“Is that how long the marquis plans to be gone?”

“From the tone of his letter, I'd venture to guess that he plans to stay away as long as possible.”

“Well, I suppose we can do it. It's a big enough house.”

Blake closed his eyes. The entire county of Dorset wasn't big enough.

“Blake? Blake? Are you feeling quite all right? You look a bit flushed.”

“I'm fine,” he said.

“It's really quite remarkable how well you can enunciate even when you talk through your teeth. But still, you don't look at all the thing. Perhaps I ought to put you to bed.”

The room suddenly felt stiflingly hot, and Blake blurted out, “That is a very bad idea, Caroline.”

“I know, I know. Men make the worst patients. Can you imagine if you had to deliver babies? The human race should never have made it so far.”

He turned on his heel. “I'm going to my room.”

“Oh, good. You should. You'll feel much better, I'm sure, if you get some rest.”

Blake didn't answer her, just strode toward the stairs. When he reached the first step, however, he realized that she was still right behind him. “What are you doing here?” he snapped.

“I'm following you to your room.”

“Are you doing this for any particular reason?”

“I'm seeing to your welfare.”

“See to it elsewhere.”

“That,” she said firmly, “is quite impossible.”

“Caroline,” he ground out, thinking his jaw was going to snap in two at any moment, “you are trying my nerves. Severely.”

“Of course I am. Anyone would in your condition. You are clearly suffering from some sort of illness.”

He stomped up two steps. “I am not ill.”

She stomped up one step. “Of course you are. You could have a fever, or perhaps a putrid throat.”

He whirled around. “I repeat: I am not ill.”

“Don't make me repeat my statement as well. We're starting to sound rather childish. And if you don't allow me to tend to you, you'll only grow sicker.”

Blake felt a pressure rising within him—something he was quite powerless to contain. “I am not ill.”

She let out a frustrated sigh. “Blake, I—”

He grabbed her under her arms and hauled her up until they were nose to nose, her feet dangling helplessly in the air. “I am not ill, Caroline,” he said, his words clipped and even. “I don't have a fever, I don't have a putrid throat, and I damned well don't need you to take care of me. Do you understand?”

She nodded. “Could you possibly put me down?”

“Good.” He set her down on the floor with surprising gentleness, then turned and marched back up the stairs.

Caroline, however, was right behind him.

“I thought you wanted to avoid me,” he snapped, whirling around to face her once he reached the landing.

“I did. I mean, I do. But you're ill, and—”

“I'm not ill!” he thundered.

She didn't say anything, and it was quite clear she didn't believe him.