pain and make him sleep. Call for me if he worsens.”
“Thank you, Mr. Anderson.” Harry took the bottle and then glanced over at Emma.
“Harry?”
“I’m sorry, Emma.” He bowed his head and quickly wiped at his face as if brushing away tears.
“Can I see him?”
“He is sleeping. The surgeon gave him a heavy dose of laudanum.”
“I’ll stay with him tonight,” Emma said. “Get some rest. If there is any change, I will let you know.”
Emma walked into the dimly lit room and gasped. Simon lay perfectly still on the bed. His face was whiter than she’d ever seen. Pulling up a chair to the bed, she dampened a cloth before placing it on his forehead. She lifted the dressing from his wound with shaking hands. The stitches were neat, and the wound clean. She covered it up and returned to her seat.
She couldn’t lose him.
Rake or not, he was part of her life. Part of her family. And quite possibly the only man she would ever love. What would her life be like without him? Empty. Unfulfilled. Unloved.
He understood her. He was the only person she’d ever felt like herself with whether she was angry, sad, or happy. Her eyes welled with tears as she relived the past month with him.
She loved him so much.
All the men she loved seem to slip through her fingers. Her father, while still alive, she’d thought him dead for years. Even now, they only saw each other at Christmas. Then there was Bolton. Knowing how deep her feelings were for Simon, she couldn’t say she genuinely loved her former fiancée. But she’d had affection for him. Until he rejected her, leaving her to the derision of the ton.
None of those losses felt even close to how she would feel if he...she couldn’t think the word. She had to stop thinking this way. Determination flowed into her as she stared down at his pale form. She would do everything in her power to save him. She flipped the cloth on his forehead and waited.
Over the next few days, she spent much of her time in Simon’s room, caring for him. Harry or Louisa would relieve her for a few hours of restless sleep. Simon woke for only short amounts of time, in which she attempted to get some broth down him. By the fourth day, Emma touched his cheek and couldn’t stop the tears from falling.
“Emma?” Louisa asked as she opened the door. She stopped midstride when she noticed Emma’s tears. “What’s wrong?”
“A fever.”
“No!” Louisa rushed over to the bed and felt his forehead. “He’s not terribly warm.”
Emma knew it didn’t matter. A crushing weight pressed on her heart, knowing that fevers meant infections. “Call the surgeon back. Maybe there is something he can do.”
Louisa nodded and strode from the room.
While she was gone, Emma refreshed the water and placed a cool cloth on his forehead and the back of his neck. “Simon, you have to fight this. I will not lose you.”
He groaned as if he understood her words. Watching him suffer was slowly killing her. Every time the laudanum wore off, he started to moan in pain.
Emma glanced over at the door as Louisa returned. “Well?”
“A footman ran to get Mr. Anderson,” Louisa replied. “I came to give you a break. Why don’t you try to get some sleep?”
Her damn tears started again. “I cannot, Louisa. I can’t leave him.”
Louisa clutched Emma’s shoulders and pulled her away from Simon. “You are going to make yourself ill. I’ll be here. Now, go rest.”
Emma returned to her bedroom but couldn’t sleep. She paced the room until she heard the surgeon’s footsteps getting close. Without a thought, she followed him into Simon’s bedchamber.
“Miss Drake, it is highly inappropriate that you are in the room while I exam Mr. Kingsley.” The stuffy man placed his small valise down on the bedside table.
“She stays, Mr. Anderson.” Louisa’s order brooked no denial.
Emma almost smiled at her sister’s imposing tone.
“As you wish, Your Grace.” The surgeon inspected the wound and shook his head.
“What is wrong?” Emma whispered.
He turned toward with a scowl. “I am not sure yet. The stitches are fine. There is a slight redness to the incision, but that’s normal. I fear I cannot account for his fever.”
Emma fought to catch her breath. “What does that mean?”
“It means the wound is not infected. I’m sorry to say it most likely means his blood is.”
Emma sank into the chair. “Even I know that is terrible.”
Louisa glared at the doctor.
“I am