A Royal Secret

CHAPTER NINE

"Forgive me." He saw her face then, leaning over him with distress clouding her features.

"It would seem that you were right," he smiled, reaching forward to brush her cheek. When his fingers touched her cheek, he felt that odd feeling again, only this time, he knew what it was; a longing.

"R—right?"

He nodded. "Men are not immune."

A thin smile curved her lips, and Jeffery suddenly desired to kiss them. "I am not pleased to see you in this state. It is the one time I do not wish to be correct."

He returned her smile and closed his eyes as she pressed the wet rag to his forehead once more. Once Rose was done wiping his skin with a wet rag, she forced him to eat the bowl of curry soup that was brought into his chambers that evening. Reluctantly, he managed a few spoons, but was soon throwing up once more.

He lay in bed, frustrated, as he watched Rose clean the carpet.

"The maids can do that," he hissed.

She paused from the work before her and turned to him. "It will take the maids a while to get here and by then, the carpet will be ruined."

He understood her explanation and suddenly felt ashamed for lashing out at her. "Forgive me."

"For what?"

"Being a burden."

Placing the rag back in the bowl, she rose to her feet and came to stand by his bedside. "You are no burden," she said, brushing his hair to the side. "You simply caught a cold to prove me right," she teased.

Jeffery smiled then. "Perhaps I did it on purpose?"

"Perhaps." She nodded.

"I feel useless," he admitted. It had been an entire twenty-four hours of being confined to the bloody bed. His head ached, and he felt terribly nauseous.

"The feeling shall pass in a few days."

He groaned. "It doesn't feel like it."

"Perhaps some tea will make you feel better?"

Jeffery didn't think so. He imagined it would do nothing but make him even more nauseous. He shook his head. "I would rather not."

"It will ease your nerves and headaches. I shall brew it myself."

"Then who shall sit with me?" he thought, staring at her.

Color sprang to her cheek, setting her entire face on fire as her gaze fell to the floor. It was only then that Jeffery realized his lips had betrayed his heart.

"I won't be long, Jeffery," she whispered after a second of awkward silence.

"Of course," he blamed the fever for his foolery; his sudden vulnerability and desire for her presence.

He waited until she had left the room before turning over to his side, his limbs aching. His head still pounded with a persistent headache, and his nostrils were clogging up. Miserable, he drifted to sleep for what felt like a second before he was rudely awakened by a male voice in the room.

"You look like shit," Edward said. Jeffery could have recognized that voice even in a coma.

"That's a polite way of putting it," he groaned, turning over to the side where Edward stood towering over him.

"You are not contagious, are you?"

"Very," he admitted.

"Then I shall drop these off with your valet." He brandished a pile of paper. Jeffery couldn't say he remembered what they were for, but he imagined they had to do with his business. "I do not wish to get sick."