Watch the door.
The windows.
Everywhere.
“For all my proficiencies in medicine, I fear in a moment of crisis it all abandoned me.” Lord Cunningham’s words rang with a true note of care. A realization that both comforted Tom.
And bothered him.
“Shout for me the moment she stirs. I shall go await Dr. Bagot.” The door squeaked shut just as the first sunbeams of morning slanted through the window. They brightened a million dust motes.
Tom leaned against the wall, counted them, massaged her hand beneath the blanket.
Until her fingers twitched.
“Meg.” He slid to his knees, blood pumping, as her sweaty face thrashed back and forth.
Her lashes fluttered.
“Shhh. Ye’re not hurt.” That wasn’t true, but he’d heard both her and Mr. Foxcroft murmur it to frightened patients, and the lie always seemed to do more good than harm. “Ye’re doing a wee bit of resting. That’s all.”
“My lord.” Breathy. She squinted up at him, confused, as if neither his words nor his face held the power to sooth her. “Where is … Lord Cunningham?”
“Downstairs.”
Her eyes fell shut again. “I feel very … sick.”
“Dinnae speak.”
“What happened?”
“Ye were …”Poisoned? Almost killed again?His blood boiled. “Ye fell ill at the ball. Lord Cunningham and I brought ye here.”
“Where is …” As if sensing the answer, her sentence trailed off. She jerked from the pillow too quickly. Ripped from the blanket. Yanked from his hand. “Get me out.”
“Meg, ye’re in no danger.”
“Lord Cunningham!” A scream. Veins protruded in her neck as she strained against his arms easing her down. “My lord! Help!”
“Meg—”
Her hand slapped across his face.
The sting zipped through him, like a lightning bolt, and he relinquished any hold on her. He backed away. The other side of the chamber. The farthest corner, but it wasn’t far enough.Can’t.He could not look at her. Instead, he stared at her sock hanging limply on his peg.I cannae do this.
She stumbled for the door, but doubled over and retched before she could grab the knob.
Vomit splattered the floorboards.
Stained her dress.
Her hair.
She sobbed, and for the first time in his life, he could not make her stop.
“Miss Foxcroft.” The child was a blur of long brown hair and checkered green cotton.
The stairwell narrowed.
