by Lisa Kleypas
"Isn't it possible that he might have made an exception this morning?"
The edge of sarcasm in her voice was unbearably annoying.
"It's possible. But it wouldn't be in character." Leo let out a harsh sigh. "Damn it all. I'll try to find out what, if anything, Harrow did. Thank you, Sylvia."
"Yes, my lord." The housemaid looked relieved.
As Leo strode from the room, he was exasperated to discover that Miss Marks was at his heels. "Do not come with me, Marks."
"You need me."
"Go somewhere and knit something. Conjugate a verb. Whatever it is governesses do."
"I would," she said acerbically, "had I any confidence in your ability to handle the situation. But from what I've seen of your skills, I highly doubt you'll accomplish anything without my help."
Leo wondered if other governesses dared to talk to the master this way. He didn't think so. Why the devil couldn't his sisters have chosen a quiet, pleasant woman instead of this little wasp? "I have skills you'll never be fortunate enough to see or experience, Marks."
She made a scornful humph and continued to follow him.
Reaching Harrow 's room, Leo gave a perfunctory knock and went inside. The wardrobe was empty, and there was an open trunk by the bed. "Do excuse the intrusion, Harrow," Leo said with only the shallowest pretense of politeness. "But a situation has arisen."
"Oh?" The doctor looked remarkably incurious.
"Someone has been taken ill."
"That is unfortunate. I wish I could be of assistance, but if I am to reach London before midnight, I must leave shortly. You'll have to find another doctor."
"Surely you have an ethical obligation to help someone who needs it," Miss Marks said incredulously. "What about the oath of Hippocrates?"
"The oath is not obligatory. And in light of recent events, I have every right to decline. You will have to find another doctor to treat him."
Him.
Leo didn't have to look at Miss Marks to know that she, too, had caught the slip. He decided to keep Harrow talking. "Merripen won my sister fairly, old fellow. And what brought them together was set in motion long before you entered the scene. It's not sporting to blame them."
"I do not blame them," Harrow said curtly. "I blame you."
"Me? " Leo was indignant. "What for? I had nothing to do with this."
"You have so little regard for your sisters that you would allow not one but two Gypsies to be brought into your family."
Out of the corner of his eye, Leo saw Dodger the ferret creeping across the carpeted floor. The inquisitive creature reached a chair over which a dark coat had been draped. Standing on his hind legs, he rummaged in the coat pockets.
Miss Marks was speaking crisply. "Mr. Merripen and Mr. Rohan are men of excellent character, Dr. Harrow. One may fault Lord Ramsay for many other things, but not for that."
"They're Gypsies," Harrow said scornfully.
Leo began to speak, but he was cut off as Miss Marks continued her lecture. "A man must be judged by what he makes of himself, Dr. Harrow. By what he does when no one else is looking. And having lived in proximity to Mr. Merripen and Mr. Rohan, I can state with certainty that they are both fine, honorable men."
Dodger extracted an object from the coat pocket and wriggled in triumph. He began to lope slowly around the edge of the room, watching Harrow warily.
"Forgive me if I don't accept assurances of character from a woman such as you," Harrow said to Miss Marks. "But according to rumor, you've been in rather too much proximity with certain gentlemen in your past."
The governess turned white with outrage. "How dare you?"
"I find that remark entirely inappropriate," Leo said to Harrow. "It's obvious that no sane man would ever attempt something scandalous with Marks." Seeing that Dodger had made it to the doorway, Leo reached for the governess's rigid arm. "Come, Marks. Let's leave the doctor to his packing."
At the same moment, Harrow caught sight of the ferret, who was carrying a slim glass vial in his mouth. Harrow 's eyes bulged, and he went pale. "Give that to me!" he cried, and launched toward the ferret. "That's mine!"
Leo leaped on the doctor and brought him to the floor. Harrow surprised him with a sharp right hook, but Leo's jaw had been hardened from many a tavern fight. He traded blow for blow, rolling across the floor with the doctor as they struggled for supremacy.
"What the devil"-Leo granted-"did you put into that coffee?"
"Nothing." The doctor's strong hands clamped on his throat. "Don't know what you're talking about-"
Leo bashed him in the side with a closed fist until the doctor's grip weakened. "The hell you don't," Leo gasped, and kneed him in the groin. It was a dirty trick Leo had picked up from one of his more colorful escapades in London.
Harrow collapsed to his side, groaning. "Gentleman… wouldn't… do that.…"
"Gentlemen don't poison people, either." Leo seized him. "Tell me what it was, damn you!"
Despite his pain, Harrow 's lips curved in an evil grin. "Merripen will get no help from me."
"Merripen didn't drink the filthy stuff, you idiot! Rohan did. Now tell me what you put in that coffee or I'll rip your throat out."
The doctor looked stunned. He clamped his mouth shut and refused to speak. Leo struck him with a right and then a left, but the bastard remained silent.
Miss Marks's voice broke through the boiling fury. "My lord, stop it. This instant. I need your assistance in retrieving the vial."
Hauling Harrow upward, Leo dragged him to the empty wardrobe and closed him inside. Leo locked the door and turned to face Miss Marks, his face sweating and his chest heaving.
Their gazes locked for a split second. Her eyes turned as round as her spectacle lenses. But the peculiar awareness between them was immediately punctured by Dodger's triumphant chatter.
The blasted ferret waited at the threshold, doing a happy war dance that consisted of a series of sideways hops. Clearly he was delighted by his new acquisition, and even more by the fact that Miss Marks seemed to want it.
"Let me out!" Harrow cried in a smothered voice, and there was a violent pounding from inside the wardrobe.
"That blasted weasel," Miss Marks muttered. "This is a game to him. He'll spend hours teasing us with that vial and keeping it just out of reach."
Staring at the ferret, Leo sat on the carpet and relaxed his voice. "Come here, you flea-ridden hair wad. You'll have all the sugar biscuits you want, if you'll give your new toy to me." He whistled softly and clicked.
But the blandishments did not work. Dodger merely regarded him with bright eyes and stayed at the threshold, clutching the vial in his tiny paws.
"Give him one of your garters," Leo said, still staring at the ferret.
"I beg your pardon?" Miss Marks asked frostily.
"You heard me. Take off a garter and offer it to him as a trade. Otherwise we'll be chasing this damned animal all through the house. And I doubt Rohan will appreciate the delay."
The governess gave Leo a long-suffering glance. "Only for Mr. Rohan's sake would I consent to this. Turn your back."
"For God's sake, Marks, do you think anyone really wants a glance at those dried-up matchsticks you call legs?" But Leo complied, facing the opposite direction. He heard a great deal of rustling as Miss Marks sat on a bedroom chair and lifted her skirts.
It just so happened that Leo was positioned near a full-length looking glass, the oval cheval style that tilted up or down to adjust one's reflection. And he had an excellent view of Miss Marks in the chair. And the oddest thing happened-he got a flash of an astonishingly pretty leg. He blinked in bemusement, and then the skirts were dropped.
"Here," Miss Marks said gruffly, and tossed it in Leo's direction. Turning, he managed to catch it in midair.
Dodger surveyed them both with beady-eyed interest.
Leo twirled the garter enticingly on his finger. "Have a look, Dodger. Blue silk with lace trim. Do all governesses anchor their stock
ings in such a delightful fashion? Perhaps those rumors about your unseemly past are true, Marks."
"I'll thank you to keep a civil tongue in your head, my lord."
Dodger's little head bobbed as it followed every movement of the garter. Fitting the vial in his mouth, the ferret carried it like a miniature dog, loping up to Leo with maddening slowness.
"This is a trade, old fellow," Leo told him. "You can't have something for nothing."
Carefully Dodger set down the vial and reached for the garter. Leo simultaneously gave him the frilly circlet and snatched the vial. It was half-filled with a fine dull green powder. He stared down at it intently, rolling it in his fingers.
Miss Marks was at his side in an instant, crouching on her hands and knees. "Is it labeled?" she asked breathlessly.
"No. Damn it all." Leo was gripped with volcanic fury.
"Let me have it," Miss Marks said, prying the vial from him.
Leo jumped to his feet immediately, hurling himself at the wardrobe. He slammed it with both his fists. "Damn you, Harrow, what is it? What is this stuff? Tell me, or you'll stay in there until you rot."
There was.nothing but silence from the wardrobe.
"By God, I'm going to-," Leo began, but Miss Marks interrupted.
"It's digitalin powder."
Leo threw her a distracted glance. She had opened the vial and was sniffing it cautiously. "How do you know?"
"My grandmother used to take it for her heart. The scent is like tea, and the color is unmistakable."
"What's the antidote?"
"I have no idea," Miss Marks said, looking more distressed by the moment. "But it's a powerful substance. A large dose could very well stop a man's heart."
Leo turned back to the wardrobe. " Harrow," he bit out, "if you want to live, you'll tell me the antidote now."
"Let me out first," came the muffled reply.
"No negotiating! Tell me what counteracts the poison, damn you!"
"Never."
"Leo?" A new voice entered the fray. He turned swiftly to see Amelia, Win, and Beatrix at the threshold. They were staring at him as if he'd gone mad.
Amelia spoke with admirable composure. "I have two questions, Leo: Why did you send for me, and why are you having an argument with the wardrobe?"
" Harrow 's in there," he told her.
Her expression changed. "Why?"
"I'm trying to make him tell me how to counteract an overdose of digitalin powder." He glared vengefully at the wardrobe. "And I'll kill him if he doesn't."
"Who's taken an overdose?" Amelia demanded, her face draining of color. "Is someone ill? Who is it?"
"It was meant for Merripen," Leo said in a low voice, reaching out to steady her before he continued. "But Cam took it by mistake."
A strangled cry escaped her. "Oh God. Where is he?"
"The Gypsy campsite. Merripen's with him."
Tears sprang to Amelia's eyes. "I must go to him."
"You won't do him any good without the antidote."
Win brushed by them, striding to the bedside table. Moving with swift deliberation, she picked up an oil lamp and a tin matchbox, and brought them to the wardrobe.
"What are you doing?" Leo demanded, wondering if she had lost her wits entirely. "He doesn't need a lamp, Win."
Ignoring him, Win removed the glass fount and tossed it to the bed. She did the same with the brass wick burner, exposing the oil reservoir. Without hesitation, she poured the lamp oil over the front of the wardrobe. The pungent odor of highly flammable paraffin spread through the room.
"Have you lost your mind?" Leo demanded, astonished not only by her actions, but also by her calm demeanor.
"I have a matchbox, Julian," she said. "Tell me what to give Mr. Rohan, or I'll set the wardrobe on fire."
"You wouldn't dare," Harrow cried.
"Win," Leo said, "you'll burn the entire damned house down, just after it's been rebuilt. Give me the bloody matchbox."
She shook her head resolutely.
"Are we starting a new springtime ritual?" Leo demanded. "The annual buming-of-the-manse? Come to your senses, Win."
Win turned from him and glared at the wardrobe door. "I was told, Julian, that you killed your first wife. Possibly by poison. And now knowing what you have done to my brother-in-law, I believe it. And if you don't help us, I'm going to roast you like a piece of Welsh rarebit." She opened the matchbox.
Realizing she couldn't possibly be serious, Leo decided to back her bluff. "I'm begging you, Win," he said theatrically, "don't do this. There's no need to- Christl"
This last as Win struck a match and set the wardrobe on fire.
It wasn't a bluff, Leo thought dazedly. She actually intended to broil the bastard.
At the first bright, curling blossom of flame, there was a terrified cry from inside the wardrobe. "All right! Let me out! Let me out! It's tannic acid. Tannic acid. It's in my medical case; let me out!"
"Very well, Leo," Win said, a bit breathless. "You may extinguish the fire."
In spite of the panic that raced through his veins, Leo couldn't suppress a choked laugh. She spoke as if she'd asked him to snuff a candle, not put out a large flaming piece of furniture. Tearing off his coat, he rushed forward and beat wildly at the wardrobe door. "You're a madwoman," he told Win as he passed her.
"He wouldn't have told us otherwise," Win said.
Alerted by all the commotion, a few servants appeared, one of them a footman who removed his own coat and hastened to assist Leo. Meanwhile, the women were rummaging for Harrow 's black leather medical case.
"Isn't tannic acid the same as tea?" Amelia asked, her hands shaking as she fumbled with the latch.
"No, Mrs. Rohan," the governess said. "I believe the doctor was referring to tannic acid from oak leaves, not the tannins from tea." She reached out quickly as Amelia nearly overturned the case. "Careful, don't knock it over. He doesn't label his vials." Opening the hard-sided case, they found rows of neatly arranged glass tubes containing powders and liquids. Although the vials themselves were not marked, the slots they fit in had been identified with inked letters. Poring over the vials, Miss Marks extracted one filled with pale yellow-brown powder. "This one."
Win took it from her. "Let me take it to them," she said. "I know where the campsite is. And Leo's busy putting out the wardrobe."
"I'll take the vial to Cam," Amelia said vehemently. "He's my husband."
"Yes. And you're carrying his child. If you fell while riding at a breakneck pace, he would never forgive you for risking the baby."
Amelia gave her an anguished glance, her mouth trembling. She nodded and croaked, "Hurry, Win."
"Can you fashion a sling with canvas and poles?" Merripen asked the rom phuro. "I must get him back to Ramsay House."
The tribe leader nodded at once. He called out to a small group waiting near the entrance of the vardo, gave a few instructions, and they disappeared instantly. Turning back to Merripen, he murmured, "We'll have something put together in a few minutes."
Kev nodded, staring down at Cam 's ashen face. He wasn't well by any means, but at least the threat of convulsions and heart failure had been temporarily staved off. Robbed of his usual expressiveness, Cam looked young and defenseless.
It was peculiar to think that they were brothers and yet had spent their lives never knowing about each other. Kev had occupied his self-imposed solitude for so long, but lately it seemed to be wearing away, like a threadbare suit of clothes that was falling apart at the seams. He wanted to know more about Cam, to exchange memories with him. He wanted a brother. I always knew I wasn't supposed to be alone, Cam had told him on the day they discovered their blood ties. Kev had felt the same. He just hadn't been able to say it.
Taking up a cloth, he blotted the film of sweat from Cam 's face. A quiet whimper escaped Cam 's lips, as if he were a child having a nightmare.
"It's all right, phral," Kev murmured, putting a hand on Cam 's chest, testing the slow and lurc
hing heartbeat. "You'll be well soon. I won't leave you."
"You are close to your brother," the rom phuro said softly. "That is good. Do you have other family?"
"We live with gadje," Kev said, his gaze daring the man to disapprove. The tribe leader's expression remained friendly and interested. "One of them is his wife."
"I hope she's not pretty," the rom phuro commented.
"She is," Kev said. "Why shouldn't she be?"
"Because one should choose a wife using the ears, not the eyes."
Kev smiled slightly. "Very wise." He glanced down at Cam again, thinking he was starting to look worse. "If they need help making the sling to carry him-"
"No, my men are fast. They'll be finished soon. But it must be made well, and strong, to carry a man of his size."
Cam 's hands were twitching, his long fingers plucking fitfully at the blanket they had put over him. Kev took the cold hand and gripped it firmly, trying to warm and reassure him.
The rom phuro stared at the visible tattoo on Cam 's forearm, the striking lines of the winged black horse.
"When did you meet Rohan?" he asked quietly.
Kev gave him a startled glance, his protective grasp tightening on Cam 's hand. "How do you know his name?"
The tribe leader smiled, his eyes warm. "I know other things as well. You and your brother were separated for a long time." He touched the tattoo with his forefinger. "And this mark… you have one, too."
Kev stared at him without blinking.
The sounds of a minor to-do filtered in from outside, and someone came pushing through the doorway. A woman. With surprise and concern, Kev saw the gleam of white-blond hair. "Win!" he exclaimed, carefully setting Cam 's hand down and coming to his feet. Unfortunately, he couldn't stand fully upright in the low-ceilinged vehicle. "Tell me you didn't come here alone. It's not safe. Why are you-"
"I'm trying to help." The skirts of Win's riding habit rustled stiffly as she hurried into the vardo. One of her hands was ungloved, and she was holding something in it. She didn't spare a glance for the rom phuro, she was so intent on reaching Kev. "Here. Here." She was breathing hard from riding to the camp at a breakneck pace, her cheeks flushed.
"What is it?" Kev murmured, gently taking the object from her, his free hand coming to rub her back. He looked down at a small vial filled with powder.