She looked at him then. “He asked you while you were delirious. He pretended to be the ghost of Christmas future, promised dire retribution if you didn’t cough up the goods, and you blurted it out like a man with a secret.”
He wasn’t sure he’d ever heard her say so many things in one sentence.
He imagined his cousin had greatly enjoyed his role as reproving ghost. Perhaps there was something to be grateful for that it had been Cameron in the role and not some damned ghost in truth. In his delirium, though, he likely wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference.
“Unsurprising,” was all he could manage to say, though he supposed it was a particularly lame comment on the whole situation, a situation that was absolutely untenable. His arm was killing him, which led him to wonder briefly if he shouldn’t have had a proper doctor look at it. His computer had been compromised—with help, apparently—by a woman who was too polite to tell him to get over himself.
And he still had lace where it shouldn’t have been, but he was honestly not at all sure he would manage to get to it before someone else did.
He decided that perhaps the best thing he could do was get himself back to bed and rest for the afternoon. He took a deep breath, then pushed himself to his feet.
He supposed, looking at it in hindsight, it was the deep breath that had been unwise. Perhaps he should have fortified himself with several, as well as a lad on either side to keep him upright. Instead, what he had was Samantha Drummond, doing her best to make sure he didn’t destroy the coffee table.
She caught him before he fell. He supposed it was just dumb luck that the table was topped with marble instead of glass. As it was, he heard something give under the weight of his knee on it. A porcelain saucer, perhaps.
“Sorry,” he gasped.
She put her arms around him and simply held on to him, cleverly avoiding his shoulder. “Breathe,” she suggested.
He supposed that was good advice. He didn’t want to rest his chin on her shoulder, but in his defense, he was not at his best at present. He patted her back, because his hand was there and it seemed like a friendly thing to do.
“I think I’m going to be ill,” he wheezed.
“Please not down the sweater,” she said. “It’s cashmere.”
“Textile snob.”
She laughed a little. “If you only knew.” She simply stood there for a bit longer, apparently having to brace herself solidly to keep him from pitching forward onto her. “How are you?”
“Still considering ruining your sweater.”
“You know, you might feel better if you didn’t talk so much.”
He would have laughed, but it was simply beyond him at the moment. Instead, he did as she had suggested and simply breathed until he thought he could make it back to his bed.
“Better,” he managed.
She put one hand on his good shoulder, then the other on his chest and held him steady until he could right himself. He was afraid he found it quite impossible to stay on his feet without holding on to her, even with the coffee table sitting between them.
It didn’t bode well for his evening.
“I feel better,” he announced weakly.
“Sure you do. Here, let’s get you back to bed.”
He found he simply didn’t have the strength to argue with her. It was taking all his energy just to keep his gorge where it belonged.
He didn’t fight her when she eased around the table, then drew his good arm over her shoulder. He was fairly sure he’d gasped out an apology or two, but it was entirely possible he’d imagined that.
Samantha stopped him just inside his bedroom. “Bathroom?”
“Egads, woman,” he gasped, “my dignity.”
“Which will be more seriously damaged if I have to rescue you with your trousers down around your ankles.”
He wasn’t quite sure there was any farther south he could travel when it came to his pride, so he nodded, accepted her as a crutch, then stumbled along with her to the loo.
Five minutes later thanks to sheer determination, he got the door open and managed not to fall into her arms.
“You look green.”
“I feel worse.”
“Back to bed with you, then.”
He wasn’t about to argue. He managed to get himself flat without ripping open his shoulder, but he supposed that was more Samantha’s doing than his. She peered at his shoulder.