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broth? You really need to keep your strength up.”
    He pushed himself to sit upright. Pain shot through his right ankle. “What the hell happened?”
    She set the bowl on the nightstand, beside the flowers, and grabbed his arm to help him. Her touch on his bare skin startled him, and that’s when he noticed he wore no shirt. She adjusted the pillows so that he could lean back. Her lemony scent filled his senses, and despite his predicament, he became acutely aware of the two of them alone in his bedroom—correction, her bedroom. It didn’t matter one whit that it was bright daylight outside.
    “Doc Sanford says your ankle is broken. The Misty Seas had a fire, and then there was an explosion—“
    “Freddy!”
    “He’s fine.” Her hands gently pushed back at this shoulders as he tried to rise from the bed again. “Well, not completely fine, but he’s recovering.”
    Her touch ignited a new kind of panic in his belly. He reached for the bowl of broth and began to eat to distract himself.
    “How bad is your pain?” she asked. “Can I give you something for it?”
    “No. I’ll be fine.”
    “Once you keep the broth down, I can make you a more substantial meal.”
    He nodded.
    She retrieved the wooden desk chair from the corner and moved it closer to the bed, then sat.
    “Will Mrs. Irwin tend to me?” he asked, knowing the question was rude.
    Alice furrowed her brows. He stared a moment longer than he should at her flushed cheeks, enticing rose-tinged lips, and blue eyes that reminded him of the sky on days he was on the wide open sea.
    “I’m your wife, James.” Her back became straighter. “I can tend to you.”
    Lord have mercy.
    He didn’t have the strength to argue at the moment as fatigue crept upon him. He put the edge of the bowl to his mouth and swallowed the remainder of the broth in one gulp.
    “Slow down,” she admonished, standing. “You’ll make yourself sick.” She took the bowl and spoon from him. “Is there anything else I can get for you?”
    “No. I think I might like to rest for a while.” And not imagine what lies beneath that cotton gown you’re wearing.
    “Of course.” She poured a glass of water from a pitcher and set it on the nightstand. Without warning, she placed the back of her hand to his forehead.
    His body jerked in response.
    “Easy now,” she said, placing her other hand on his bare shoulder. “You don’t feel feverish. That’s good.”
    There was more than one way to run a fever. She may as well have just touched him with a hot iron, so easily did his skin react to hers.
    She gathered the dishes on the tray, lifted it and left the bedroom, closing the door without looking at him.
    James let out a frustrated breath. He could still feel where her hand had all but imprinted onto his forehead and branded his shoulder. What would it be like to hold her, to kiss her, to...
    He pushed back the covers to examine his ankle. It was wrapped, so movement was restricted. He tried to shift it, but pain sliced through his lower leg. He was definitely bed-bound for several days.
    He lay back and stared at the ceiling.
    He would ask Frank to bring the books from the office.
    With luck, it would keep his mind off his wife.

 
    Chapter Eight
     
     
    J ames ran a fever during the night, and Alice checked on him frequently, finally remaining in the bedroom instead of returning to the servant’s quarters where she’d been living. She’d insisted that James be brought to his former bedroom. With more sunlight, it was more conducive to healing, and there was an inspiring view of the Sakonnet as an added bonus.
    The servant’s quarters were small, cramped, and a bit dingy. When she had more time, she would set to work freshening the room, although she hoped to convince James to remain in the upstairs bedroom with her.
    The thought made her stomach turn somersaults, as it always did.
    It didn’t help that the bed she’d slept in—his bed—smelled of him, a sharp musky