"You're safe now," she said, gently squeezing his hand, "but you are seriously ill. You must try very hard to get better. I'll stay right beside you until you are healed. I promise."

Stephen stared at her, transfixed by her lovely face, her gentle touch, her soft voice. The look of deep concern in her eyes confused him. Where was he? And who was she? And why the hell did he feel so bloody awful? His head throbbed. His shoulder felt as if it were on fire and it seemed a huge boulder sat on his chest. He tried to move his arm and gave up when a blinding flash of pain sizzled through him.

The woman pressed something wonderfully cool to his forehead. The soothing sensation felt like heaven against his burning skin.

Heaven.

Of course. He must be in heaven. She must be an angel.

The welcome coolness touched his brow once more and his eyes drifted closed. He was dead, but what did it matter?

He'd been touched by an angel.


* * *

"Has his condition improved, Hayley?" Pamela's soft, feminine voice asked from the doorway.

Hayley turned toward her sister and read the concern in her eyes. "I'm afraid not," she reported to the pretty eighteen year old. "His fever hasn't broken, and he keeps drifting in and out of delirium."

Pamela crossed the room and laid a comforting hand on Hayley's shoulder. Hayley squeezed her sister's hand and summoned up a smile, hoping to erase the worried expression from Pamela's face.

"Is there anything I can do?" Pamela asked, her brow furrowed. "Shall I take over for you? It's been a week, and you've hardly rested."

"Perhaps later, but I would dearly love a cup of tea. Would you bring me one?"

"Of course. I'll also bring a dinner tray for you. You must remember to keep up your own strength."

"I'm as strong as a horse," Hayley reassured her. In truth, she felt decidedly weak at the moment, but she would never admit it to Pamela. Her sister would only worry more, and that was the last thing Hayley wanted. Pamela had only recently recovered from a stomach ailment herself. She looked much too pale and fragile for Hayley's peace of mind.

"You'll fall over if you keep this up," Pamela warned. "I'm going to get your dinner, and you'll eat every bit. Or else."

"Or else what?"

Pamela leaned closer. "Or else I'll tell Pierre you didn't like the meal he prepared."

A genuine smile touched Hayley's face for the first time in days. "Good heavens, not that! Such an insult to our esteemed French cook would bode very badly for me."

"Indeed. So when I return, you shall eat. Or suffer 'zee consequences.'" After casting a warning frown in Hayley's direction, Pamela left the room, closing the door behind her.

Alone with her patient, Hayley gently bathed his face again and again with a cool cloth. His wounds were no longer life-threatening, but the fever he'd contracted was. His body felt like an inferno beneath her fingers. For the past week she had ached for him, watching him drift in and out of delirium, groaning, thrashing helplessly in the huge bed, his skin so hot, his face so pale. The doctor had paid a visit the morning after they brought him home and had left the room shaking his head.

"There's nothing you can do, Miss Hayley," Dr. Wentbridge said, his expression grave. "Just keep him as comfortable as possible and pray the end comes quickly. Only a miracle could save him."

And so Hayley prayed for a miracle.

Six years ago, her mother had died in this bed giving birth to Callie. Her father had died here too. She would not allow anyone else to die.

Hayley continued her ministrations, reflecting on how much her circumstances had changed since her beloved Papa's demise three years ago. Sea captain Tripp Albright died a slow, agonizing death that almost killed Hayley to watch, and left her at the age of three and twenty completely responsible for her two younger brothers and two younger sisters. She was mother, father, sister, nursemaid, housekeeper, and wage earner-responsibilities she would never consider abandoning, but that often left her physically exhausted and emotionally drained.

Upon Tripp Albright's death, his sister Olivia moved in with the family to help with the children. Hayley also inherited her father's former crew-Winston, Grimsley, and Pierre-three heartbroken sailors whose love of sea adventures died along with their captain. They'd vowed that if they could no longer care for Captain Albright, they would honor their deathbed promise to him to care for his family. The men refused to be paid as servants, each insisting they had adequate savings to live on.

That turned out to be a blessing. To Hayley's dismay, she discovered she'd also inherited a veritable mountain of debts incurred by her lovable but financially inept father. Convinced she could handle the situation, Hayley kept the news to herself, unwilling to burden her grieving family with further problems.

Handling things on her own, however, proved a daunting task, and Hayley recalled how in those early months she'd often cried herself to sleep. In a heartbeat her youth was gone, replaced by an impenetrable wall of responsibility. She desperately missed her parents, their love, guidance, and support. She was left with a houseload of hungry people counting on her, and less than one hundred pounds in currency. Ninety-eight pounds, ten shillings, to be exact.

And she felt so alone. The one person she thought she could confide in had abandoned her when she needed him most. Jeremy Popplemore, her fiancé, cried off rather than burden himself with her family. He'd treated himself to an extended trip to the Continent and she hadn't seen him since.

She remembered her rage at Jeremy's desertion. She'd been sorely tempted to wrap her hands around his neck and squeeze until his lips turned blue. But after wallowing in self-pity for two days, Hayley dried her eyes, stiffened her spine, and rolled up her sleeves, wading waist-deep into the tasks facing her. She loved her family. They were the most important thing to her. They needed her and she would do right by them.

A smile tugged at her lips when she recalled how her fury in those early days had worked in her favor. She likened herself to a general, passing out orders, delegating chores, issuing commands. It was hard work, but everyone rose to the occasion, and within a year she'd managed to shovel her way through part of the wreckage.

Unfortunately money was a constant source of concern. There were few moneymaking options available to young ladies, so her desperate situation called for equally desperate measures. Swallowing her guilt along with her pride, she did what she had to do to bring in funds, but she was forced to conduct her activities in strict privacy. The deception ate at her soul. She valued honesty above all else, but her circumstances left her without options.

The man who employed her insisted on secrecy, and she reluctantly honored his wishes. The money she made was too substantial and too necessary to risk. If she had to deceive her family to keep food in their stomachs and a roof over their heads, so be it. After Pamela married and the boys and Cassie were properly educated, she would stop. Until then, she couldn't risk jeopardizing her income by telling them the truth. As far as everyone knew, Tripp Albright had left them sufficient funds to live on.

Frowning at the direction her thoughts had taken, she resolutely shook off her sadness. I have more to be thankful for than most people, she reminded herself. The Albrights might not have much, but they had each other. Her gaze wandered down to the sick man. I have more than you at this moment, you poor man.

She replaced the warmed cloth on her patient's forehead with a fresh cool one. He looked so helpless and pale-just as her mother and father had before succumbing-and a wave of grim determination replaced her weariness. This time she would not fail.

"You are going to live," she vowed in a fierce whisper. "Whoever you are, I swear you will get up and walk out of this room and return to your family."

She pressed the damp cloth to his hot skin and allowed her gaze to drift over him. The thick white bandage wrapped around his forehead provided a startling contrast to his raven hair. The scrapes and bruises on his face were healing nicely, though even at their worst they did not hide his incredibly handsome features.

A week's growth of beard shaded his strong jaw, casting his countenance in a series of intriguing shadows. High cheekbones accentuated his straight nose, and she imagined he'd be quite spectacular with his firm, full lips curved upward in a smile. She wondered for the hundredth time what color eyes were concealed by the fan of dark eyelashes lying against his pale skin. Even in her wildest dreams she could not have conjured up such a devastatingly attractive man.

She remoistened her cloth and ran it gently down his neck onto his left shoulder. His ribs were tightly taped, but the upper portion of his chest and shoulders remained bare, the white sheet tucked under his arms. The thick mat of dark hair covering his broad chest tickled Hayley's fingertips as she ran the cloth over him. Glancing down the length of him, her face grew warm, recalling the sight of the body she knew lay bare under the sheet.

Aided by Grimsley and Winston, she'd removed the remainder of the man's filthy, torn clothing the night they brought him home. Hayley wasn't unfamiliar with the male anatomy. She'd all but raised her two younger brothers-impish rascals who until several years ago were quite fond of shucking their clothes and swimming in the lake without a stitch on.

But there was a vast difference between her brother's adolescent boyishness and the man who lay in her father's big bed. After that first night Grimsley or Winston had taken over the intimacies of sponge-bathing the man, but the vision of him was permanently blazed in Hayley's memory. Even covered with scratches and bruises, he was beautiful-like a Greek God carved in marble. Sculpted, muscular, and perfectly formed.

Forcing her thoughts away from such disturbing images, she changed the bandage covering the wound on his upper arm. There was no sense in finding this stranger attractive. He belonged elsewhere. His family was no doubt frantic with worry for him. He might even have a wife, although he wore no ring.

Hayley mentally shook herself. Three years had passed since she'd felt the slightest stirring for a man. But she could not afford to indulge in useless daydreams, having learned long ago the futility of wanting things she could not have.

The door opened and Pamela returned with a tray bearing tea and Hayley's dinner. Under her sister's watchful gaze, Hayley plopped herself down on the settee and nibbled on a savory meat pie. When she sipped her tea, a blissful sigh escaped her. The restorative comfort of the food and drink seeped into her tired bones.

"How are the children?" she asked.

Pamela smiled. "Fine. Rambunctious and noisy, but fine."

"Rambunctious? Noisy? I'm stunned."

"I'm sure you are," Pamela replied with an unladylike snort. "The picnic we went on today completely tired them out, thank goodness. I believe I'll plan another one for tomorrow."

A swell of tenderness touched Hayley's soul. She found her siblings' exuberance exhausting and endearing at the same time. "An excellent idea. A long picnic would no doubt be in your best interests."

"Indeed. Would you care to join us? The fresh air would do you good."

Hayley shook her head. "For now, my duty is here." Her gaze settled on the sick man. "Look at him, Pamela. He's so big and strong, yet so ill and helpless. My heart aches to see him lying there like that. So still. Like death. It reminds me of when Mama and Papa…" Her voice trailed off, hot tears pooling in her eyes.

Pamela reached out and grasped Hayley's hands in a hard, comforting squeeze. "Oh, Hayley… this must be so hard for you, but you're doing all you can… all that is humanly possible. Just as you did for Mama and Papa."

"Mama and Papa both died," Hayley whispered, dismayed when she felt a tear slide down her face. She really did not want to cry. She hated crying. Another hot droplet eased down her cheek.

"But not because of you," Pamela said fiercely. "It was God's will and no one's fault."

Hayley fought the wave of grief and almost blind terror threatening to engulf her. "I don't want him to die, Pamela."

Pamela knelt down and gathered Hayley into her arms. "Of course you don't want him to die. We all want him to live. But it's in God's hands, Hayley. Trust His will. And in the meanwhile, you must not make yourself ill. We need you, too. We're hanging on, but we cannot cope without you much longer."