Page 43 of The Pureblood Princess
“Is she all right? Does she need anything?” Nadia wouldn’t know the first thing to do—Rose used to handle that for her—but concern still makes her ask.
“She’s quite all right. Mrs. Wilkinson is looking after her.”
“Oh, good.” Knowing the cook is caring for her calms Nadia’s nerves greatly. “Well, you can start by lighting the fire.”
Nadia gestures to the empty hearth, and Camille immediately moves across the room and begins working on starting a fire. As she does so, Nadia slips out of her knee-length chemise and into her nightgown. The soft fabric tickles her ankles as it settles about her feet, and then she drapes the chemise over the back of her vanity chair.
“There you are, miss,” Camille says, wiping her hands on her apron and rising from the floor as the fire glows gently behind her. “Amélie says you usually take a glass of wine before bed. Shall I fetch you one?”
“Yes, please do.”
Camille nods and turns for the door. Just as her fingers touch the handle, Nadia reaches out as if to stop her.
“Oh, and if there’s still any of that frosted pound cake left over...”
The maid glances back with a knowing smile. “I’ll bring you a slice with the wine.”
Nadia smiles gratefully.
When Camille is gone, she returns to her vanity to brush her hair and reaches out to Theodore once more.
Now, where were we?she asks, and he’s quick to respond.
You were just about to tell me what you’re wearing. In detail.
She looks down at her thin nightgown, with the top laces hanging loose, and smiles.
Later that evening, after touchingherself into bliss while Theodore whispered dirty thoughts into her head, Nadia sits cross-legged on her four-poster bed, a near-empty glass of wine in one hand and a fork in the other. The pound cake is just as good now as it was a few days ago when she first tried it, and the almond frosting tickles her tastebuds as she finishes the last bite before washing it down with the remainder of her wine.
Perhaps we should have pound cake at both weddings, she thinks, then swipes a finger across the plate and licks it clean.
With a satisfied sigh, she reaches to set the wineglass on the nightstand. But a wooziness comes over her suddenly, and the glass slips from her fingers, falling and shattering on the hardwood floor. Before she can react, her head starts to swim, and murkiness floats in at the edges of her vision.
What is . . .
All goes dark.
Chapter Seventeen
Bumping and jostling awaken Nadiafrom a deep, dreamless sleep. She stirs, eyes still closed, and her muscles ache as if she’s been asleep for days.
When she finally forces her eyelids open, she finds herself leaning against a window with the draperies closed. Her surroundings creak and rattle, and after a moment of confusion, she comes to realize she’s in a carriage.
Why . . . ?
Groaning, she pushes herself away from the window and turns to her right. The carriage is dark—it must be deep night—and her vision is still blurry, which makes it difficult to discern with any clarity who the passenger beside her is.
“Now, now,” the man says, shifting upon the cushion. His voice is familiar, but she can’t seem to place it. “You weren’t supposed to wake so soon.”
“Who are—”
Before Nadia can get the question out, the man is upon her. He brings one hand around the back of her head, holding her firm, and with the other he presses a glass vial to her mouth. She tries to twist her head away, but he catches her hair in his fist, making her gasp. He dumps something bitter into her mouth, then holds a hand over her lips and nose until she finallyswallows. The liquid burns going down her throat, and her eyes water.
“Good girl,” he says, loosening his hold on her, his fingertips trailing down her neck.
She shrinks away from his touch, but the carriage leaves her no way to escape.
It doesn’t matter, though, for the darkness is slipping in again, stealing away her consciousness.
