Page 26 of Taming a Beastly Duke
He rose slowly, his mouth dry and his tongue like old cotton. He walked toward his water basin, reaching for the pitcher beside it. Before he could pick up the ceramic carafe, however, his vision began fading to black. Tremors arose in his arms, and he nearly knocked the pitcher off its table. He stood still, waiting for the episode to pass, as if often did. However, when the tremors grew intense and racked him more violently, all he could do was fall to his knees.
Before he could call for help, he was on his side on the floor. Sweat beaded his brow as wave after wave of dizziness assaulted him, far worse than any previous episode. He writhed on the ground, clenching his jaw involuntarily as the tremors continued. While his body was outside his control, so was his mind. The illness worried him, especially in his present state. However, he also thought of Miss Barret, and of the feelings he experienced when he was with her.
He had been attracted to her since he first saw her. There had been no denying that she stirred something in him which had long lain dormant. In the last couple of days, however, there seemed to be something more than raw desire between them. She was young and innocent, with no concept of the kind of agony that bred darkness like that which he possessed. Indeed, it was that very innocence that made him long to protect and care for her, just as much as he wanted to lay with her. He had only ever felt protective of Edith andCharlotte before Miss Barrett came into his life. Yet the tenderness he felt toward Miss Barrett was something completely different.
As he tried to pull himself off the floor, he found himself wishing for Miss Barrett. He knew that she would be nurturing and kind, and that talking with her about poetry might distract him from how ill he felt. Perhaps, he could learn more about her than just her love for Wordsworth.
Perhaps I could learn everything about her, he thought with a sly smile despite his anguish. He could not decide which would be his undoing first: his illness, or his beautiful young house guest.
“It seems that there is a rather strong bond forming between you and a certain duke,” Helena said as she and Adelaide sipped tea the following morning.
Adelaide blushed furiously, looking at her aunt with sheepish surprise.
“What do you mean?” she asked. She did not intend to feign innocence. She was simply curious about how her aunt noticed anything. Perhaps she was also curious about whether anyone else might have noticed.
Helena gave her a long, knowing look.
“Just because I never married does not mean that I do not know the blush of longing,” she said. “I have known you all your life, darling, and I have watched your eyes change since we came here. I see them change every time you are near him, and I have seen the same change in his with you.”
Adelaide’s teacup rattled against its saucer, making her think of the duke, which caused her flush to deepen.
“I am sure you are mistaken,” she said quickly. “Besides, I thought you were more interested in Lord Edwin’s apparent interest in me.”
Helena shook her head, unwilling to accept her niece’s attempt at deflection. Her second knowing smile suggested that she did not intend to allow Adelaide to avoid the subject much longer.
“Darling, I have known both Edwin and Marcus since they were boys,” she said. “Edwin possesses a certain ambition. He is charming and kind, but I can never guess how he truly feels or what he wants. Marcus, however, was a genuine, sweet boy. He was once a gentle, compassionate man who loved those closest to him deeply. All these accusations since Charlotte’s death have left Marcus a broken man, which is something he does not deserve.”
Adelaide’s eyes widened once more, for a different reason. She looked at her aunt as she thought yet again about the letter she received.
“You believe he is innocent?” she asked timidly.
Helena nodded.
“I am certain he is innocent, my dear,” she said. “Those rumours are nonsense. If people could have seen how he loved and protected Charlotte, just as he did Edith, they would know that he could never be a murderer.”
Adelaide nodded, wanting to feel reassured by her aunt’s confidence in the Duke. Yet the words in the letter lingered in her thoughts, shaking hercertainty in the accuracy of her aunt’s opinion. Why would someone make such a claim to a perfect stranger if there was no truth to it?
Chapter Twelve
Marcus stood anxiously at the parlor fireplace. It was lit, despite the warmth of the day, as Marcus had awoken with chills and sweaty, clammy skin. He had begun pacing right after sending for his important guest, whose arrival was direly needed, but the dizziness had blinded him so terribly that he was forced to sit on the sofa. When his trembling legs would support him, however, he moved to warm himself by the fire.
Please hurry. He silently pleaded with his expected guest. I cannot continue in this condition any longer.
The knock at the parlor door startled Marcus so badly that he turned around with a speed that made the room spin wildly once more. He bent down, grabbing his knees and closing his eyes in a useless attempt to regain control of his body and vision again. There was a frail but surprisingly strong pair of arms around him before he could catch his breath, and he was being blindly led back to the sofa.
“Your Grace,” said a brittle but authoritative voice. “What has happened to you?”
Marcus dared to open his eyes once he was seated once more, giving the blurry face a weak shrug.
“I do not know,” he said with a defeated sigh. “That is why I have finally summoned you, Mr. Morrison.”
The physician began unpacking his medical bag with an urgency which Marcus had never seen. He gave Marcus a reassuring smile as he reached for Marcus’s wrist, placing his fingers on the soft flesh which revealed Marcus’s pulse.
“How long have you felt ill?” he asked, his expression focused as he monitored the heartbeat of his patient.
Marcus sighed, shrugging.
“A couple of months or so,” he said, the severity of the episode reducing the clarity of his memory.
