But was Nicholas any better? He had left her in harm’s way and had gone days without ensuring she was still safe. Of course, it was dangerous for him to show any undue interest in her, but he should have been more attentive. He would not make that mistake again.
After Henrietta had run away and broken their engagement, he’d never thought he could feel so much for a woman again. But he hadn’t even known what love was then. Love had been little more than his attraction to a pretty face and a lovely smile and what he had thought was that lady’s innocence and artlessness. He had been easily duped. But Miss Grey was much more than a pretty face. She had sense and understanding, moral fiber and compassion. He did not like remembering how she had attempted to influence him to like her cousin, while at the same time trying to attract that insipid Mr. Dinklage. But how could he blame her? Julia’s family had assured her she was destined to be a governess. It wasn’t as if Nicholas had expressed any particular interest in her—or had much to offer her. He had vowed not to marry for quite a while.
He sat down at the pianoforte. How many times had Miss Grey sat at this instrument? How many hours had her fingers touched these keys and brought forth music? He sat on the bench and ran his hands over the instrument. Then he noticed the music. These were Miss Grey’s own original compositions. He’d never known she wrote her own music.
“Mr. Nicholas?” Cora stood in the doorway.
He leapt out of his seat. “Is she better? May I see her?”
“I believe she is a little better after her long sleep.” Cora moved slowly up the steps, pausing to look back at him. “We persuaded her to eat. It is a mercy and a blessing, for she can’t get her strength back without eating. Even her color is better.”
Nicholas was anxious to see for himself, so anxious that he passed Cora on his way up the stairs, unwilling to wait for her.
Inside Miss Grey’s room, which was rather dim as her bed was shaded from the light of the fireplace, he called out softly, “It is Nicholas Langdon. May I come in?”
There was a hesitation and then a soft, “Yes.”
He stepped to her bedside, and Miss Grey smiled up at him, making his heart thump hard against his chest.
“I am so sorry to have been such a bother to you and Leorah . . .” she began. She stopped and took a heaving breath, as if it were both painful and difficult to breathe.
“Please, Miss Grey. You could never be a bother. And pray don’t talk if it pains you.”
She motioned weakly toward her throat, as if to apologize for her difficulty. Nicholas grabbed her hand in both of his, causing a look of surprise to flit over her face. He leaned over her.
“We will take care of you. You shall get the best care possible. Our own physician shall call every day, and Cora and Polly will stay here with you as long as you need them.”
She stared up at him, her lips parted and tears in her eyes, as if he had grown wings and a halo. Was it so hard to believe that someone could show her kindness and want to take care of her? His heart clenched inside his chest. But then, noticing her eyelids beginning to droop, he suspected that Cora had given her some medicine and that she wouldn’t be able to stay awake much longer.
Julia stared up at Mr. Langdon, the laudanum starting to pull her under again. She should ask him what was happening with the War Office and the information she had acquired for them. Instead, her heart fluttered at the sensations coming from his hand holding hers. It couldn’t be improper, since she was so sick.
He looked as if he hadn’t shaved in two days, but the dark shadow it created on his chin and above his lip was rugged and masculine and not without appeal. He stared down at her so intensely, she imagined she could feel his eyes delving into her own, infusing her with his compassion and warmth. His hand was so strong, and those brown eyes . . .
“Thank you,” she rasped, her eyelids closing.
Cora came into the room. Julia heard her voice as if it were coming from far away. She was in danger of saying something foolish if she spoke. But she forced her eyes back open so she could look at him again. He was still leaning over her, still holding her hand. His grip was warm and gentle.
Cora was saying something about her falling asleep, that sleep was good for her. She tried to stay awake for him. She hadn’t thanked him properly for bringing Cora and Polly and saving poor Kitty from caring for her by herself. But she couldn’t make her mouth work. She took one last look at him through half-closed eyelids.
A moment later, something soft and warm pressed against her forehead. It felt like a kiss.
After three days, Julia was still so weak she could hardly walk across her room before becoming exhausted. At least she no longer thought she was dying.
Leorah and Nicholas Langdon had called on her every day. They would talk to her and tell her not to speak, as talking made her cough. Finally, on the third day, Leorah left the room to go fetch a book for her, and Julia was alone with Nicholas Langdon.