And he would protect her.
With his life, if necessary.
14
Dorothea stirred and slowly opened her eyes, blinking into the dark. Her bedchamber was steeped in shadow, the only light coming from the dying embers in the hearth, casting a faint amber glow along the walls. The sun had long since set and she realized that she must have slept the entire day away.
Oddly, her body no longer felt as heavy or achy. The churning in her stomach had quieted, and her limbs no longer trembled. Whatever had plagued her earlier now seemed to have loosened its grip. She was pleased that rest had helped.
She shifted slightly and turned her head—only to find Dominic seated in the chair beside her bed, his eyes fixed on her. He was leaning forward, hands clasped between his knees, as if he hadn’t moved in hours.
His gaze, when it met hers, was strikingly gentle. Steady. Warm in a way that made her breath catch for just a moment. That warmth was what she had once imagined he might offer her freely, if only he let down his guard. For a heartbeat, her anger softened.
But only for a heartbeat.
Because Dominic still intended to cast her aside.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice scratchy from disuse but still sharp.
“I’m here to keep you safe,” he said simply.
“From what, exactly?”
He hesitated, then drew a slow breath, his features shadowed in solemnity. “It would appear that your recent misfortunes weren’t accidents. Someone may be trying to kill you.”
“That’s absurd.”
“I thought so, too,” he said. “Until I began putting the pieces together. The closed damper. The burr under your saddle. The tea. All isolated, they could be explained away. But together?”
He shook his head and pressed on. “It’s too much to ignore. And when I went to question the footman who delivered the tea, he was gone. Disappeared.”
Dorothea placed a hand over her stomach. “The doctor said it was influenza.”
Dominic sat up straighter. “Have you ever heard of Aqua Tofana?”
“No.”
“It’s a poison. Created in the seventeenth century. A concoction of arsenic, lead, and belladonna. Slow-acting and nearly undetectable. It mimics illness—starting with cold-like symptoms, then escalating to something resembling influenza.”
He continued, his voice calm but grim. “The doctor mentioned your pupils were dilated. That’s a known effect of belladonna since it was once used in cosmetics to make a woman’s eyes appear more alluring.”
Dorothea’s brows knit together. “And if I’d had more?”
“Four drops,” Dominic responded. “That’s all it takes. The first causes mild discomfort. The second—influenza-like symptoms. The third brings severe illness. The fourth… is fatal.”
A chill crept across her skin despite the warmth of the blankets. “Is there an antidote?”
“There’s no guaranteed cure,” he admitted. “But vinegar and lemon juice are believed to help combat it if caught early.”
Dorothea glanced towards the table beside the bed and saw the glass. “Is that what’s in there?”
He nodded. “It is. You should drink it.”
“Will I die?”
Dominic met her gaze. “No. Not if I’m right. You’ve only been given the first two doses. You’ll recover.”
Still uncertain, she pushed herself upright slowly. Dominic stood as she moved, but she held up a hand. “I do not need your help.”
