“What of Lord St. Raven?”
Henrietta’s head shot up. Together? She stood, observing Bostick’s expression, the worry in his demeanor.
“They took him, my lady. He was severely injured, and then he...” The man swallowed, terror evident on his face. “He succumbed to a fit of sorts. Frothing at the mouth. The Viscount Winchester ordered that he be taken to Guy’s Hospital.”
“And my uncle?” Henrietta snatched her reticule.
“Mr. Gordon was taken to Lady Brandewyne’s home, as it was closer. We sent for your personal physician.”
“Well done,” murmured the dowager.
Henrietta’s head was clearing quickly and anger and purpose centered her. But where should she go? If Dominic was at Guy’s... It was a reputable hospital for learning, but everyone knew that London hospitals were cesspools of disease. If he didn’t die of infection, they might try to lock him up in Bedlam.
“Louise, pick up Smiles. Quickly.” Lady Brandewyne turned to Henrietta. “You must go to the hospital, immediately.”
She was already moving toward the door, panic and purpose warring within her, sending prickles across her body. “I’m leaving.”
“I shall go with Bostick,” the countess said to her. “Take my carriage.”
She vaguely heard her as she pushed past Bostick and hurried down the hall. The French had been studying epilepsy for some time, but in England many still feared the disease, and Henrietta was not sure which type of doctor she might encounter at the hospital. Terror filled her.
The sooner she reached the hospital, the sooner she could rescue Dominic.
* * *
Dominic woke to pain. His body throbbed with it, hot flashes of shock that reverberated out from his rib cage to all his limbs. A metallic taste was in his mouth. Blood. He’d bit himself. Slowly he opened his eyes, several realizations hitting him at once.
His hands and legs were tethered to the bed. He could not move.
And his head ached. Bandages draped over his right eye, distorting his view. A smell pervaded this place. An unpleasant odor, coupled with sounds of despair, permeated his senses. Moans from the beds around him. The squeak of shoes on the floor as the place bustled with movement. A man walked past, holding a saw.
He closed his eyes.
Tired.
So tired.
Was this what God had planned all along? To let a silly accident due to a cat darting in front of the horses land him in the hospital? Or was it a seizure that had led him here? Had his secret been discovered?
He had not been sent to an asylum yet. Of that he was certain. This place reeked of sour and physical smells. Not to mention that surgeon with the saw. Terrible memories from the other accident saturated him.
Pain burned through his soul. When he next awoke, it was to a man calling his name.
He cracked open an eye. He tried to speak, but his mouth felt like it had been filled with cotton, dry and unable to formulate language.
“My lord, how are you feeling?” The man gazed down at him, his expression openly curious. “Perhaps some water.” A cup was tilted to his lips. He drank, coughing and sputtering when too much entered at once.
“Terrible,” he finally croaked. “What happened?”
“When your carriage tipped over, you were thrown. A concussion, contusions to the scalp and bruised ribs. A fractured arm.”
“Why am I strapped down?”
The physician’s eyelids flickered, but Dominic did not offer any information. He wanted to ascertain if they knew of his epilepsy. By the hesitation, and the tethering, he gathered they did.
“You had convulsions, my lord, perhaps due to the trauma? You frothed and a concerned viscount ordered that you be sent here for observation. For the safety of others,” he added.
“Yes, of course,” he murmured.
His worst fears at his door. No doubt his sister would take Louise and care for her while he was confined to an asylum for the remainder of his years. Henrietta was probably on her way to Italy by now. He wasn’t sure what day it was, and he did not care to ask.
At the moment, he felt a failure in every way. It was though a dagger had gouged a hole in his chest, hollowing him out, making him emptier than the day he’d discovered he’d have to live with a dreadful disease alienating him from society, keeping him from a normal life.
He did not wish to succumb to pity, to solitude, but perhaps this was the culmination of all he’d avoided. Best to face it head-on. Alone. As he would always be.
“Unhand me, you fools.” A strident, familiar voice echoed throughout the corridor. “I demand to see him at once.” And then strong, sure footsteps.
Suddenly the hollow space inside filled. Longing, hope, amusement. Dare he smile at the annoying tone that he’d chastised her for using with his apothecary, and yet here she was, using it on physicians older and stronger than herself.
But not smarter.
“Do you know who I am?” she asked in an impatient tone that almost made him wince with its haughtiness. She was getting closer, her voice louder. Several lower tones responded with varying degrees of authority and confusion.
“Fiddle faddle, I’ll not have it. I demand you send word to Mr. William Gordon. Surely you have heard of his work in Edinburgh? Imbeciles.” The last was said scathingly.
And then she was at his side, the aroma of roses embracing him.
“My dear Dominic,” she said in a tone he had never heard from her before. A choked, raw voice lilting with feminine pain that caused him to reach for her. He couldn’t, though. The leather straps kept his arm from its intended journey.
He opened his eyes, and there she was, her dark chocolate eyes brimming with moisture, red-rimmed. Her lips the perfect color of a dusky, aged rose.
“They shall not keep you here,” she said in a fierce whisper. Her breath brushed his cheek in a warm caress before she straightened.
“Your patient will be leaving with me,” she announced.
He let his eyes close again, but this time when he fell
