[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

was pressed hard against an unyielding pillow stuffed with some highly condensed substance. She felt so
horribly ill, as if she had been poisoned. With each breath she took, her throat burned. Nausea spread
through her in repeated waves. She moaned in protest, while her clouded mind worked to disentangle
itself from unpleasant dreams.
Cracking her eyes open, she saw something above her& a face that seemed to dart out at her and
disappear at random. She tried to ask something, to find out what was happening, but her brain seemed
to have been disconnected from the rest of her body, and though she was vaguely aware of speaking, the
words that came from her mouth were gibberish.
 Shhh&  A long-fingered hand moved over her head, massaging her scalp and temples.  Rest. You ll
come out of it soon, darling. Just rest, and breathe.
Confused, Lillian closed her eyes and tried to harness her brain into some fragile imitation of its usual
process. After a while, she connected the voice to an image.  Sainvincen&  she mumbled, her tongue
not quite moving properly in her mouth.
 Yes, love.
Her first lurching impulse was one of relief. A friend. Someone who would help her. But the relief turned
hollow as her instincts shuffled in restless warning, and she rolled her head on what turned out to be St.
Vincent s thigh. The nauseating smell overwhelmed her& it was in her nose and on her face, the fumes
stinging her eyes, and she lifted her fingers to claw at her skin in an instinctive attempt to scratch it off.
St. Vincent caught her wrists, murmuring,  No, no& I ll help you. Put your hands down, love. There s a
good girl. Drink some of this. Only a sip, or it won t stay down. The nozzle of something a flask, a
skin, a bottle, perhaps pressed against her lips, and cool water trickled into her mouth. She swallowed
gratefully, and held still as a damp cloth moved over her cheeks and nose and jaw.
 Poor sweet, St. Vincent murmured, wiping her throat, then moving to her forehead.  The idiot who
brought you to me must have given you twice as much ether as was needed. You should have awakened
long before now.
Ether. The idiot who brought you to me& The first glimmer of understanding came to her, and Lillian
stared up at him hazily, perceiving only the lean outlines of his face and the color of his hair, dark gold like
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
the gilding of an antique Slavic icon.  Can t see&  she whispered.
 That should improve in a few minutes.
 Ether&  Lillian puzzled over the word, which sounded familiar. She had encountered it before, in some
apothecary shop or another. Ether& sweet vitriol& used as an intoxicant, and occasionally as an aid to
medical procedures.  Why? she asked, uncertain if her uncontrollable trembling was the result of ether
poisoning, or the realization that she was lying helpless in the arms of an enemy.
Though she still couldn t clearly see the expression on St. Vincent s face, she heard the gravely
apologetic note in his voice.  I had no choice in the manner of your delivery, darling, or I would have
made certain that you had been treated more gently. All I was told was that if I wanted you, I should
come to collect you without delay, else you would be disposed of in some other manner. Knowing the
countess, I wouldn t have been surprised if she had elected to drown you like a cat in a sack.
 Countess, Lillian repeated faintly, still finding it difficult to maneuver her thick, swollen tongue. Saliva
kept flooding her mouth, an aftereffect of the ether.  West-cliff & tell him&  Oh, how she wanted
Marcus. She wanted his deep voice and loving hands, and the hard warmth of his body against hers. But
Marcus didn t know where she was, or what had happened to her.
 You ve met with a change of fate, my pet, St. Vincent said softly, stroking her hair again. It seemed
that he could read her thoughts.  There s no point in asking for Westcliff & you re out of his reach now.
Lillian floundered and strained to sit up, but all she succeeded in was nearly rolling onto the floor of the
carriage.
 Easy, St. Vincent murmured, holding her in place with only the lightest pressure on her shoulders. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]