Page 68 of Midnight with the Marquess (The St. Clairs 2)

Chapter Twenty-One

He stood atthe garden party, anxiously awaiting Rachel’s arrival. Sweat trickled down his back under his coat and shirt, making him aware of how nervous he was. He dreaded Everton showing up and keeping her from him. It had happened over and over.

He looked around and put his hands to his ears. The cacophony of voices hurt his ears, the shrill tone grating on him. Everywhere, people smiled maliciously, women raising gloved hands to their mouths and speaking behind them, tittering to one another as they stared in his direction.

Where was she?

Suddenly, a plump cloud descended from the sky. The noise ceased as all eyes turned upward. Rachel floated to the ground and stepped from the cloud. She wore a pale blue dress. No jewelry. Ribbons of the same blue ran through her hair.

She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

She reached out a bare hand to him. He also wore no gloves. Their skin touched and heat rushed through him. His hand clasped hers. He would never let it go. Never.

Suddenly, Everton appeared to his left. The duke appeared twice as tall as the others gathered and glowered at him.

“Rachel is not for you,” he said sternly. “You are not worthy of her. You never were.”

Panic filled him as her fingers slid from his. Sadness filled her face.

“I need a strong man,” she said. “One strong in body and mind. A man not afraid to love.”

“But I do love you!” he insisted, shouting the words as she turned away.

She looked over her shoulder, her face now full of pity. “It was never meant to be. Accept it.”

With those words, she climbed atop the cloud again and it floated upward to the heavens. He ran and leaped, stretching out his arms as high as they would reach, trying to grab it and force it to return. His fingers swiped nothing but air. Dejected, he turned away, not having the stomach to see her slip away. Again.

The crowd gathered jeered at him, fingers pointing as they roared, entertained by his pain.

Everton’s eyes narrowed. “Go away. You are not wanted. No one will ever want you. No one. Ever. Will want you.”

Evan gasped and sat up, confused, looking about the room. Gray sat in a chair by his bedside, reading.

“Do your breathing, Lord Merrick,” the doctor said. “It will soothe you.”

He breathed in slowly, counting to four as Gray had advised, and held the breath a moment before exhaling, this time to a count of seven. In four. Pause. Out seven. Evan repeated the pattern several times until he felt in control again and collapsed against the pillows.

“Was it another hallucination?”

“Yes,” he whispered, his throat dry. “I’m hot,” he complained.

The physician stood and took his wrist, checking his pulse, and then placed the back of his hand against Evan’s brow.

“You still have a fever.”

He jerked, the convulsion one of many he’d undergone the last few days. His eyes ached. Every limb shook. The nausea remained. He’d had constant diarrhea.

And the insane delusions.

They were numerous. Every single one had involved Rachel in some aspect. Each pointed out his unfitness and unworthiness, plunging him into the depression that Gray had warned him about.

He spasmed again, lying there and letting the tremors run through him. Knowing he could do nothing about them. Gray said they would come to an end soon.

The doctor motioned Randolph and the assistant left. Within half an hour, servants arrived with water for a new bath and clean linens for the bed. Randolph placed him in the tepid water. Everything about the man annoyed Evan. Gray had explained that irritability was one of the signs of withdrawal. Evan began trembling violently in the bath water, locking his arms about his knees and holding on for dear life. He shook so much water splashed from the tub. His head dropped to his knees and he wept again for the hundredth time this past week. He was tired of the visions. They seemed so real. His body had never been wearier. His thinking was clouded. He could feel his heart beating erratically and thought, perhaps, death might be more welcomed than life.

Then the tremors subsided. Randolph gently bathed him and Evan felt soothed for the first time since he’d begun this journey with Dr. Gray. Randolph lifted him and dried him off as if he were a small child and took him back to the bed. The sheets felt cool against his fevered skin. He slept again.

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