Lord, you’re burning up,” he said, his voice raised in alarm.
“I think I may be ill,” she said faintly.
“Oh really?” he asked, a touch wryly. “Come, let’s get you back to the house.”
The house was about fifty yards away, but she began panting at the prospect of the walk.
She started forward, resting more of her weight on his arm than she intended. With a swiftness that left her gasping, he hoisted her up in his arms, high against his chest.
“No,” she said—a feeble protest a man with any sense of gallantry and the strength to carry eight stone would ignore. “Please put me down, I can walk just fine on my own.” Another roll of her belly had her promptly dropping her head back on his shoulder as her entire body contracted sharply against the breath-stealing pain.
“You don’t even have the strength to hold up your head and you think I will permit you to walk. What you need is your bed and a physician.”
Amelia closed her eyes and inhaled the frosty air. She had never been particularly fond of physicians. Hélène was apt to take better care of her. But her protests would be futile. Much like his friend, Lord Alex looked like a man rarely refused anything. Both men carried themselves with an inherent arrogance, but could command goodwill without a word.
It took him only a few minutes to cover the required distance, carrying her as if she weighed nothing at all. They entered the house through the rear and were immediately enveloped in its warmth.
“You can put me down now,” she murmured, her eyes fluttering open.
“I will put you down when—”
“What is going on?”
In unison, their heads jerked in the direction of the viscount’s steely quiet tones. He loomed just outside the billiard room, his expression containing all the outrage of a husband catching his wife with her lover.
“Send for a physician. Lady Amelia is ill.”
At his friend’s barked command, Thomas strode swiftly toward them, placing himself in the direct path to the staircase.
Lord Alex’s black brows drew over narrowed grey eyes. “Move aside, man. I’m taking her to her chamber.”
Thomas’s gaze flew to take in Amelia’s wan visage. Her eyes fluttered, the spread of dark lashes fanned above the crest of her cheekbones.
“Give her to me,” he demanded, his hands already reaching for her.
Cartwright’s mouth formed a tight, displeased line as he pulled her tighter against his chest. “Damn it, man, I have her. Just direct me to her bedchamber.”
What bloody gall! And damn if he needed Cartwright’s permission. Amelia was his. His guest, he quickly corrected. He and he alone was responsible for her. “I will take her.” His words came out a growl. And since Cartwright remained unwilling to give Amelia to him, Thomas took her, extricating her smoothly from his friend’s arms.
Cartwright relinquished her without another word of protest. He did one better. He watched him, all sober-faced and assessing.
With Amelia securely in his arms, Thomas studiously ignored him and headed for the stairs. He ascended to the first floor with swift, sure steps.
He glanced down at her again to find her peeping up at him. “You needn’t act like such a boar. He was being a gentleman. In any case, you can put me down. I’m quite capable of walking unassisted. It’s nothing more than a bellyache and perhaps a touch of a fever.”
“We’ll let a physician determine that,” he said grimly.
In her chamber, he placed her gently on the bed. Seconds later, Amelia’s maid came rushing to her bedside, anxiously peering at Amelia from behind him.
“Oh, mon Dieu, qu’est qui s’est passé? Monsieur says zu are ailing. What ‘as ‘appened to mademoiselle?”
“Your mistress is unwell. Find Alfred and have him send for the physician.”
“Monsieur has already sent for a physician.”
By monsieur, Thomas assumed she meant Cartwright, whom he was relieved to see was nowhere in sight.
“Mademoiselle, iz it your belly? Your appetite has not been right.”
Amelia nodded slowly. “And some dizziness, but I’m sure it’s nothing a day in bed won’t cure.”
The maid sighed softly, then turned and made her way to the adjoining bathing room.
Thomas’s gaze flew to Amelia. He began to mentally catalogue her symptoms. Dizziness and stomach pains? Brought on by what, nausea? Suddenly the possible cause of her illness had his stomach dropping and his head spinning.
“Are you with child?” Behind his harshly bitten-out question lay a fear so distasteful he found it hard to swallow.
Her eyes rounded. “Good Lord, you shall always think the worst of