"Ann Vaughn?" He reached out his long index finger and gently poked her cheek twice, his magnetic and pleasant voice calling to her, but noticed that her fever caused her to slightly part her vibrant red lips to breathe.
Her body was clearly soaking wet, yet her temperature continued to rise.
Cyrus Hawthorne had initially intended to ask her to get up and change out of her wet clothes, but the thought could only be put aside, and a rare trace of struggle passed through his narrowed eyes.
After removing Ann Vaughn’s drenched dress and wrapping her in his suit jacket, Cyrus Hawthorne then lifted her, placing her by his side in a spot sheltered from the rain outside.
At this moment, his gaze fell on the remaining herbs Ann Vaughn had gathered, among which was one specifically for typhoid fever. He reached over, took it, and chewed it up.
Soon after, not so gently, he cupped Ann Vaughn’s cheeks, his narrow eyes slightly closing, his thin lips covered hers, gently and firmly transferring the chewed herb into her mouth.
When their lips touched, Cyrus Hawthorne’s eyelids quivered slightly, as if something spread within his heart, leaving an indiscernible yet existent mark. The latest_epɪ_sodes are on_the ɴoᴠel Fɪre.nᴇt
After ensuring Ann Vaughn safely swallowed several herbs, Cyrus Hawthorne released her, gazing at her for a moment, his brows furrowing slightly.
Then he suppressed his thoughts, pulling the huddled Ann Vaughn into his embrace, to prevent her body heat from continuing to escape.
No matter what, she had saved him once, and naturally, he couldn’t sit idly by while she suffered from a high fever.
And so the night passed, as the light rain outside lingered, not ceasing until the morning light arrived.
When Ann Vaughn awoke groggily, she sensed something wasn’t right; the discomfort from being drenched the night before was completely gone, and she felt as if she were lying in a warm nest, leaving her bewildered for quite some time.
Could everything that happened yesterday have been a dream?
As this thought arose, Ann Vaughn blinked twice at the white fabric in front of her eyes, then looked upwards...
And was met with the sight of Cyrus Hawthorne’s noble and handsome face, his exquisite and otherworldly eyebrows and eyes akin to a painting, suffused with a lazy charm from sleep, mesmerized simply by looking at them.
Only then did Ann Vaughn realize she was actually lying in Cyrus Hawthorne’s arms, and it was not because she had inadvertently rolled into his embrace while asleep, but that he was holding her!
She was momentarily stunned before quickly deducing that it was probably because she had fainted from the fever last night and it was raining outside, which prompted his sudden act of kindness to hold her in order to prevent her illness from worsening.
Yet despite this, Ann Vaughn’s heart uncontrollably started to race, a honey-like sweetness filling her chest.
Thinking of quietly leaving Cyrus Hawthorne’s embrace, she then discovered she was wrapped in his jacket, with nothing underneath, her face instantly flushed crimson.
Since their marriage, she and Cyrus Hawthorne had only shared a bed once, and that was after he had been drunk.
Thus, upon recalling the scene of him changing her clothes, Ann Vaughn felt the lingering warmth on her body become even hotter, making her feel as if her head was about to emit smoke.
After calming down for quite a while, Ann Vaughn finally took a breath, put on the dress and undergarments discarded to the side, and left the shelter.
The fever had been fierce last night, and Ann Vaughn originally thought the child would be affected, but fortunately, the child proved to be much stronger than she imagined, not affected by her illness.
Ann Vaughn gazed softly at her abdomen, her cheeks seeming to be covered with a layer of soft light, unbelievably beautiful.