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Good God above.

Emily flashed hot, then cold, then hot again. A thousand drums echoed inside her head, hammering a vicious cadence behind her eyes.

Tobias had tried to warn her.

That’s why he’d taken her arm and given a slight squeeze, silently speaking to her with his potent gaze.

She sought his eyes, unprepared for the stark concern she saw glimmering there.

This was bad. Very, very bad.

What had Mr. Marlow-Westbrook said to him?

After all of this time, her worst fears had come to pass.

For the first time in her life, she was sorely tempted to fake a swoon. Acutely aware that every person in the theater box gazed at her expectedly, she marshaled her composure and fashioned what she hoped would pass for a genial smile.

“I doubt it, Mr. Marlow-Westbrook. I didn’t meet my husband in England.”

Emily wasn’t about to divulge anything more to the inquisitive man.

She pressed two fingers to her forehead. She mightn’t faint, but the megrim that attacked her skull with the force of a blacksmith’s anvil was very real indeed.

“Aunt Emily?” Justina, the dear girl, recognized the symptoms at once. She touched Emily’s other arm. “Is it one of your megrims?”

“I fear so,” Emily managed, sounding far frailer than she liked. She swallowed, nausea billowing up her throat. She might very well cast up her accounts. Wouldn’t that give that toadying troll of a reporter something to write about?

She closed her eyes, willing the sickness to pass.

These sudden onset headaches were the worst.

They gave Emily no time to prepare. To take headache powders, don her nightclothes, and lie down in a dark room with a cold cloth across her head.

“San Sebastian, might I impose upon you to bring Avery home when the performance is over?” Tobias asked, taking charge.

Good. He’d know what to do.

Remaining upright took all of Emily’s concentration.

“Not a bit of it,” Justina said. “We shall all depart. I am most familiar with my aunt’s megrims. I must go with her. I am sorry, Avery. There will be other performances.”

“Please do not apologize,” Avery said. “Naturally, we must see Mrs. Grenville home at once.”

The others in the box offered polite sympathies as Justina and Avery gathered their things.

“I hope you recover swiftly, Mrs. Grenville,” Mr. Marlow-Westbrook said, genuine compassion in his eyes.

“Thank you.” Emily couldn’t even summon a wan smile, so lightheaded and dizzy was she.

With every passing minute, she truly feared she might be sick.

She swallowed again, striving for equanimity.

Not here. Not in front of all of these people.

She had no doubt that dozens of opera glasses were pointed in their direction even now.

With Justina on one side and Avery on the other, Emily took an unsteady step forward, then another.