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Wringing her hands, Marina stared at a gnarl in the floorboard beneath her feet. “I, too, should be returning home. My uncle will start to worry.” She swallowed thickly. “Do let me know how William is. I have left the instructions and the ingredients on his bedside table.”

With that, she turned to leave.

“Wait,” the duke said, and she halted with her back to him. “I wish to… thank you for coming here and for doing all you have done for my son. I know it was inappropriate to call you here like that, but I am not sorry that I did.”

She slowly turned around to face him, her heart beating faster in her chest. “It was my honor, Your Grace.”

“Anthony,” he corrected. “After all you have done, please call me Anthony.”

Marina blinked, astonished. “I do not think I can do that, Your Grace. It would not be appropriate.”

“That does not seem to matter now,” he replied wearily. “Everything has turned upside down.”

She tilted her head, staring at him. “I have a replenishing tonic in my bag if you would care for some? You do not look well yourself, Your Grace.”

Her mouth tried to say ‘Anthony’ but she could not get the word to come out; it was far too intimate.

A grim chuckle slipped from his lips. “I do not feel so well, but I shall manage.”

“No, I insist,” she urged, for she knew what shock and the strain of stress could do to a person. She had read about it extensively.

Perhaps Anthony was not feverish yet, but if he allowed himself to be overwhelmed and weakened by his son’s illness, then he too might succumb. At least, that was her theory.

She went to the desk in the room and quickly sifted through her bag for the bottle of tonic that she had made just a couple of weeks ago, in her beloved garden workshop. It had taken her a long time to perfect, and as she held it in her hand, she was almost reluctant to let it go.

What if I cannot make more? What if I never return to Stadley to replace my stock?

“Here,” she said at last, holding the bottle out. “Have a quarter of the bottle tonight, and then a sip each morning and evening until there is nothing left. It should reduce the risk of you getting sick too.”

Anthony approached, seeming just as reluctant to take the bottle. “What is in it?”

“I shall not lie to you; it does not taste good,” she replied with a smile. “But medicine, good medicine, rarely does. Have something sweet afterward to get rid of the taste.”

“That did not answer my question,” he pointed out, finally reaching for the bottle.

A show of trust that did not go unnoticed or unappreciated, though she had no time to dwell on her gratitude as his fingertips accidentally brushed hers. That light touch sent a shivering shock through her, so unexpected that she almost snatched her hand back, jumping at the contact.

No man had ever touched her like that before. It was not the same during their dance at the garden party, for she had been wearing gloves then… but this was her bare skin, and he had not recoiled.

Can he not see my scars?

There was some scarring on the side of her hand, where she had tried to protect her face from the flames. Yet, he did not seem to notice, or care.

“It has… many things in it,” she said haltingly, her heart beating so strangely that she wondered if she ought to pound up some herbs for that too. “Replenishing things. The recipe is my own secret, so you will forgive me for not sharing it.”

He gave a small shrug. “I have trusted you so far, with a much more precious life than my own. No reason to stop now.”

“Well then,” she rasped, overcome by his words, “now that you have everything you need, I really must be going.”

Anthony unstoppered the bottle and sniffed it, his eye twitching at the aroma. “What if you did not?”

“Pardon?” Her eyes flew wide.

Surely, he was not suggesting that she stay at his townhouse for the night… although, she was loathed to leave William without a nurse at his side.

“I mean, what if we were to not part ways,” he said, grimacing slightly.

“I am afraid I do not understand.”