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Gabriel looked at his peacefully slumbering wife. He’d tired her out before they even got to their bedchamber. Having his wife on the dining table was a different kind of delicacy, a delicacy he certainly enjoyed. Gabriel’s eyelids drooped, and he just wanted to snuggle close to his warm wife and fall asleep. But duty called.
He couldn’t let Bingham assume he wasn’t serious about the threats he’d made. So he scrambled off the bed and sauntered toward his clothing. He got dressed quickly, hastily throwing on his shirt and not bothering with a cravat. He entered the closet and… cast up his accounts. Thankfully, the chamber pot was right there, and he didn’t sully much of his clothes.
Was it nerves?
He wiped his mouth and cleaned himself up. He washed his face with cold water left by the maid next to the washbasin and stared into his reflection. His eyes were red-rimmed, his skin clammy. He took a deep breath and left the room, swaying on his feet.
Bullocks, what is going on?
Gabriel slowly made his way downstairs, mounted his horse, and galloped toward their meeting place in Hyde Park. His head hurt, and there was a slight ringing in his ears. He barely held on to the saddle. He couldn’t imagine the vigorous lovemaking with his wife had tired him out so much that he was hardly sitting straight.
He didn’t remember how he’d made his way to the designated place without falling off his horse. The moment he reached the clearing, he fairly collapsed to the ground and cast up his accounts again.
Clydesdale reached him with quick strides and helped him up. “Good God, what is wrong with you?”
Gabriel wiped his mouth and raised his eyes to his friend. He was shaking, and his stomach was churning. “I don’t know. I think I’m ill.”
“You think?” Clydesdale raised his brow. “I am taking you home.”
“No!”
“What do you mean, no?”
“If I leave now, everyone will peg me for a coward, and then Evie will be accosted by every vile lord in proximity.” Gabriel slowly stood on shaking knees and dusted his breeches.
“If you don’t leave now, I am afraid you’ll drop dead. Good Lord, Gabriel, you look half-dead as it is.”
“At least then, I would have died honorably,” Gabriel said, his voice shaking.
“Are you an idiot? Is that what Evie would want?” Clydesdale’s voice rang sharply in his head, and Gabriel flinched.
“She deserves more than being a coward’s wife.”
“Better than being an idiot’s widow,” Clydesdale said darkly.
Gabriel pushed him aside and stepped toward his adversary. He wiped the sweat off his forehead and stretched out his hand toward Clydesdale. “Hand me my gun.”
* * *
Evie woke up at a loud shriek. She sat up in bed and looked around the empty room. Gabriel wasn’t there, and neither were his clothes on the chair next to the bed. The hurried footsteps sounded in the corridor, and then there was a knock on the door.
Evie bunched the bedsheet over her unclad body. “Come in.” Her voice came out shaky. A bad feeling settled deep in her stomach. Something was very wrong.
Her maid entered, wringing her hands in front of her. “There’s been a mishap in the kitchen, Your Grace.”
Evie scurried from the bed and hastily drew on her robe. “What mishap?”
“One of the footmen, Your Grace. He’s… He’s dead.”
Evie paused in the middle of tying her robe and looked at the horrified maid. The poor girl sniffed and then burst into tears. Evie ran out of the room, not caring for her state of dishabille, and hurried down to the kitchen. The servants had all collected there, silently staring at the dead footman on the floor.
“How did this happen?” Evie asked. Her hands shook, and her stomach knotted as she saw the unmoving body of her deceased servant.
“It’s not my fault!” the cook yelled. “I told him not to eat it!”
Evie slowly turned to her. “Told him not to eat what?”
“The master and mistress’s foods are not for servants,” the cook muttered miserably.
