a note to her parents. They must be sick with worry by now.” Thea tried to iron out the folds of her dress and pulled out the pins from her hair.
A few strokes through her hair tamed her blonde curls just enough so that she could twist them into a knot atop her head and secure them with the pins she’d pulled out.
“In here?” Mary’s muffled voice came from outside the door an instant before the knob turned, and she stepped in. “Miss Thea?”
“Yes, dear,” Thea rushed to the door and opened it, surprised to find Mary with a bonnet on her head and a little disheveled but cheerful and carrying two cups of coffee.
“Where did you find a new bonnet?” Thea asked bewildered.
“Andre gave me the one from the doll in the children’s corner. You know where the watercolors are?” Thea wrinkled her forehead.
“Where?”
“In the waiting area!” Mary slapped her hand on her forehead. “He gave me this toy cat, too.” She held up a wooden cat. “Her name is Lady Felicity Whiskers, she’s a figurine.” Then she pointed to the cups. “This is for you and your brother.”
Yes, brother. Good, Mary didn’t know who they were.
They were lukewarm, and Thea’s heart melted at the thought that Andre must have ensured Mary wouldn’t carry hot liquid.
Andre appeared with a small parcel tied with string. “Good morning.” He bowed to Thea and cast a look at Stan. “How do you feel?”
“Hot,” Stan grimaced, and his neck cracked when he moved it. His hand came to the opposite shoulder. “Burning,” he added.
Andre’s face darkened. “I need to look at the incision.” He handed Thea the parcel. “Before you woke, I took the liberty of gathering some essentials to ensure your comfort. I realize the highwaymen caught you, and you could pack nothing for a journey to London.”
“That’s why I said we should go to the Langleys and avoid strangers. Anyone could be a traitor and pose a danger,” Stan growled, but Thea ignored him.
“How very considerate,” Thea said, accepting the parcel with open arms. “How did you find all this?”
“The coachman’s wife is a seamstress on Regent Street.” Andre smiled when Thea gasped at the contents of the parcel. There was rose water, a silver comb, ribbons, and a few other things in lovely matching packaging.
“You may go to Wendy’s chambers if you wish. You will also find a stack of towels, and I can run a hot bath for you—”
“No, Andre. My sister mustn’t take a bath here. I’ll bring her with me to Violet’s house so that she can be properly chaperoned,” Stan interjected, still his hand on the shoulder with the injury. “I am certain that the Earl and Countess of Langley will not mind if I bring some guests,” Stan said.
Andre inclined his head, showing his obedience, but Thea could see the disappointment in his eyes. Was it possible that he wished to be with her more, just as she hoped to spend more time with him?
*
After Thea and Mary left to freshen up in Wendy’s chamber and the shared bathroom, Andre tended to Stan who’d come downstairs to his treatment room looking even worse than after the battle in the woods. The prince was proud and didn’t admit it, but Andre could see he was in pain.
“I am afraid that you’re showing the four cardinal signs of inflammation,” Andre said upon inspecting the incision. It must have bled a little more at night after he’d placed the sutures, so he prepared a small muslin square and a dilution of calendula and chamomile to rinse the wound.
“No inflammation, Andre, don’t say the word. I don’t have time for that,” Stan said, but he winced when Andre touched the wound with the wet muslin.
Andre touched Stan’s forehead and pursed his lips. “You have a low-grade fever.”
“I’m just a little hot,” Stan shrugged, and he cringed because his shoulder seemed to cause pain. It wasn’t too swollen yet, so proper wound care could still control the infection, Andre thought.
“You speak Latin, don’t you? And Romanian is so close to it, you’ll understand. There are four signs of infection: rubor, tumor, calor, and dolor ,” Andre said. “The ancient Romans already described it in this manner.”
“Redness, swelling, heat, and pain,” Stan translated.
“Very good, so you don’t deny that there’s an infection indeed.” Andre continued to clean the wound.
“I acknowledged that I understood the words, not that I agree to the infection,” Stan mumbled.
“Unfortunately, an infection is not something you can agree to; it happens. But you can fight it off and look after yourself.”
“I don’t have time, Andre. I have to take Thea to the Langleys, I trust them. And then I will confront List. You know he sent the men to abduct my sister. He’s dangerous.”
“This is dangerous, Stan. With all due respect for your sense of duty and honor, if this infection spreads and your fever gets worse, you could die. And then you neither resolve the issue with List nor keep your sister safe.”
“Then who will keep her safe? Who can I trust for so long to look after her and this little girl she has brought?”
At first, Andre remained silent. Sometimes the best defense was retreat. “I’m going to Alfie’s apothecary to bring some pine honey and a new wound dressing,” Andre said, but Stan grabbed his arm and squeezed.
“You have to do it! Not just tonight but for a while. At least until I sort the mess with List out.” Stan spoke with such urgency, and his eyes showed how important this was to him. “Do you understand how precious she is to me?” Stan’s brows furrowed deeply.
Andre slumped his shoulders, the weight of the situation pressing heavily down on him. “I do know. I had a sister, too. And I would have given my life to protect her.”
I left my family to keep them safe from the misfortune that is me . But those weren’t words he could speak, lest the prince before him lose respect for Andre, the bastard, instead of trusting him as Andre, the doctor. It had always been his policy to separate his two personas, even though it was tearing him apart on the inside. If only he hadn’t been born at the wrong time.
“Then you know. Can you look after my sister and help me until our brother Alex arrives? Please?” Stan asked, his voice raw. This wasn’t the request of a prince but merely of a big brother.
Andre noticed the sheen of sweat on Stan’s brow, a subtle tremor in his step as he cradled his shoulder, the protective slump betraying the fever burning beneath. Even as Stan’s words charged ahead, Andre’s mind weighed the balance between confrontation and the silent peril beneath Stan’s bandage.
Andre scratched his head. “Under one condition!”
Stan blinked a few times as if he weren’t used to receiving conditions. “What?”
“You take care of yourself until the infection heals. You’re under my care until I dismiss you as healed, and you may resume your vendetta against List.”
“It’s not a vendetta, Andre; he’s threatening my country. He’s dangerous for our friends. Your friends. For Felix and—”
“I know. But if you die of an infection, you’ll make him stronger. Right now, you are his highest-ranking opponent, and you have a chance to defeat him. Take the time to heal and then return stronger on the battlefield.”
“It’s not a battlefield; it’s my life.”
“All of life is a battlefield, isn’t it?”
“Per aspera ad astra,” Stan quoted a Latin proverb.
“True. Through hardships to the stars.” Andre nodded and left to retrieve the wound dressing from his treatment room. But he feared that the trial ahead would not be a battle with the enemy but one with himself: How could he protect Princess Thea and be so close to her without losing his heart? She’d captivated him in a way that he felt in his bones—this battle he would surely lose. In promising Stan to look after his sister in his stead, Andre had implicitly agreed to have his heart broken by the fierce and beautiful princess whom he could never have.