Page 4 of Master of Games (The Duke Fraternity #4)

CHAPTER THREE

Tabbie held Ironheart’s hand as the doctor washed his face with a cool cloth. “A fever is to be expected.”

“Will he survive it?”

She noted the doctor’s grimace as he kept wiping. “I am hopeful.”

Which meant, he made no promises. Why would the man wait two days to seek care? She knew Ironheart to be reckless with his health, but this was just… “He can’t die. He doesn’t even have an heir.”

The doctor began muttering something about being cursed as he dropped the cloth and crossed the room to stoke the fire. Even in the summer a room like this would grow cool at night.

Tabbie knew Doctor Merigold was likely worried for his own reputation. It was one thing to lose a villager, quite another to be at the deathbed of the only duke he’d ever treated.

She sat down on the side of the mattress, wrapping Ironheart’s hand in her own. She knew he’d given her permission to call him Caden, but the name Ironheart made it seem as though he’d have the fortitude to make it through this.

His eyes opened, cloudy and unfocused. “Tabbie.”

She smoothed back his hair, his skin ridiculously hot to the touch. “Ironheart.”

“Marry me.”

Her lips parted in surprise. The man was surely delirious. She leaned over then and pressed her lips to his forehead, breathing in his scent. “Trust me, you don’t want me as your wife.”

The words made her throat close. That silly, foolish seed of hope had bloomed in her stomach again.

It wasn’t every day she received a proposal, and in fact, this was her first. Not that it was real.

This was the fever-induced delirium of a man on the precipice of death, which is why she’d have to take great pains to stamp out that bubble of excitement that rose in her chest.

“I do. Marry me,” he said hoarsely, his eyes closing again. “If I live through the night, call for the vicar in the morning.”

“Don’t be absurd,” she chastised, even as her fingertips danced over his forehead. “You could live, and then what would you do?”

“I’d be married to you. I think it’s very obvious what I would do.”

Her mouth opened and then she closed it again, her eyes meeting the doctor’s. His brows had risen an inch up his forehead as he cocked his head to the side. She had the most ridiculous urge to tell the other man to mind his business.

She’d known Dr. Merigold most of her life. She liked and respected him. But he, more than anyone, knew the devastation that her dress disguised. He’d treated her himself.

“Trust me,” she whispered as her fingers stilled. “It’s not as simple as all that.”

“It is to me.” His hand found hers, the one she’d rested on his chest without even realizing she’d done so.

The part of her that was so vulnerable still demanded that she push before he touched her pain. “Ironheart, everyone knows you’re not husband material.”

“True,” he ran his fingers softly over the back of her hand. “I’m going to need the strongest sort of woman.”

“You’ll recover from this and then you’ll wish to go back to your old life. We’d both be miserable.”

“My old life was vapid and useless. A punishment for a father who didn’t love me. Until I realized…the person I was punishing most was myself.”

Her mouth fell open as she stared him, his fingers growing relaxed as he fell asleep. Could it be true?

Had Ironheart ceased to be the rake she’d known?

Her heart fluttered as she drew in a ragged breath. It didn’t matter. Whatever he thought she might be, she wasn’t.

Her strength was only armor to protect a heart that could so easily be shattered.

* * *

Dreams and conversations mixed in his mind.

Had he proposed to Tabbie? He couldn’t be certain.

But as often as he’d dreamed of her, he’d had moments that he knew were real. The feel of her hand. Her whispered conversations with the doctor, laced with her concern.

The sensation of the cloth soothing his skin, the way she kept his lips wet and dripped small amounts of water into his mouth.

Finally, as the first rays of the sun peaked into the window, he slipped into a deep sleep. When he woke, the sun was high in the sky, but he was no longer cold.

Instead, he was warm and more comfortable than he’d remembered being for a long time.

He opened his eyes and immediately found the source of his comfort. Tabbie lay curled into his side, fast asleep.

In the wide neckline of her gown, he could see the edges of her scars, marring her creamy skin. He wanted to trace the edges, soothe the marks away.

A creature this perfect should never have to suffer like that. Then again, perhaps the suffering had shaped the beautiful strong woman who lay at his side.

She lay on his uninjured side and, without thinking, he tried to lift his wounded arm to touch her face, but pain shot through his arm, and he hissed a breath through his teeth.

Her eyes popped open as she pushed up. “What’s the matter?”

“I tried to move my arm.”

“Why would you do that?”

“To touch your face,” he answered with a small smile. He’d use his other arm to do so if Tabbie wasn’t laying on it.

“You clearly hit your head when you fell off your horse.”

He laughed, a small sound that made his whole body hurt. “Why would you say that?”

“You’re not the sort that tenderly touches women’s faces.”

“Why would you say that?” he repeated.

“I saw you at the Guiltmores’ ball this past February.”

His brow furrowed. Guiltmore? The name sounded vaguely familiar, but as he spent most balls completely intoxicated, he had trouble differentiating.

He’d not had a drink in four months. He found he no longer missed it.

“You invaded my shadowy corner with a debutante, I think. Her name was Clarissa.” Her lip curled as she pushed up from the bed.

He missed her heat even as he grimaced at her words.

He had no recollection of a Clarissa, or to the event she referred, but he could only imagine how he’d behaved. “I’m sure Clarissa had a lovely time.”

“I think she did, right up until she realized you couldn’t remember her name.”

His mouth pressed into a thin line. He was certain he’d acted badly, he usually did. He’d add this new hurdle to the list of them that stood between Tabbie and himself. “It would be different for us.”

“I’m sure,” her voice dripped with sarcasm even as she grabbed a pitcher of water and filled a glass.

His mouth watered at the idea of a drink and she obliged, sliding a hand under his head and lifting it up, as she brought the glass to his lips.

He did feel weak this morning, but he could have held a glass. Still, he let her help him, enjoying the feel of her fingers in his hair.

She lay his head back down and he sighed out his contentment. She set down the glass and hesitated for a moment before she took a step back. “If your fever has broken, I need not stay.”

“But you could,” he replied, knowing that he was losing ground. He’d meant to come here and romance her into marriage. Instead, he was fairly certain he’d proposed in a fever-induced haze and she had all her guards up.

“Should I send up a tray for you?”

“And a bath,” he answered, tossing the covers off his body. He still wore his breeches, but his chest was bare, his arm bandaged.

“You should stay in bed,” she cried. “Let your body heal.”

“Perhaps you should stay with me,” he wagged his eyebrows. “And make certain I don’t exert myself.”

“What has gotten into you?” her brows drew together. “Do you still have a fever after all? Have you been drinking?”

“I’ve not had a drop in months.”

Her eyes went wide. “You jest.”

“I do not.”

“What happened?”

He swung his feet over the side of the bed. “It has been a trying year.”

And he’d met a woman who he knew was a different kind entirely. The sort who’d challenge him to be a better man.

Her tongue darted out to wet her lips. Exhausted and sore as he was, his entire body tightened at the sight of her pretty pink little tongue moving across the supple flesh. “I’m sure it has. Chasing down villains, taking over your club, and getting shot.”

“And I’ve met the most interesting lady.” Tabbie was the sort of beautiful that could make a man ache.

Gorgeous auburn hair, and a fiery spirit to match. She had large green eyes, a pert little nose, and the sort of lips that tempted a man to kiss them constantly.

He’d been drawn to her from the first.

And then there was the fact that she disagreed with him at every turn. Call him mental, but that was an affection he could understand.

“Whom did you meet?” she whispered, her hands clasping in front of her torso.

His smile turned wolfish…