“That’s why I’ve stayed in bed,” Fiona concluded. “See?”
“Good. Stay that way.” Giles’s hand finally left her forehead. Unfortunately, it slid down to her cheek instead so that he could study her face and check if her complexion was healthy. His grayish-blue eyes held her captive, and the newspaper fluttered out of her grasp.
Urk! Too close for comfort!
Being in her sickbed, she had little control over her appearance. Her face was washed but not made up, and her hair hung loose and messy. To be freshly awake and crusty, and have an ultra-gorgeous man study your face at close proximity… Words could not describe her embarrassment.
This is purely clinical! He’s just doctoring me! she thought frantically, trying to convince herself. But the sultry heat in Giles’s gaze was nothing like the elderly doctor’s critical eye. Ugh, I just got my fever down, and now it’s coming back with a vengeance!
“P-please,” Fiona said, “I’m fine!”
“Yes…I suppose you are.” Giles smiled, standing directly beside her bed, and the way his eyes and mouth crinkled made her heart pound against her ribs. She yanked the thin blanket all the way up to her neck and buried herself under it, in a desperate attempt to keep him from hearing what her heart was doing. His gaze shifted from her to the pile of newspapers strewn around her. “Aren’t your eyes tired?”
“I only just started reading, so no.”
Her answer didn’t entirely quell his worries, if his murmured “I see” was anything to go by.
Fiona would never have dreamed of ignoring her visitor to read, so she reached out to tidy up the papers—until Giles aimed a reprimanding stare at her bandaged hand. Obediently, she withdrew her hands and let Giles clean up the papers for her and set them on the side table. “Um, Lord Gil, your work—”
“I finished all my morning tasks. As for the afternoon…I’d rather not go, but I have a meeting.”
“The way you said ‘I’d rather not go,’ you sounded like Lord Russel.” Fiona giggled.
It was out of character for Giles, the diligent worker, to say anything reminiscent of what one would expect to hear from Richard. He was never this outspoken about his feelings before, and the change came as a surprise to Fiona. The familiarity of their relationship felt good, and she couldn’t hide her joy over it—but it also came with its fair share of danger.
“I often find things I must do a nuisance,” Giles lamented.
Fiona giggled again. “You certainly don’t show it.”
“Oh, yes, I’m careful to hide it.”
Fiona heard the implication buried in what he had said—that he only showed his true feelings to her—but she had no idea how to respond to it, so she skirted it entirely. “Yes, I suppose you are.”
They were interrupted then by a knock at the door—a welcome distraction. Oh, thank goodness! Fiona had woken up and was doing well, but Giles remained far too protective of her. He was probably being this handsy and attentive with her because she had fallen out the window right before his very eyes. The look of horror and despair on his face in that moment was still fresh in Fiona’s mind.
She knew it was only his subconscious wanting reassurance that she was all right, so she never resisted his touch. But it was hard on Fiona’s heart. Honestly, I could just die…
The servant who had interrupted them wheeled in a cart laden with lunch for two. At first, Fiona didn’t want it. While her fever had gone down, she was still not fully recovered, as Giles said; she had no appetite and had only had something to drink for breakfast. But when Giles made a show of enjoying the hot soup and fresh, juicy fruits, Fiona’s stomach finally seemed to remember that it was empty.
“Think you can eat?” he asked.
“Yes.”
The servant bowed out of the room. Fiona tried to slip out of bed, but Giles stopped her by pushing the tray of food over her blanket. Huh?
“Here,” Giles said.
“Uh…huh?”
Giles scooped up a spoonful of soup easily and elegantly and brought it to Fiona’s mouth. The warm, fragrant broth soothed her throat on its way down. But…what was Giles doing? She shrank backward and looked up at him. “I-I can feed myself, you know.”
“With those hands?”
Fiona looked down at her hands. They were both tightly bandaged, though in different places: her palm and thumb on her left, and the palm and every finger on her right. She had hurt her hands when she grabbed the knife from Gordon, and again when she cut her dress underwater. The deepest cut was on the palm of her right hand; the part of the wound that went from her thumb to her wrist had not yet closed, so it hurt when she moved it.
“I can hold my own spoon,” she insisted regardless.
“Stop arguing.”
Fiona had sustained her fair share of cuts and bruises from all the tumbling she did at the Clayburn barony as a child. These wounds were deeper, but they seemed no different to Fiona, who considered the bandages a bit much. But Giles and Miranda, who had assisted her at the White Palace, seemed to see things differently. Miranda was horrified that a young lady like Fiona had gotten so badly wounded. Thanks to her strict orders that Fiona not move until she was fully healed, Fiona was not allowed to do her hair or change her clothes by herself.
But…but this just won’t do, will it! Dressing and grooming the nobility was the servants’ job, so Fiona let them do it. But she couldn’t let the son of an earl spoon-feed her.
“Come on, you’ll spill it.”
“I-I can eat on my own—mm!”
If you’d just put the spoon back in the bowl, you wouldn’t spill, would you! Fiona thought, but before she could protest again, Giles slipped the spoon into her mouth. The soup was neither too hot nor too cold, and its rich, flavorful broth slid easily down her throat.