He prayed to that God as he scooped his wife and the covers from the bed, ran down the corridor, and turned into the Queen's Bedchamber.
"Alexandra!" He laid her on the turquoise and gold counterpane and crawled up beside her, his heart pounding so hard he had to yell over the roar in his ears. "Alexandra, wake up!" Kneeling on the mattress, he gathered her into his arms. "Oh, God, please, wake up." He rocked her back and forth. "Wake up, God damn it!"
Her lids fluttered halfway open, then closed.
He held his breath. His heart seemed to stop. "Alexandra?"
"Just…"
Had he imagined that single, breathy word? He'd had to strain to hear it.
"Just…wait a moment."
A moment. Wait a moment.
He'd wait, right here with her in his arms, for minutes, hours—days—if only he knew for certain she'd be all right.
He waited.
"You're holding me too tight," she finally said.
His heart started again.
He was shaking all over.
"I mean it," she murmured, her eyes opening at last. Warmed brandy. He'd never seen anything so beautiful.
She blinked up at him. "Let go of me, Tris."
"I can't." He did loosen his hold, though even that small compromise seemed difficult. "I think I'm going to hold you for the rest of our lives."
Her little chuckle was the most wonderful sound he'd ever heard. "What happened?"
"God, I could have lost you." He sent a little thank-you up to heaven.
"What happened, Tris?"
"The gas. The lamp I left burning last night. The flame went out, so gas leaked into the room, and you were breathing it."
"You're shaking."
"I know. You were breathing it, and you could have died."
She struggled to sit up on his lap. "Don't be so melodramatic. I'm fine."
"Thank God that room isn't airtight. It may have been leaking for hours."
"I've never heard you talk so much of God," she said with a little smile. "Christ, yes, especially Holy Christ. But—"
"Hours," he repeated, feeling the blood drain from his face.
"Tris?" She levered off his lap and knelt facing him on the bed, drawing the covers over her shoulders and around her. "Are you all right?"
"Yes. No." His heart was pounding again. "Oh, God, I must have extinguished the flame."
"What are you talking about?"
"I sleepwalked again last night. Woke up this morning in my study. Before I left the room in the night, I must have extinguished the flame in my sleep."
"That's ridiculous." The blanket slipped off a bare shoulder, and she pulled it back up. "It was stormy last night. A draft blew it out."
"The glass chimney is there to protect the flame. A draft cannot blow it out. It had to have been put out deliberately."
"Anything can happen, Tris."
He wanted to believe her. He didn't want to believe he was capable of harming his own wife in the middle of the night. What kind of man would that make him?
A dangerous one.
What would that do to their marriage?
"I know what you're thinking." She sighed, sounding so much like hale-and-hearty Alexandra he wanted to hug her despite his distress. "Even if you did put out the flame—which I am not at all convinced is the case—surely it wasn't intentional. For heaven's sake, you did it in your sleep. You must have meant to turn it off and mistakenly extinguished it instead."
"Maybe," he said—because he knew that was what she wanted to hear.
"Absolutely." Having settled the matter—to her mind, in any case—she scooted to the edge of the high bed and slid off, swaying a bit on her feet.
He landed beside her and caught her by the elbow. "Careful."
"I'm fine." Hitching the blanket back onto her shoulders again, she peered up at his face. "Better than you are, I'd wager. What are your plans for today?"
He winced. "I need to ride out to the gasworks. I was supposed to be there hours ago. But I cannot leave you—"
"Don't be a goose. I told you I'm fine. I'm going to make some sweets and take them with me to meet the villagers." He'd barely opened his mouth when she added, "I know what you're thinking. I won't be asking anyone any questions about your uncle's death."
"That's the second time you've said you know what I'm thinking."
She shrugged prettily and smiled. A smug smile.
He kissed that smug smile off her face. It was a long, deep kiss, and when he finished she was swaying on her feet again, and he wasn't at all worried it was due to gas poisoning.
While they were still gazing at each other, Rex plodded in, nudged Tristan with his huge head, and barked.
"He doesn't like me," Alexandra said.
"He just wants some attention. Which I cannot give him right now." He rubbed the dog's head. "I need to get dressed." He turned to leave, then turned back and pulled up the blanket that had slipped off her shoulder again. "Make certain to take Peggy with you."
"Of course I will."
"And a footman for good measure—and a carriage. I shouldn't like to see you walking or riding after what happened here this morning. You may not be as fine as you believe." He gave her one more short, hard kiss, ignoring Rex's bark, then headed off to find Vincent.
No matter what Alexandra claimed, he knew she didn't know what he was thinking. Because when he'd stepped back from that final kiss, he'd been thinking that if he'd poisoned her with gas while sleepwalking, then it was that much more likely he'd also poisoned his uncle.
If she could read his mind, she'd surely have responded to that.
THIRTY-EIGHT
SUGAR-CAKES
Take Sugar and half again as much Butter, Beaten together, and add Eggs, as much Flour as sugar, a little Cream, some Sherry, a generous amount of Currants and a spoon of shaved nutmeg. Shape into thin round cakes and Prick all over, then bake in a warm oven. Cover with icing Sugar mixed with white of egg and return to oven until Crisp.
These travel well and are good for visiting.
