Page 77 of Devoted to the Duke (The St. Clairs 1)

“Awake, Your Grace?” a voice asked.

Opening one eye, he saw Morefield’s valet hovering over him.

The servant tried to help him from the bed but Jeremy tossed off the arm. He rose shakily. The room swayed. His stomach lurched.

“The chamber pot is here, Your Grace.”

He vomited into it and then pissed.

This time, the valet latched on to him and didn’t let go.

“Drink this.” A cup with some murky liquid was thrust at him.

He drank the vile concoction just to spite the man.

“Very good, Your Grace. Believe it or not, you will feel better for having drunk it. I’ve drawn a bath for you.”

He found himself in a tub being roughly scrubbed and then shaved. He was too tired to protest. Finally, the valet rinsed him and managed to get him out of the tub, drying him off as if he were a small child. Jeremy stepped back into his clothes, all cleaned and brushed.

“Getting dressed is half the battle, Your Grace. Do you need assistance going downstairs to the breakfast room?”

“No,” he growled.

Making his way down the stairs took longer than he expected because they seemed to move every time he reached out and took another step. He held a death grip on the banister, cursing Morefield for putting him up on such a high floor. By the time he reached the breakfast room, he was sweating profusely.

Morefield awaited him, sipping tea as he went through the morning’s mail.

“Have a seat, Everton. I’ll get you something to eat and drink. You don’t look in any shape to attempt the buffet.”

His friend placed a full plate in front of him, along with a cup of tea.

“Drink it black. And eat everything on your plate. You’re going to need your strength.”

Jeremy didn’t attempt conversation as he concentrated on the meal. As he kept the food down and the hot tea warmed his belly, he began to feel human again. His jumbled thoughts began to clear.

His problems were still the same.

He had a wife who no longer wished to be his wife. He was madly in love with the said wife. And he’d been a fool to lose her over something so ridiculous. Not every woman died in childbirth. If by some ungodly reason Catherine did, he would treasure whatever time he’d had with her—and love their child to pieces. That baby would be a part of her he would always have.

“I’ve been a damned imbecile,” he finally said.

Morefield nodded. “I assumed the falling out was your fault.”

“It was.”

“Are you going to do something about it?”

“I am.” The pounding in his head had lessened to a dull, steady thumping. “Is she here?”

“Catherine? No. Not to my knowledge. I escorted Charlotte to the opera last night. She came home afterward and I went to White’s—where I found you. Unless Catherine arrived before we did, I doubt she’s here. None of the servants have mentioned her this morning. I’m sure my butler would have informed me if we had additional guests beyond you.”

“I didn’t think she’d go home. Of course, Cor will take Catherine’s side. She should.” Jeremy looked around. “Where’s Charlotte?” he asked warily.

“She rarely comes to breakfast. She prefers to eat sparingly and sip her hot chocolate in her room.”

“Don’t tell her I was here.”

“I won’t,” Morefield promised. “Have you worked everything out with yourself?”

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