Secrets of an Accidental Duchess (33 page)

“Oh, God,” he choked. “Olivia?”

He urged the horse into a run, then reined in sharply at the head of the path. He swung off his mount, and leaving the horse standing, he rushed toward Olivia and the woman he recognized as one of the maids from Stratford House.

“Olivia?” he shouted.

She didn’t respond, but the maid was looking at him with wide, doe-like eyes. “Oh, sir. I’m so glad you’ve come. Miss Donovan… she’s so feverish, and she fainted, and—”

Max sank down beside Olivia’s limp form and scooped her against him. “Why didn’t you take her inside?” he snapped.

“I can’t,” the maid said. “I’ve called and called, but there’s no one home, and the door is locked. I’ve only just managed to get her out of the bush.”

“When did you arrive?”

“I don’t know, sir. It’s probably been a good half hour. We walked from town…”

God. Olivia burned against him, her skin heating through all their layers of clothing. She was so pale he could see the thin blue lines of her veins through her skin.

“She walked in this condition?”

“She didn’t tell me she was ill, sir.”

Max gritted his teeth. He was furious, but as tempting as it was, he couldn’t take it out on the maid. Lifting Olivia, he stood and strode toward the door of the house.

Holding her close against his body, he banged on the door. “Is anyone home?”

Though he was shouting, Olivia didn’t budge in his arms.

Nothing but dead silence came from inside the house. Quickly, Max assessed his options. He could take her back to Prescot or he could break in to Harper’s house. He knew Harper wouldn’t care about that—God knew he’d want his sister-in-law to have access to the house, especially if she was in the throes of fever. If Max returned her to Prescot, there would likely be a doctor on hand, but she’d be relegated to staying in one of the inn’s small rooms, which wouldn’t be as comfortable as a bedroom in the house.

He glanced back at the maid. “We’re going inside. If we can’t find a way to get in easily, I’ll break down the door.”

She wrung her hands. “Yes, sir.”

He probably should relinquish Olivia to the maid, but his body simply didn’t want to. He found himself drawing her closer against him. He stepped back and circled the house, directing the maid to try each of the windows before he did. He confirmed that they were all locked. The back door was locked as well, and the door leading outside from the kitchen pantry. Max assessed all three entrances to the house, then determined that the pantry door would be the easiest to break down.

He shrugged out of his coat awkwardly and instructed the maid to lay it over a patch of grass that had survived the winter freezes and was somewhat soft-looking. After she smoothed it over the grass, he gently laid Olivia upon it.

He stood, staring down at her for a second. Panic welled, like a swirling hole of darkness, inside him. She looked so helpless, so colorless and weak. So sick.

Swallowing hard, he turned away. He needed to focus. She needed shelter. She needed a doctor. She needed a bed, food, clean clothing, warm blankets.

He stared at the door for a second, then kicked it in, splintering the area around the latch.

He returned to Olivia and scooped her once again into his arms. The maid retrieved his coat and quietly followed him inside.

He carried her through the pantry and kitchen, finding himself in a dining room separated from a parlor by a small entry hall and a set of stairs. He climbed the stairs to find two bedrooms off the landing. He went into the larger room, which was well furnished with a large bed, a clothes press, two comfortable-looking chairs, and a dressing alcove.

Instructing the maid to start a fire, he gently laid
Olivia on the bed and sat beside her, placing his palm on her burning forehead.

“Olivia?” he murmured. “Sweetheart? Can you wake up?”

She made a small moaning noise, and she shifted slightly, but she didn’t wake. Max stared at her for a moment longer, then turned to the maid, who was standing behind him, waiting for instruction.

God knew he didn’t want to leave Olivia. But it was almost dark, and he wouldn’t send a young woman into a town unknown to her at this time of day.

“I need you to stay with your mistress. If she wakes, tell her I’m here, and that I’m taking care of her.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Don’t leave her side. I’m going to Prescot to find a doctor. I’ll return shortly.”

The maid nodded.

Max turned back to Olivia. He bent down to her and brushed his lips over her earlobe. “I’ll be back soon, sweetheart.”

Grabbing his coat, he hurried downstairs, unlocked the front door, and found his horse wandering a ways down the lane. Poor creature was tired from the day’s ride and needed a brush-down, but that would have to wait.

In Prescot, he returned to the inn first, which, at dusk, seemed to be the center of activity in the town. He burst into the downstairs tavern, causing curious faces to turn in his direction.

“I need a doctor,” he announced. “Does anyone know where I might find one?”

The patrons of the tavern passed curious looks back
and forth, but no one answered until the innkeeper he’d met earlier came hurrying up to him.

“Your Grace,” he said. The announcement of Max’s title caused the onlookers’ eyes to widen. “How can I help you?”

“There’s a lady who’s very ill with malaria—”

“Malaria?” The innkeeper frowned, as if he’d never heard the word before. Perhaps he hadn’t.

“And she requires a doctor. Immediately,” Max added.

A line appeared between the innkeeper’s silver-frosted brows. “Well, sir, we have a doctor, but I believe he’s gone to Liverpool to visit with family—”

“You have
a
doctor? One doctor?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Only one?”

“Yes, sir. Prescot isn’t a very large town, you see.”

Max pressed his lips together. “I require a rider to carry a message to Liverpool. I need the best doctor in Liverpool here by midnight. At the latest.”

No one responded until he pulled his purse from the inside of his coat pocket, stood beside an empty table, and started pouring coins onto the wooden surface. In his periphery, he saw figures rising, walking toward him.

“I can do it, sir.”

Max turned, narrowing his eyes to assess the man who’d approached him. He was short and stocky, with a round face and an honest look about him. “Your name?”

“Peebles, sir. Wat Peebles.”

“Very well, Mr. Peebles.” He gestured to the chair opposite him. “Have a seat.”

Peebles sat, and so did Max, although he didn’t want to be sitting. He wanted to be rushing back to Olivia. The
serving girl came by, and he ordered Peebles some ale, then gave the man his instructions. “When you locate the doctor, tell him that the lady suffers from malaria, and to bring…” He hesitated, hoping to hell that he’d get the name of her medication right. “Quinine.”

“Quin-ine,” Peebles repeated.

“Will you remember that?”

“Yes, sir.”

Max gazed at him, assessing. He believed him, but he called for a pen and ink and wrote it down for the man just in case. He also penned a quick letter to the doctor. Max had never thrown around his new title before, but he knew the weight of it would mean something, would induce people to move faster than they usually would, so he signed the letter with his full title.

As he handed the letter to Peebles, he said, “Tell him that the Duke of Wakefield has sent for him and will reward him handsomely if he has a hand in contributing to the lady’s recovery.”

“Aye, sir. I’ll tell him, sir.”

“Good.” He rose with final instructions for Peebles to bring the doctor to Harper’s house on the outskirts of the town. He gave the man a generous portion of the agreed-upon sum, promising the remainder upon his return to the house before midnight.

Together, Max and Peebles left the tavern and went into the stables. Max wanted a look at Peebles’s horse, to make sure the animal was up for heavy night riding.

“He’s a young gelding, sir,” Peebles assured him. “Strong as can be, and he’s had a full day’s rest since I arrived in Prescot yesterday.”

Max checked the animal over, finding him more than
acceptable. Certainly more able to perform the feat of riding hard than his own mount would be tonight.

He instructed the stable master to see Peebles off, then stabled his own horse to rest for the evening and borrowed one of the inn’s horses for the return ride out to Harper’s house.

It was full dark now, and though he carried a lantern, he couldn’t ride as fast as he would have liked. The road was rutted and uneven from the winter storms of the past months, but the horse seemed to sense his anxiousness, and held a pace faster than Max would have chosen at any other time.

He arrived at Harper’s house in a few minutes. Behind the house was a small stable, where he put the horse, quickly unsaddling it before leaving it for the evening and rushing inside, taking the stairs two at a time in the dark house.

He slowed when he saw the soft light glowing from beneath the door of the room where he’d left Olivia. Taking a deep breath, he pushed the door open.

The maid, who was sitting in the armchair nearest the bed, jumped up in surprise. “Oh, sir, it’s you!”

But he was looking at Olivia’s still figure, relieved to see the blankets move in just the faintest rise and fall with her breath. “Did she wake?” he asked in a low voice.

“No, sir. She’s been fast asleep.” She frowned in Olivia’s direction. “She’s still burning with fever, but she’s started trembling. As if she’s frozen cold.”

Max strode to the side of the bed. Olivia lay on her side, clutching her knees to her chest. The maid had stripped off her pelisse, dress, and petticoats, and she was clothed only in her chemise. The room was warm—the
fireplace coals glowed with heat—but gooseflesh rippled over Olivia’s exposed arm.

Hell, Max knew nothing about doctoring. Besides a few mild colds, he’d never been sick in his life. But if he were Olivia, he imagined that it would be comforting to feel warm. “See if you can find a brick to heat downstairs. And assess what food is in the house. If there’s any broth, or anything you might be able to heat to give her, do that. Otherwise, send up some wine or brandy.” He realized he’d probably have to send for food from the inn and cursed himself for not having thought of that when he’d been in town. They didn’t have a cook here, and Olivia’s maid couldn’t be expected to do everything.

“Yes, sir.” Taking one of the candles she’d lit, the maid turned to exit the room.

“Thank you,” he said after her. She closed the door, and Max turned back to Olivia to finding her shaking visibly now.

Max pulled off his boots, his coat, and his shirt. Clad only in his trousers, he climbed in beside Olivia and drew her close. “Here, sweetheart,” he murmured, pulling her back against his chest. “Let me warm you.”

She seemed to sink into him, relaxing a little in her sleep, murmuring something unintelligible. He stroked her coppery hair back from her face, feeling the hot, dry burn of her skin under his fingertips.

Don’t die, Olivia. Please don’t die.
He nuzzled his lips into her hair and closed his eyes.

He hated this—this feeling of helplessness, of terror. Would she ever wake up?

Where was the damned doctor?

It would be a few hours yet, certainly. There was nothing to do but wait… and hope she didn’t get any worse.

Olivia shifted. She hurt all over. And she couldn’t determine whether she was hot or cold.

Hot, she decided. She began to kick off the heavy blankets covering her and the solid lump—a brick?—burning at her feet.

“Olivia?” The voice at her ear was warm, reassuring… and masculine.

Still half asleep, she tried to smile. “Max,” she murmured. Just the thought of him made her smile. If he was nearby, he’d take care of her.

She blinked, opening her eyes, remembering. She wasn’t anywhere near Max. She was in Prescot with her maid, on the walk leading to the house where her sister and Lady Fenwicke were staying. And the last thing she remembered was her vision blurring as she’d realized no one was coming to help.

Yet here she was, in a comfortable bed, in a warm room. She struggled to turn over.

“Careful, now.”

It was Max’s voice. She was certain of it. Moving her head felt like she was moving a lump of painful, solid granite, but she turned anyhow.

Max lay beside her, gazing at her with concern etched in deep lines across his forehead. She reached her heavy arm and touched his skin to smooth out the lines.

“Max?” she whispered, her voice emerging sounding grating and strange. “Is it really you? Are you really here?”

“Yes, I’m here.”

“How… How did you… Did you follow me?” She winced and swallowed. Her throat hurt.
She
hurt.

“I heard you left London.” He brushed a knuckle over her cheek. How was it that his touch felt so good when the rest of her felt so terrible? “I wanted to make sure you were all right.”

“I’m glad you came,” she said. Then she remembered where she was. “Where are Jessica and Lady Fenwicke?”

“I don’t know, sweetheart. There was no one here but you and your maid when I arrived.”

“That’s odd.”

“Perhaps they returned to Sussex?”

“Perhaps,” she said, but something niggled inside her, something she couldn’t bring into clear focus.

“We’ll find out where they’ve gone,” Max said. “As soon as you’re better.”

“I’m having a fever from the malaria.”

“I know, sweetheart.”

Panic rushed over her all of a sudden, and she grabbed his arm. “I don’t have any quinine. I gave all that I had to Lord Fenwicke.”

“It’s all right,” he said soothingly. “The doctor should be here soon. I told him to bring some medicine for you.”

She relaxed, smiling at him. Even the small motion of holding his arm had left her breathless. “Thank you.”

She heard the click of an opening door, and Max turned. It was Cora.

“I found some eggs, so I made an egg soup,” the maid said. “And some wine.”

Max looked back at Olivia. “Will you have a little soup?”