“Perhaps,” he admitted, “but that does not make me untruthful.”
“Where is Lady Tabitha?”
“We were fortunate enough to—er—discover a mutual acquaintance.”
“You mean you foisted her onto some poor, unsuspecting soul,” Theo said, then shook her head. “No, that was cruel of me.”
“Yet not unjust. But as pleasant as she may be on closer acquaintance—though I pray I am not blessed withthat—she is no Theodosia.”
Theo knew she should feel something at the sound of her name on his lips. Novels had taught her that hearts ought to flutter at moments such as these, but hers remained obstinately still. In fact, the way he looked at her—as though he was a man starving, and she the feast he intended to devour—merely left her with a shimmer of fear, transient as the clouds across the sky.
“I suppose I ought to be flattered,” Theo said, the world losing a little of its clarity. She folded her hands on her lap and concentrated on breathing through her nose.
“I never used to believe flattery to be beyond my powers, but now I wonder.” The predatory light in his eyes faded as he searched her face. “You look a little pale. Perhaps a trip on the river might soothe you a little?”
There would be a breeze on the river rather than this insufferable heat, and Theo was prepared to sacrifice far more than propriety to feel a little of that breeze on her sweaty face.
“Yes,” she said, accepting his hand as he pulled her gently to her feet. “That would be . . . lovely. I trust you are an able rower.”
“You have nothing to fear from me, Duchess.”
Perhaps that was not strictly true, but she believed she knew enough of his character to know he wouldn’t try ravishing her against her will, especially not in public.
Andespeciallynot on a boat. There could be nothing less conducive to ravishing than a boat.
Her stomach cramped, and she was conscious of a wish for the shade again. Preferably the shade and the coolness of water. Perhaps she could throw herself into the Thames, propriety be damned.
She did not dare look at Nathanial, if he had even noticed her.
The boat dipped alarmingly as she clambered inside, her legs a little shaky now. The stomach cramps were becoming more pressing, and she was in imminent danger of expelling everything she’d ever eaten.
Breathe.
She had not thought such a simple command could be so difficult.
Her fingers wrapped around the rough wood of the seat, and if it were not for her gloves, it might have given her a splinter. She squeezed, gritting her teeth against the pain and roiling sickness.
“Hold still,” Sir Montague said as he pushed the boat off into the water, gathered the oars, and sat opposite her. “There we go.”
Cold shivers racked through her, despite the overbearing heat of the sun. She closed her eyes.
“Duchess?” Sir Montague’s voice sounded as though it came from a distance. “Are you well?”
The world was not in its proper place. If she reached out to touch it, she would miss. And oh, her stomach hurt unbearably.
“Theo?” He put his oars down and reached towards her. “What’s wrong?”
The world tilted on its axis as she leaned over the side of the boat and vomited so hard her body convulsed and everything went dark.
Chapter Nineteen
Nathanial was a damn fool. He knew it as well as Theo, although she had yet to come out and say it to him. He half wished she would. If she had given him the opening, he would have apologised for the way he’d treated her at Mrs Selfridge’s ball.
Her tears then had nearly been his undoing. He had almost held her close and told her that he would forgive her every transgression if only she would stop crying.
Instead, they had returned home and ignored each other just as before.
“Norfolk, old boy?” Lord Stapleton said. His florid face was full of rare concern. “Never seen you so distracted. You quite well?”
