Then bolted upright. Grabbing her close, he roared into her face. Nose-to-nose. Spit hot and sticky against her skin.
Before she could react, she flew backwards, like a rag doll tossed aside. Her head hit the side of the hearth with a sickening thud. Dazed, she lay there a moment, trying to make sense of things. Coming up short. Why had Colin turned so vicious?
She pushed up to sit, and the whole room tilted to a precarious angle. Graham lunged sideways, locked in a struggle with her brother. No, two Grahams. Two Colins. She pinched the bridge of her nose, closing her eyes for a moment, and when she opened them, her brother’s big body flopped back against the mattress.
“Amelia?” Worried hazel eyes peered into her own, and with a strong arm about her shoulders, Graham lifted her to her feet. “Are you all right?”
“I…”
Graham split into two again, and she forced a few deep breaths until the shapes melded back into one very handsome, very concerned doctor.
“I am fine,” she croaked, surprised at how ragged her voice sounded.
“You are hurt.” He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and, gently holding her jaw, began swabbing her forehead.
“My brother—”
“Don’t fret. He is resting now.” With a last dab, he searched her face. “But you, how do you fare? That was a nasty spill, and on the heels of what I suspect was a very strong draught from Mr. Peckwood.”
His concern warmed her as much as the heat radiating off him. “Yes, rather strong.” She cleared her throat and lifted her chin. “But I am fine now.”
The rise of his brow labeled her a liar, but this wasn’t—shouldn’t—be about her. “My brother has never once raised his hand against me. Against anyone. Why did he lash out like that?” She stared deep into Graham’s eyes, desperate for answers, craving his strength.
He looked away while he crammed his balled kerchief into his pocket. And the longer he took, the more alarm crept into her heart.
With a sigh, he met her gaze. “My best guess is he experienced a hallucination. Or maybe a drug-induced dream. Honestly, though? I cannot say.”
“Will it go away? These dreams. These hallucinations.” She grabbed his arm, shoring herself up for whatever may come. “Will my brother be all right?”
A shadow passed over Graham’s face, forbidding and dark, and her heart sank.
“In truth?” He blew out a long breath. “I do not know.”
TWENTY-SIX
“Ye weep, unhappy ones; but these are not your last tears!”
Sometimes it wasn’t merely hard to be thankful, it was downright painful to glean the good from the bad. It took every ounce of Graham’s self-control not to wince as he stood next to Colin’s bed while Mr. Peckwood examined the man. Yes, two days after the surgery, it was a blessing Colin could prop himself up against the cushions, that he drew breath and his heart beat strong. But one of his arms hung limp, his gaze was empty as a pauper’s pockets, and he either grunted or slurred his words when trying to communicate. How was anyone to be grateful for such changes in a man who used to be so robust?
He dared a peek at Amelia, hovering near the door. Half-moon shadows darkened the skin beneath her eyes on a face that was much too sallow. He doubted she’d slept at all these past few days—which reminded him he ought to leave some sleeping powders with her maid.
Across the bed, Peckwood held out his hand. “I’ll take that candle now, Mr. Lambert, if you please.”
Though morning light blazed through the window, Graham retrieved a brass candlestick from the nightstand.
“Now then, I should like you to do your best, Mr. Balfour, to follow the flame with your eyes, hmm?” Peckwood leaned close, guiding the candle close to Colin’s face.
With a whimper, Colin cowered against the pillows and turned away. A man his size could snuff the flame with his fingers and not even feel the burn, yet there he trembled.
Graham rested his hand on Colin’s shoulder. Hopefully the touch would soothe instead of irritate. “Be at peace, my friend. There is nothing here to fear.”
Colin’s gaze shot to the door as Amelia’s steps padded near.
“Mr. Lambert speaks truth, Brother. No one wishes you harm.”
Slowly—while clutching great handfuls of the counterpane to his chest—Colin faced the candle.
Peckwood moved the light back and forth. Colin’s gaze sluggishly tracked the small flame—mostly. One eye lagged behind the other. Graham bent closer, studying the man’s pupils. The one that lagged was larger. Abnormally so.
