The Gift of Love (The Book of Love #8) - Meara Platt Page 0,75

is it?”

He removed his watch fob from his breast pocket. “Five o’clock.”

She pinched her lips. “He’s to get more laudanum in an hour. But I need to put a damp cloth on his forehead now.”

Ronan knew the note did not say anything about a compress since Dahlia’s uncle had discussed the instructions with him as he wrote them down. But he was sweating, and Dahlia was going to do her best not to alarm anyone. In all likelihood, this discomfort would pass.

He had closed his eyes but opened them now that Dahlia was seated on the bed, easing closer to place the cloth on his brow. She felt along his neck.

By her expression, he knew his skin was burning.

Damn it.

He wanted to marry her.

He wanted to spend a lifetime with her, and by lifetime he meant more than one bloody day.

By eight o’clock, George Farthingale was back. “Joshua, he needs to be put in an ice bath now.”

Miranda, Joshua, Finn, and Tynan were in the room with him, but his gaze sought Dahlia. “Where is she?”

If she was still in here, she was hidden by his family of giants.

“Dahlia’s downstairs grabbing something to eat,” Miranda said. “She hasn’t touched a bite since breakfast early this morning. I doubt she has the appetite, but she must get something in her, or Dr. Farthingale will have another patient to add to his list. Holly is looking after her. She’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Miranda’s eyes were red. Had she been crying?

Hell, was he dying?

He had no intention of going without the fight of his life. He did not care about this for himself. He’d chosen a life in the military, and it was a hazard of the job. But he could not leave Dahlia. How was he to protect her if he was gone?

Once the ice bath was prepared, Miranda left the room while his brothers and Robbie carefully carried him to the tub and ever so gently set him in it. He was so hot, he could feel the ice melt as it touched his skin. But the cold water felt good on his body.

He hadn’t washed up since reaching London. His hair could use a good scrubbing. “I need a washcloth and some sandalwood soap.”

Joshua growled. “Damn it, Ronan. What do you think this is? A Roman bath? There are no handmaidens to do your bidding. You are in here to get your fever down and keep you from convulsing.”

“Dahlia isn’t getting anywhere near you for a while,” Tynan said. “That unguent Dr. Farthingale will apply again once you dry off will have you smelling like moldy cheese.”

“Och, I’ll do it. The lad’s in love. If he wants clean hair, that’s what he’ll get.” Robbie surprised them all by kneeling beside him and carefully pouring water over his head. He then grabbed two soaps he found beside the ewer and held them out to him. “Ye have a choice. Do ye wish to smell like a rosebud or a stick of cinnamon? These must be Dahlia’s soaps.”

Finn laughed. “From the famous Oxfordshire Farthingale soap company. Yes, this one is definitely roses. And this other one is a cinnamon and apple blend.”

Tynan arched an eyebrow. “I’m impressed. You’ve become quite the fragrance expert.”

Finn shrugged. “It’s a hazard of being married to Belle. Now, I can’t help but think of scents. It’s the first thing that hits my brain. Which one will it be, Ronan?”

Ronan had a lot more to worry about than smelling like a woman. Besides, they always smelled delectable. Especially Dahlia. He could breathe her in for hours. “The cinnamon and apples.”

This was Dahlia’s scent.

Robbie patiently lathered his hair and then rinsed it out. Of all his friends, Robbie was perhaps one of the rowdiest of all. He was a hard-drinking, womanizing Scot who would not back down from a brawl. He often gave the impression of being shallow and careless. And yet, he was quite the opposite.

Ronan trusted Robbie with his life. He could think of no one finer to guard his back in battle. And now, the big Scot was proving to be a true friend in every sense of the word. Odd, how this simple gesture of washing his hair showed the character of the man.

Ronan did not remember being carried back to bed. Laudanum had a way of addling one’s senses. Perhaps he had passed out in the tub. But when he awoke, Dahlia was once again by his side, holding his hand in