Page 45 of Two Blessings For His Duchess
“Nathaniel,” he responded, pushing back from his desk.
Euphemia raised her eyebrows. “I beg your pardon?”
Nathaniel stared at her for a long moment, his gaze lingering on her face. A faint, tired sigh slipped past his lips, and he dropped his hands to the desk.
“You do not need to call me ‘Your Grace,’ Euphemia,” he murmured. “I have been meaning to mention it to you a while back, but with everything happening, it kept skipping my mind. When we are alone like this... I would prefer it if you called me by my name. The same way I call you.”
Euphemia felt a sudden, familiar flutter in her stomach, the request catching her entirely off guard. She looked down at her shoes for a brief second, smoothing her skirts to hide the sudden rush of heat to her cheeks, before looking back up to meet his eyes.
“All right,” she whispered. She cleared her throat softly, determined to maintain her ground. “Is the business of the estate so demanding that it has required you to be so thoroughly consumed for two full weeks, Nathaniel?”
Nathaniel ran a hand over his face. He gestured vaguely to the mountains of parchment surrounding him.
“There has been a severe discrepancy discovered in the ledgers regarding our northern tenant farms,” he explained. “A local bailiff has been mismanaging the rents and crop yields for over a year, and the entire system has fallen into a state of chaotic ruin. If it is not rectified immediately, dozens of families will face destitution before the next harvest. I have had to personally audit every account and restructure the entire lease agreement from afar.”
Euphemia nodded slowly. Yet, as she looked at the tight line of his mouth and the dullness in his eyes, she could not simply let it drop.
“I see,” she said softly, her eyes scanning his drawn features. “But you do not look well. The tenants rely on your strength, yes, but you will be of no use to them if you collapse from exhaustion. Perhaps it is time you finally rest.”
Nathaniel rose to his feet, but the moment he stood completely straight, a sharp cough racked his chest. He winced, dropping a hand to the small of his back.
“It is nothing,” he rasped, trying to smooth over as he saw the immediate alarm flare in her eyes. “My spine is simply protesting. Sitting for hours on end, hunched over these ledgers, is enough to warp any man’s frame.”
Euphemia didn’t listen to his excuses. Shifting past the edge of the desk, she walked right over to him, her worry overriding every rule of propriety. Before he could utter another defensive word, she reached up and firmly pressed the back of her palm against his forehead.
Nathaniel froze mid-sentence, his jaw going completely slack as he stared down at her in absolute shock.
Her brow furrowed as the intense heat of his skin met her hand. She gasped, her eyes widening. “Nathaniel, you have a fever! You are practically burning.”
“I do not have a fever,” he countered automatically, though his voice lacked its usual bite.
“Unless the room itself has suddenly caught fire, you most certainly do,” she argued, keeping her hand pressed right there to prove her point. “You are completely flush.”
Nathaniel reached up, his large fingers wrapping around her wrist. He gently but firmly pulled her hand down away from his forehead, though he didn’t immediately let go of her arm.
“It is fine, Euphemia. I have only ever succumbed to illness twice in my entire life. I am certainly not sick now. I would know.”
“Then how do you explain this ridiculous heat?” she demanded, looking down at where his grip held her wrist, then back up to his eyes.
“I spent the early hours of the morning inspect —” He cut himself off with another dry cough, clearing his throat hastily. “I stayed too long under the sun while inspecting the southern stables. It is merely the heat of the day clinging to me.”
Euphemia let out a sharp, skeptical breath. “The sun set nearly two hours ago, Nathaniel. Unless you have somehow managed to trap the afternoon sun beneath your collar, that is a fever.”
“It is exhaustion, nothing more.”
Euphemia swallowed a frustrated sigh that was about to escape her lips. “Exhaustion does not make a man feel like a freshly baked loaf of bread straight from the hearth,” she shot back, with her eyes shut. “Just lay down for a moment.”
“I am a duke, Euphemia. I do not simply fall ill because of a difficult fortnight of work.”
“Oh, forgive me,” she said. “I was unaware that a peerage title acted as a shield against a common ague. Pray tell, does the fever know it is invading a ducal body, or should I write it a formal letter of eviction?”
A faint, reluctant glimmer of amusement danced in his exhausted eyes, though he stubbornly shook his head. “Your sarcasm is entirely unnecessary. I am perfectly fit to continue.”
“You are utterly impossible,” Euphemia said, letting out a low, defeated chuckle as she crossed her arms over her chest.
Nathaniel dropped his hands to the desk, his back flinching slightly as it protested the movement. “I am not trying to be impossible,” he countered, a tired but amused smile playing on his lips. “I am merely trying to assure you that there is nothing wrong, and that it is perfectly fine. As I told you, I would know if I were truly falling ill. I have only ever been sick twice in my entire life.”
Euphemia rolled her eyes, though a small smile tugged at the corner of her lips to match his. “That is hardly something to be bragging about, Nathaniel. It is impressive, I admit, but it is nota grand achievement that grants you immunity forever. All I am asking is that you just lay down and see how you feel after a nice, proper sleep.”
