Excerpt
David’s heart lurched as the viscountess collapsed. “Chetney!” he barked. His secretary jumped, dropped the envelope he held, caught Viscountess Haliday and laid her down on the small, upholstered divan. David watched, never more aware of his inability to stand and capture the lady himself. Even after nearly two years, he wasn’t fully accustomed to others acting in his stead.
“Get some water,” David instructed as he wheeled himself to the divan.
She seemed unnaturally pale. He removed her hatpin and hat and brushed wavy dark hair from her forehead. Her cold, clammy skin worried him. He’d seen bleeding men shiver, seen their teeth chatter, and associated such pale, cold skin with serious infirmity. He glanced at her narrow waist, wondered if he should loosen her corset. To do so would necessitate removing her bodice, and he certainly didn’t want to do that.
Her eyelids fluttered and relief eased his tenseness. They lifted, revealing her incredible violet eyes. In the days since the ball, he’d convinced himself he must have imagined their color, since he’d never seen anything like them. But they were just as beautiful as he recalled. They were also a bit hazy and unfocused.
He tugged off one of her gloves and found her skin dry, though it remained cool. He held her hand and rubbed his thumb across her palm. “Lady Haliday?”
As if following the sound of his voice, her head turned toward him.
“Ma’am? Are you all right?”
Her chest rose; her fingers wrapped around his thumb. “I feel so silly,” she murmured. “I didn’t eat today. My stomach was just too jumpy.” She blinked and gradually her expression sharpened. Her gaze rose to his face, fell to his wheelchair, and returned to his features.
She’s too shocked to hide her feelings, he thought, and clamped his teeth together. Her fingers grew lax and released his thumb. She sat up, swinging her feet down in the same motion.
“You’ve been injured?” she asked.
He hadn’t been in his chair at the ball. Slowly, he shook his head. “It happened two years ago. I’m unable to stand or walk.”
He caught a glimpse of stark pain before her gaze dropped. Her fingers, trembling, pressed against her mouth. Silently, he swore. He’d yet to sicken a female with his useless legs, but Lady Haliday appeared to be the exception. He remembered the hunger of her mouth on his. This woman had populated more than one of his dreams since then.
“Chetney,” he yelled. Where in hell was the man?
Chetney hurried in, a glass in one hand and what looked to be brandy in the other. They exchanged looks.
“I don’t know where you got it, but it’s not a bad idea. See if you can locate a biscuit or two also, would you?” The brandy should get her blood flowing and warm her up. David took the glass from Chetney and offered it to the viscountess.
“Drink a little of this. It should make you feel a bit stronger.”
She took the glass and obligingly swallowed a sip. “I’m sorry to cause such bother.” Her eyes lifted and the compassion he saw in their purple depths almost knocked him over. She took another drink—a larger one this time—and coughed.
Anger gripped him and he rolled his chair back, putting a couple of feet between them. The first woman who’d breached his defenses, and she pitied him. How dare she—how dare she pity him? “What are you doing here?”
“If you’re Mr. Scott, then I’m to work for you.”