Delphine walked over and saw Ignatius Leclair's face looking extremely unwell. His pallor revealed signs of serious illness; he was so sick he couldn't even hold a water cup.
"Don't move. Wait for the servants to clean up. Just help me to the bed," the man said in a low, hoarse voice, his brows tightly furrowed.
Delphine paused for a moment, but Ignatius had already reached out and gripped her wrist. Using her as support, he stood up and half-draped himself over her shoulder, letting his entire weight press against her.
Seeing that he couldn't even stand steadily, Delphine didn't push him away. She had no choice but to endure and help him to the bed.
The man lowered his gaze to her delicate, fair features. His eyes lingered on her beautiful butterfly-shaped collarbones for a moment, inexplicably feeling some delight. Was this fragile little frame really expecting to support the weight of a grown man?
