“It appears you were . . . poisoned.” The words seemed to cost him, and he paused, gazing at the moonlit wall as though he could bore a hole through it. “The how and why I have yet to discover, but the physician was quite sure as to the what.”
“Poisoned,” Theo repeated. The words bounced around her head, making less sense with each iteration. “But—I did not think I had anyone who wished to poison me.”
Nathanial looked down at her then, his thumb moving back across her hand reassuringly. “We know nothing yet. You should sleep.”
Theo had been doing, by the sounds of it, altogether too much sleeping over the past few days. She wanted answers. “Who did this?”
“I don’t know, love. But I’ll find out. I promise.”
Without thinking, Theo curled her fingers around Nathanial’s hand. “Will you stay with me?”
By all accounts, he had been doing so for the past three days, but they had reached a kind of truce in the darkness, and she had an irrational fear that if he left her now, they would go back to how things had been.
His hand flexed in hers before he squeezed it. “Yes. I will stay with you.” He rose as if to leave, but Theo did not relinquish his hand.
“Not in the armchair. You hate the armchair.”
“Then where—” He broke off as he understood her intention. She expected him to argue, or give some reason why he could not. After all, their arrangement had not included this. But, as she shuffled to make room for him, he stretched out beside her, on top of the blankets, hands folded on his chest. That glimpse was all she allowed herself before she closed her eyes.
He blew out the candle. This time, the darkness felt friendly. She let out a small sigh.
“Sleep,” he told her again. The silence settled around them like a thick blanket.
“Nate?”
“I regret to inform you that you are terrible at following instructions.”
She laughed, before saying, “Are we friends again?”
There was a pause, and his weight shifted as though he was looking at her. When he spoke again, his voice was low. “That is what you want? To be friends?”
“Only if you do, too,” she said hastily, wishing she hadn’t said anything at all.
A hand brushed her hair, the gesture so light she might have believed it was a stray breeze. “Whatever may happen,” he promised, “you shall always have my friendship. Now sleep.”
Reluctantly, she decided to obey him, if only because the sound of his steady breaths was dragging her into unconsciousness.
Chapter Twenty-One
Now the worst of his fears had been assuaged, Nathanial had a few arrangements to make. First was a trip into town to clarify the terms of his will. There was little he could do about his estate, which would pass on to Montague if he died without issue, but he ensured that if he died unexpectedly, Theo would be provided for.
Montague was his next target, and after he finished with his lawyer, he left for his cousin’s house. Perhaps it was a stretch to presume Montague had poisoned Theo, but he was capable of far worse things. The only thing that puzzled Nathanial was the means. Poison was not, he fancied, Montague’s favoured method of incapacitation.
Still, this visit had been long overdue.
Ignoring the butler’s protestations, Nathanial strode through to the well-appointed, if small dining room. Montague sat at the table in an Indian robe and slippers, clearly not expecting guests.
“The Duke of Norfolk, sir,” the butler said belatedly, hurrying after Nathanial.
Shock crossed Montague’s face, but it soon passed, and he gave a bland smile. “Thank you, Perry. That will be all.”
The butler gave Nathanial a look of deep dislike and shut the door behind him with more force than strictly necessary.
“An old retainer,” Montague explained. “Took him with me to France.”
“I have no interest in your servants, Radcliffe.”
“Have you not?” Montague poured some coffee and gestured to a seat opposite him. “I’ve been expecting you. Come, let’s discuss this as gentlemen. You won’t call me out, you know.”
