Robyn Donald – Rich, Ruthless and Secretly Royal (страница 2)
About half an hour into the speeches, Hani blinked, then closed her eyes against the light from the flaring torches.
Cautiously she lifted her lashes, only to blink again as the flames splintered into jagged shards that stabbed into her brain. Heat gathered across her temples, while a dragging ache weighted her bones.
The fever had returned.
Don’t panic—just stay upright. Once they finish you can go.
For almost two months—ever since the last bout—she’d been so sure she’d finally managed to shake off this wretched bug. Fear hollowed her stomach; the last time she’d been ill with it the principal had told her that another bout would mean some months spent recuperating in a more temperate climate.
But she had nowhere to go, and no money…
Acutely aware of the silent woman at his side, Kelt Crysander-Gillan concentrated on the speeches. Although he couldn’t follow all the allusions, the Tukuuluan dialect was close enough to Maori for him to appreciate the sentiments and the aptness of the songs that followed each speaker.
Pity the council hadn’t waited another ten minutes or so to arrive. Then he’d have had time to introduce himself properly to the woman with the intriguing face and the aloof, reserved air.
Looking down, he realised that she was sneaking a glance at him from beneath her lashes. When their eyes clashed she firmed her luscious mouth and looked away, providing him with an excellent view of her profile.
Kelt switched his gaze back to the orator, but that fine line of brow and nose, the determined little chin and the sleek gloss of exquisite skin stayed firmly lodged in his mind.
An islander? No. Not if her eyes were as green as they seemed to be. And although her silky fall of hair gleamed like jet, a quick glance around the room confirmed that not a single Tukuuluan shared the red highlights that gleamed across the dark sheen. A staff member? Probably. When he’d come in she’d been talking to one of the teachers.
He’d already ascertained she wore no rings.
More than an hour after they’d arrived, the elders finally sat down, giving the signal for the celebrations to continue. Immediately the hall exploded in chatter, swiftly overwhelmed by the renewed staccato thump of the drums.
And the woman beside him turned without speaking and walked away.
An ironic smile pulled at the corners of Kelt’s mouth as he watched her. So much for the notorious Gillan pulling power! He couldn’t recollect any other woman flinching when he shook hands.
His gaze sharpened when she appeared to stumble. She recovered herself and stood with bowed head and slumping shoulders.
Without volition, Kelt took two steps towards her, stopping when she straightened up and set off into the hot, dark embrace of the night.
But something was definitely wrong. She wasn’t so much walking as lurching down the avenue of coconut palms, and while he watched she staggered again, managed another few steps, and then collapsed heavily against the trunk of the nearest tree.
Kelt set off after her, long legs eating up the distance. Once within earshot he demanded, ‘Are you all right?’
Hani tried to straighten up when she heard the deep, cool, aloof voice—very male. Even in her distress she was pretty sure she knew who was speaking.
Weakly she said, ‘Yes, thank you,’ humiliated to realise she sounded drunk, the words slurred and uneven. She probably looked drunk too, huddled against the palm trunk.
‘Can I get you anything?’ This time he sounded curt and impatient.
‘No.’ Just go away, she pleaded silently.
‘Drink or drugs?’
She longed for her usual crisp, no-nonsense tone when she responded, ‘Neither.’
Instead the word dragged, fading into an indeterminate mutter. Closing her eyes, she tried to ignore him and concentrate on staying more or less upright.
He made a disgusted sound. ‘Why don’t I believe that?’ Without waiting for an answer he picked her up as though she were a child and demanded, ‘Where were you going?’
Fighting the debilitating desire to surrender and just let him look after her, she struggled to answer, finally dredging the words from her confused brain. ‘Ahead—in house.’
He set off silently and smoothly, but by the time they reached her door Hani’s entire energy was focused on holding herself together long enough to take her medication before the fever crashed her into nightmare territory.
‘Where’s your key?’
‘B-bag.’ Her lips felt thick and unwieldy, and she said it again, but this time it was an inarticulate mutter. Dimly Hani heard him say something else, but the words jumbled around in her head.
Chills racked her shaking body as she whispered, ‘Cold…so cold…’
Unconsciously she curled into the man who held her, striving to steal some of his warmth. Kelt’s unruly body stiffened in automatic recognition and, swearing silently, he took the bag from her limp fingers. His arms tightened around her and he said, ‘It’s all right, I’ll get you inside.’
She didn’t appear to hear him. ‘B-bedside,’ she said, slurring the word.
She was shivering so hard he thought he heard her teeth chattering, yet she was on fire—so hot he could feel it through his clothes.
Kelt set her on her feet, holding her upright when she crumpled. He inserted the key and twisted it, picking her up again as soon as he had the door open. Once inside the small, sparsely furnished living room he found the light switch and flicked it on.
The woman in his arms stiffened, turning her head away from the single bulb. Her mouth came to rest against his heart, and through the fine cotton of his shirt he could feel the pressure of her lips against his skin.
Grimly, he tried to ignore his body’s consuming response to the accidental kiss.
Guessing that the open door in the far wall probably led to a bedroom, he strode towards it. Through the opening, one comprehensive glance took in an ancient institutional bed. A rickety lamp on the chest of drawers beside it seemed to be the only illumination.
He eased her down onto the coverlet, then switched on the lamp. Hannah Court gave a soft, sobbing sigh.
His first instinct was to call a doctor, but she opened her eyes—great eyes, darkly lashed, and yes, they were green.
Even glazed and unseeing, they were alluring.
‘Pills.’ Her voice was high and thin, and she frowned, her eyes enormous in her hectically flushed face. ‘T-top drawer…’
Kelt’s expression lightened a fraction when he saw a bottle of tablets; although he didn’t recognise the name of the drug, the dose was clearly set out, headed rather quaintly For the Fever.
He said harshly, ‘I’ll get you some water.’
When he came back her eyes were closed again beneath her pleated brows. She’d turned away from the light, rucking up her skirt around her hips to reveal long, elegant legs. Setting his jaw against a swift stab of desire, Kelt jerked the fabric down to cover her.
‘Hannah.’ Deliberately he made his tone hard and commanding.
Still lost in that region of pain and fever, she didn’t answer, but her lashes flickered. Kelt sat down on the side of the bed, shook out the right number of pills, and repeated her name. This time there was no response at all.
He laid the back of his hand against her forehead. Her skin was burning. Perhaps he should call a doctor instead of trying to get the medication inside her.
Medication first, he decided, then he’d get a doctor. ‘Open your mouth, Hannah,’ he ordered.
After a few seconds she obeyed. He put the pills onto her tongue and said in the same peremptory tone, ‘Here’s the water. Drink up.’
Her body moved reflexively, but she did as she was told, greedily gulping down the water and swallowing the pills without any problems.
She even managed to sigh, ‘OK—soon…’
Kelt eased her back onto the pillow and slipped the sandals from her slender, high-arched feet. She wasn’t wearing tights, and her dress was loose enough to be comfortable.
To his surprise she made a soft protesting noise. One hand came up and groped for him, then fell onto the sheet, the long, elegant fingers loosening as another bout of shivering shook her slim body with such rigour that Kelt turned away and headed for the door. She needed help, and she needed it right now.
He’d almost got to the outer door when he heard a sound from the room behind him. Turning in mid-stride, Kelt made it back in half the time.
Hannah Court had fallen out of the bed, her slim body twisting as guttural little moans escaped through her clenched teeth.
What sort of fever took hold so quickly?
When he picked her up she immediately turned into him, unconsciously seeking—what? Comfort?
‘Hannah, it’s all right, I’ll get a doctor for you as soon as I can,’ he told her, softening and lowering his voice as though she were a child.
‘Hani,’ she whispered, dragging out the syllables.
Honey? A play on Hannah, a pet name perhaps? She certainly had skin like honey—even feverish it glowed, delicate and satin-smooth.
His arms tightened around her yielding body and he sat on the side of the bed, surprised when the close embrace seemed to soothe her restlessness. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the intense, dramatic shivers began to ease.