“You were robbed?” she asked incredulously.
“Well, not precisely. I had to send the Bow Street runners for two of them, and the other fellow managed to escape with a bullet in his arm.” He chuckled. “You should have seen Davie. Foolishly brave he was, waving his blunderbuss about and screaming curses at the villains.”
“You weren’t hurt, were you?”
“Oh, no. Merely late for Lady Otterly’s drum.” He didn’t add that the lady who was accompanying him flew into the most damnable hysterics.
“It must have been quite exciting,” she said, her voice wistful. “I’ve never met a highwayman.”
“They’re a most unsavory lot. Not at all dashing or romantic, as the stories puff them up to be.”
She shivered.
He leaned forward and tucked the rugs more securely about her. “Are you cold?”
She drew back. “No, no, I was merely thinking of Harry, and hoping he’s unharmed.”
The carriage lurched over an uneven stretch of road and Kate gritted her teeth against a wave of nausea. Even as she closed her eyes tightly and prayed that she wouldn’t be ill, she was forced to say in a strangled voice, “Julien, please stop the carriage. Oh dear, I’m going to be sick.”
He took one look at her strained, pale face and drove the head of his cane hard against the roof of the carriage. The carriage pulled to a halt, and Julien threw open the door and jumped to the ground.
“Give me your hand, quickly now.”
She stumbled toward him, her handkerchief pressed hard against her mouth. He took a firm grip on her arms and swung her to the road beside him. She leaned heavily against him, the world spinning unpleasantly about her. He let her slip to her knees at the side of the road and held her shoulders as she retched violently. He silently cursed himself for forcing her to eat what little breakfast she’d had. The retching eventually subsided into dry-heaving spasms that shook her whole body. Julien ruthlessly pulled off her fashionable bonnet so she could rest her head on his thigh, and drew his greatcoat around her to protect her from the blowing west wind.
“My lord,” Davie said quietly, “perhaps her ladyship would feel a mite better with some of my medicinal brandy.”
“Thank you, Davie, the very thing.” Julien took the flask from his coachman, wet his handkerchief, and gently wiped her mouth. “Come, sweetheart. This will make you feel much better.” His calmness steadied her, and though she was now consumed with embarrassment, she slowly raised her head and allowed Julien to put the flask to her mouth. She took a long draft and felt the fiery liquid burn its way down her throat. Her stomach churned anew at the unwelcome intrusion, but to her profound relief, it quieted after a moment.
She felt too weak to struggle when her husband lifted her into his arms. Nor did she protest when, once inside the carriage, he held her firmly on his lap, her head resting against his chest.
“My lord, is her ladyship well enough to continue now?” Davie poked a concerned face through the carriage door.
Julien took quick mental stock. “How far are we from Carresford?”
“But a mile or so, my lord.”
“Good. There’s an inn there, The White Goose. I think the countess should rest there before we think of continuing. Drive slowly, Davie,” he added, tightening his hold about her shoulders.
Kate burrowed her face against Julien’s chest. Between bouts of the wretched dizziness, she felt there could be no greater shame than being vilely ill in front of someone else.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were sick?”
“It’s just a touch of something, I think. Nothing to worry about, truly.”
He felt inordinately guilty that he hadn’t guessed that her unnatural silence and pallor reflected more than her unhappiness. He frowned above her head, wondering why the devil Eliza hadn’t told him.
“If you had only told me, we could have delayed our trip to St. Clair.”
“Oh, no. That is, I didn’t want to stay in London.” He felt her tense.
“Hush, sweetheart, it’s all right. It doesn’t matter.” He let his chin rest on her hair. “If you’re not feeling better this afternoon, I’ll send Davie back to London for a physician.”
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