“Do you remember falling off the garden wall?” Maxim asked conversationally, still holding the cup at Nando’s nose.
Perhaps that explained the pain in his shoulder and hip, then.
“Everything is a mystery after dinner.”
“That is because you drank yourself to oblivion before the fish course,” Maxim observed. “Now, drink this bloody elixir. It will help you to feel better.”
“I doubt that anything could ever make me feel better, ever again.”
“Last night, you seemed to be persuaded that whisky would.”
Maxim’s tone was sly.
“Shut up,” Nando growled, taking the cup and bringing it to his lips.
The liquid tasted vile. He gagged, choking it down.
Maxim presided over him, arms crossed.
“What in the hell are you doing, trying to poison me?” Nando sputtered.
“As tempting as that is, I would fear your ghost would haunt me.”
He glared at his brother. “An excellent reason not to murder your sibling. I’m not drinking another sip of this devil’s brew.”
“Yes, you are. You’re going to drink it all. Every. Damned. Drop.” Maxim enunciated succinctly, his tone stern.
Nando’s stomach gave a violent lurch at the thought of drinking more of the disgusting potion in his hand. “Why should you care if I do?”
“Because there is a woman who has come to see you, and I don’t think you would want her to witness you looking as if you’ve just been dug up from the grave,” Maxim said.
“Tell her to go to Hades. There’s no woman I want to see. Ever.”
Therewasone, but that was impossible. Eleanora was in London where she belonged, living the life she deserved—one without him in it.
“I do believe you’ll want to see this one since she is your wife,” Maxim told him calmly. “Drink before I force it down your throat.”
She is your wife.
Eleanora.
Shock pierced the haze of misery that had settled over him. Eleanora was here? In Varros? She had traveled here alone, and so soon after she had been wounded? What the devil had she been thinking?
“You were right about one thing, brother. I do want to see her. More than I want to take my next breath.”
“Then get your arse out of this bed, drink the elixir, and go to her,” Maxim said, his tone gentling before he sniffed the air. “Bathe and shave first, however. You smell like a distillery, and you look like a wild dog who’s been infested with fleas.”
He might have taken umbrage at his brother’s words, but Nando was too busy pouring the foul potion down his throat. Eleanora had come to him.
He didn’t know what it meant.
All he knew was that he had to see her.
“It islovely to meet you at last.” The queen smiled over her dish of tea.
Eleanora was so nervous that she could not keep her hand from trembling. She had scarcely been settled at the Hotel de Varros—thanks to the hack driver who had slyly left his direction should they need further assistance during their stay—when shehad sent a missive to the palace announcing her arrival. It had been met with an instant response and invitation. And although it hadn’t come from Nando directly, she had been hopeful that she would see him. She had accepted, willing her stomach to obey and keep from humiliating her.
She had a reticule full of lavender-scented handkerchiefs at the ready, but fortunately, the palace smelled like a summer rose garden on account of all the vases of fresh blooms, and nothing at all like the docks.
