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I strongly advise it.”
    Eliza racked her brain, trying to remember if the Evensong Agency had any nurses available. Even if they did, the agency wouldn’t open for hours and her need was rather immediate. People would want some sort of breakfast soon, tea and broth at the very least.
    She had awoken to poor Sunny casting up her accounts. Their trip to the bathroom had revealed a naked Nicholas Raeburn passed out on the white-tiled floor, a tub full of tepid water waiting for its occupant. Eliza had not known what to do first, besides closing her eyes and tossing a towel over his startling manhood, hoping the linen landed on the right spot.
    Even with that area covered, the rest of him was all too visible. She had seen so much of him today that any mystery about him was now moot. She knew precisely where his freckles were, and that he had
no
tan lines. Good heavens. She was getting quite an education herself serving as Sunny’s temporary governess.
    But what to do with a naked, lightly freckled man? Thinking she might enlist Mrs. Quinn to help her, she discovered the housekeeper feverish herself, and Sue no better. Once Sunny had been settled back in bed with a basin and a cool cloth, Eliza had somehow dragged an intermittently conscious Nicholas Raeburn into his room and onto his bed.
    His ruddy skin was hot, his mutterings incomprehensible. She rang her mother’s doctor, knowing the number by heart. Bless him, Dr. Samuelson came immediately. He had cleaned and stitched up the ugly wounds on Mr. Raeburn’s thigh and forehead, and identified several rather significant lumps on the back of the foolish man’s head where he’d met with even more mischief.
    â€œY-yes, I’d be most grateful. I’m not really even supposed to be here.”
    Dr. Samuelson smiled. “You may wish soon you weren’t. Why are you, anyway? I thought you were employed by that agency doing office work. Those miracle-workers.”
    â€œI am, and supposedly I’m working a miracle right now.” Eliza glanced at her charge’s sleeping father. Damn. He would probably be too ill to interview any candidates to replace her for the next few days.
    â€œWell, you may want to hire a cook and maid for a day or two days until the household staff recovers. My nurse cannot be expected to do everything, nor should you be.”
    â€œYes.” Another job for Oliver if he could get anyone to come to this house of plague. Dr. Samuelson didn’t seem to think it was too serious, just debilitating enough to prevent Mrs. Quinn and Sue from carrying on with their usual activities until the fever and gastric discomfort passed. Mrs. Quinn was already chafing to get into the kitchen, but Dr. Samuelson had forbidden it.
    â€œYou’ll have to wake him and march him around every so often. As much as he might like to sleep for hours, he shouldn’t. No doubt he’ll have double the headache, what with the fever he’s got in addition to everything else. I don’t envy you a bit, my dear, but I know you’re up to it. You’re a trooper.”
    Oh, was she? Dr. Samuelson might be surprised at the light-headed feeling that had swept over her as she saw Nicholas Raeburn in all his naked glory. The nest of curls at his thighs was a bit brighter than the hair on his head, and his—
    â€œThere’s no harm in settling the child in the basement with the little maid for company—it will make it easier for the nurse to keep most of her patients together,” the doctor continued, tearing her away from her recent memories. “Thank heavens this is a well-appointed modern house—two toilets plus an outdoor privy! You can manage Mr. Raeburn for a bit by yourself, can’t you? I’ll get someone here within the hour and you can work out the responsibilities with her.”
    Could she manage Nicholas Raeburn? Could anyone?
    â€œI’ll try. Can you ring my mother and tell her