Page 45 of The Spinster and Her Rakish Duke (The Athena Society #3)
Percy. His nephew. Matthew’s son. The boy he had sworn to protect, to raise with the kindness that had been so absent from his own childhood. He could not stomach the idea that anything terrible should happen to him.
The journey to Lord Norfeld’s townhouse passed in a blur of anxiety, each clatter of the carriage wheels against cobblestone marking another moment that Percy might be suffering without him.
When they finally arrived, Ewan did not wait for the footman to lower the steps but leapt down himself, striding toward the entrance with such urgency that the butler barely had time to open the door.
“Where is my nephew?” he demanded without preamble.
“Upstairs, Your Grace. The blue guest chamber.” The servant’s expression betrayed genuine concern. “Her Grace and Dr. Middleton are with him now.”
Ewan took the stairs with the same reckless haste that had carried him from his own home, his usually measured steps abandoned in the face of fear for Percy’s wellbeing. The door to the blue chamber stood partially open, warm lamplight spilling into the darkened hallway beyond.
He paused at the threshold, momentarily arrested by the scene within.
Percy lay upon the bed, his face unnaturally flushed against the crisp white pillows, his normally animated features slack with exhaustion or perhaps pain.
Beside him, Samantha bent close, applying a cool cloth to his forehead with gentle precision.
Her auburn hair had escaped its pins to tumble about her shoulders, and her elegant gown bore evidence of the day’s events—a smear of what appeared to be blood on one sleeve, a tear in the delicate lace at the hem.
She looked up at his entrance, her blue eyes widening with a mixture of relief and apprehension. “Ewan,” she said softly, her voice carrying none of the coldness he might have expected after their parting. “Thank heavens you’ve come.”
He crossed to the bedside in three long strides, his gaze fixed on Percy’s ashen face. “What happened?”
“There was an incident at the exhibition,” Samantha replied, her voice carefully measured. “Lord Comerford made certain… insinuations that Percy felt compelled to challenge.”
“Comerford?” Ewan’s hand clenched involuntarily at his side, the name tasting bitter on his tongue. “What insinuations?”
Before Samantha could answer, Percy stirred, his eyes fluttering open with visible effort. “Uncle Ewan?” he murmured, his usually vibrant voice reduced to a rasp. “You came.”
“Of course I came,” Ewan replied, kneeling beside the bed to bring himself to Percy’s eye level.
He reached out, hesitated, then gently brushed a lock of damp hair from his nephew’s forehead.
The heat radiating from his skin sent a fresh jolt of alarm through Ewan’s system.
“What were you thinking, engaging Comerford in such a manner?”
A ghost of Percy’s usual smile flickered across his fevered features. “He spoke ill of you,” he whispered. “Said you were… like your father. Like Benedict. That cruelty runs in our blood.”
Something cold and hard settled in Ewan’s chest at these words. It was not anger, precisely, but a leaden certainty that his worst fears had been spoken aloud by the man who had already caused Samantha so much pain.
“You should not have risen to such obvious bait,” he said gently, though the tenderness in his voice belied the severity of his words. “Your reputation?—”
“Is intact, thanks to Lord Tenwick’s intervention,” Samantha interjected, her hand still moving soothingly across Percy’s brow with the cool cloth. “Though I fear the cut on his arm may be more serious than we initially believed. It has become inflamed, and the fever set in quite suddenly.”
Ewan’s gaze dropped to Percy’s bandaged forearm, now resting atop the counterpane. The white linen was spotted with a disturbing red stain that appeared to be spreading even as he watched.
“The physician?” he asked sharply, rising to his feet.
“Has been sent for again,” Samantha assured him. “Dr. Middleton attended earlier, but Percy’s condition has worsened since his departure. Jane has gone to fetch him personally.”
Percy’s eyes had drifted closed once more, his breathing shallow but steady. Ewan reached down to take his uninjured hand, alarmed at the unnatural heat that seemed to emanate from every inch of his nephew’s skin.
“This is my fault,” he said quietly, the words emerging unbidden. “Had I not driven you from our home with my stubbornness, you would not have been at Somerset House today. Percy would not have felt compelled to defend my honor.”
Samantha’s eyes lifted to meet his, surprise evident in their depths. “Ewan, you cannot possibly blame yourself for Comerford’s malice or Percy’s impulsiveness.”
“Can I not?” he countered, his voice rough with emotion he could no longer suppress. “I have failed at every turn. Failed to provide Percy the guidance he deserved. Failed to protect you from scandal and humiliation. Failed even to recognize… the precious gift I was offered in your affection.”
The raw honesty of his words seemed to hang in the air between them, neither quite prepared for such a naked confession in these dire circumstances. Samantha’s hand stilled on Percy’s forehead, her gaze searching Ewan’s face with an intensity that made his heart stutter in his chest.
“This is perhaps not the moment for such discussion,” she said finally, though something in her expression had softened, a hairline crack in the wall of reserve she had constructed since their separation.
Before he could respond, Percy stirred again, a low moan escaping his lips as he shifted restlessly upon the bed. “Hot,” he murmured, his eyes opening to reveal a glassy, unfocused gaze. “So hot.”
Samantha immediately dipped the cloth into the basin on the bedside table, wringing it out before applying it once more to his burning skin. “The fever is worsening,” she said, a note of fear threading through her composure. “Where is that physician?”
As if in answer to her question, the door opened to admit Jane, followed closely by a grave-faced man carrying a black leather satchel. Dr. Middleton nodded briefly to Ewan before moving to examine Percy with brisk efficiency.
“The inflammation has progressed more rapidly than I anticipated,” he observed, carefully unwrapping the bandage from Percy’s arm to reveal angry red flesh surrounding the jagged cut. “Was the implement that caused this wound clean? An iron railing, you said?”
“An ornamental railing at Somerset House,” Samantha confirmed, her face paling at the sight of the inflamed wound. “It appeared decorative rather than functional—quite possibly an antiquity itself.”
“Hmm.” The physician probed gently at the edges of the cut, eliciting another moan from Percy. “Infection has set in, as I feared. The metal may have harbored contaminants.”
“Can you treat it?” Ewan demanded, unable to keep the edge from his voice.