Page 82 of His Haunted Duchess
“She will be the end of you,” Felicity ranted. “Already she has put you in danger—has poisoned your relationship. You’ve been ill, haven’t you? You see what she will bring!”
Frederic froze. It couldn’t be. Perhaps Felicity had misspoke. She wouldn’t have— A woman of her standing. Perhaps—but it was too close a coincidence to be entirely an accident of speech.
A growing, outrageous conviction expanded in him, filling him like flames in a forge. It was too soon yet, too impossibly soonfor Felicity to have received word about his condition. Too soon, unless?—
He took a step forward. Felicity fell back before his face.
“How would you know, my lady, about the poison?”
His voice was low, menacing. Felicity’s mouth worked like a fish pulled from the water, trying to form words. Caroline coughed again. Frederic rubbed his hands over her shoulders.She was so cold!Felicity’s eyes flashed angrily, like a child deprived of its treat.
In that glance, Frederic read the truth. He took another step forward, towering over her.
“Only one person—a vicious, murderous person—” He spat each word, flicking them over her like a whip, “—would know about my recent indisposition.”
Felicity blanched. She searched his face. He had never spoken to her—to any woman—with the vehemence that now laced his expression. Felicity croaked like a frog, feebly trying to force justifications from her throat. Frederic leaned slowly forward.
“You poisoned me.”
Felicity started like she had been slapped.
“No! I mean—I didn’t mean to—I have only ever wanted to be by your side.”
“You sent the package!” Frederic said sternly. “You nearly killed me, Felicity Flounters.”
Felicity wrung her hands.
“I—I did send the package. But it was for her!” She pointed to Caroline. “It was for that desperate, usurping witch. You weren’t supposed to drink it—she was.”
Winifred and Philip reached them, throwing blankets over their shoulders. Caroline snuggled into them gratefully, coughing into her hand. Frederic wiped the cold droplets from her face.
Her eyes were so soft, so happy.
“There is no curse,” he whispered, caressing her face. “There is only my duchess.”
Felicity glared at them like a chained tiger. Every line of her lineaments stood out like the bold strokes of a villainous Rubens painting. Frederic returned her expression levelly.
Philip snorted. “Of course, there isn’t a curse! What kind of silly?—”
Felicity glowered at him. Philip took a judicious step back.
“Thank you,” Caroline said feebly to Winifred. “The blankets help ever so much. I can hardly feel the cold.”
Frederic picked Caroline up, cradling her, and kissed her forehead. His own body trembled with fatigue. He pushed through the feeling. Nothing else mattered other than the small, warm bundle he held in his arms. With her strength close to his, he felt like he could have flown. Felicity threw herself across his path.
“No, don’t take her! She will be the end of you. I was only trying to show you what she really is. This wretched witch?—”
Frederic cut her off. How could she be so delusional? It surpassed reason, feeling, or even nature. How long had she festered with this secret hate in her heart, plotting how best to remove—- He curled Caroline even more closely in his arms. How close he had come to losing her!
“Put her down, Frederic. She is not worth your concern. I am the woman who deserves?—”
He gritted his teeth. His hands, fortunately, were occupied, or he would have been tempted to use them. His patience, tried by grief and illness, would brook no more. No previous acquaintance, no claim to femininity, not even basic civility could demand another moment of endurance.
“Enough!”
The finality rang through the group like a bell at a funeral. With terrifying self-restraint, he turned to Winifred, whose own eyes—he noticed with satisfaction—were also blazing.
“Fetch the constable. Immediately.”
