He blinked a few times, each motion so slow that he was never quite sure if he’d get his eyes open again. He wasn’t wearing a shirt. Funny how he was only just realizing it. Funnier still that he couldn’t seem to summon any concern for her maidenly sensibilities.

She might be blushing. He couldn’t tell. It was too dark to see. But it didn’t matter. This was Honoria. She was a good egg. A sensible egg. She wouldn’t be scarred forever by the sight of his chest.

He took a gulp of water, and then another, barely noticing when some of it dribbled down his chin. Dear Lord, it felt good in his mouth. His tongue had been thick and dry.

Honoria made a little murmuring sound, then reached forward and wiped the moisture from his skin with her hand. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t have a handkerchief.”

He nodded slowly, something within him memorizing the way her fingers felt against his cheek. “You were here before,” he said.

She looked at him in question.

“You touched me. My shoulder.”

A faint smile tilted at her lips. “That was only a few minutes ago.”

“It was?” He thought about that. “Oh.”

“I’ve been here for several hours,” she said.

His chin bobbed a fraction of an inch. “Thank you.” Was that his voice? Damn, he sounded weak.

“I can’t tell you how relieved I am to see you up. I mean, you look terrible, but you look so much better than you did before. You’re speaking. And you’re making sense.” Her hands came up and she clasped them together, the gesture nervous and maybe even a little bit frantic. “Which is more than I can say for myself right now.”

“Don’t be silly,” he said.

She shook her head quickly, then looked away. But he saw her wipe a quick hand at her eyes.

He’d made her cry. He felt his head droop a little to one side. Just the thought of it was exhausting. Heartbreaking. He’d never wanted to make Honoria cry.

She . . . She shouldn’t be . . . He swallowed. He didn’t want her to cry. He was so tired. He didn’t feel like he knew much, but he knew that.

“You scared me,” she said. “I’d wager you didn’t think you could do that.” She sounded as if she was trying to joke with him, but he could tell she was faking it. He appreciated the effort, though.

“Where is Mrs. Wetherby?” he asked.

“I sent her to bed. She was exhausted.”

“Good.”

“She has been caring for you quite diligently.”