Page 81 of The Boxing Baroness

“I take it you’ve both heard?” Elliot asked.

Sin and Guy nodded.

“This is worse than you expected, isn’t it?” Guy asked.

“Yes—and it’s also happening far faster than I expected. Even so, there are still enough of the army’s generals on the king’s side. They might stop him in Paris—although I’m not optimistic.”

“What do you think is going to happen?” Guy asked.

“War,” Elliot said, his mouth thinning into a grim line. “I think war is going to happen.”

Chapter 21

It was dark when Marianne awakened. Although awakened didn’t seem quite the word for the slow, sluggish journey to the surface of consciousness.

Her head throbbed as she gingerly felt around the source of the pain. Ah, yes, the last decent hit Berta had got in on her before the final bell. Her eye was a bit swollen, but not as bad as she would have thought.

Worse than her head was her thirst.

Marianne slowly swung her feet off the bed, which was when she saw somebody had changed her into her nightgown.

“What are you doing?”

She yelped and her head whipped around—and then she almost threw up from a wave of nausea as the room rocked and swayed around her.

Strong, but gentle, hands landed on her shoulders. “Do you feel faint?” the duke asked, only a shadow above her in the darkness. Although it wasn’t completely dark. Now that her eyes were adjusting, she saw a glow from the fireplace and the lazy flicker of flames, which had been blocked by what she now realized was a wing chair. That must have been where the duke had been sitting.

“Marianne?” he asked, concern evident in his deep voice.

“I didn’t know anyone was here,” she said, her voice scratchy and hoarse, as if she’d not used it for a long time. “What are you doing here, Your Grace?” She still hadn’t been able to bring herself to call him Sin, even though everyone from the seamstresses to the boot boy called him by the nickname.

“The doctor didn’t think you had a concussion, but he wanted somebody with you for at least tonight, preferably for forty-eight hours.” He released her, and she immediately wanted his hands back.

Fool! a voice in her head accused.

She was, indeed.

“Cecile and I are sharing this room. She can stay with me.”

“If Jack were here, would he leave you?”

“Yes,” she blurted.

“Tsk tsk, Marianne. Lying does not become you.”

“Fine. Jack would have stayed. But Jack is—”

“I’m staying.” He didn’t raise his voice or change his tone, but she heard the steel behind his words.

“Where is Cecile?”

“I gave her my room, and Guy will bunk up with Elliot. Come, sit down.” He took her by the elbow and guided her to the chair nearest the fire.

Marianne wanted to argue—just because she always argued—but the truth was that her legs were feeling less than steady.

“Are you hungry?” he asked once she was seated.

“I’m thirsty—that’s why I was getting up. But I’m also starving.” Her hunger probably accounted for at least part of her jittery weakness. She’d not cared for the sweetbreads that Barnabas had ordered for dinner earlier, so all she’d eaten were a few pieces of the delicious bread baked at the inn.