Never Dare a Wicked Earl by Renee Ann Miller

Author:Renee Ann Miller [Miller, Renee Ann]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Kensington
Published: 2017-12-11T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fifteen

Beads of sweat prickled on Sophia’s forehead. Kneeling, she grasped the wooden edge of the commode with white-knuckled fingers and squeezed her eyes closed. She stiffened her jaw and fought her stomach’s churning rebellion.

All in vain. A second later, she heaved her breakfast into the porcelain bowl. She drew the back of a hand over her mouth and moved to the sink. A splash of water on her face cooled her heated skin while brushing her teeth obliterated the vile taste that coated her tongue.

She glanced at her pallid reflection in the mirror. Too pale. She was also . . .

Don’t say it. If you do, you shall find yourself a weeping mess, and Thomas will be here shortly. She pinched her eyelids closed, waited until the burning desire to cry subsided. She spun away from the looking glass and stepped into her bedchamber.

“Miss!” Mrs. MacLean tapped on the door and without waiting for a reply flung it open. “Dr. Trimble is here and looking rather fit, if I may be bold enough to say—”

The housekeeper stopped her chattering and blinked.

“Aye, ye poor lass. Been sick again, have ye?” With her apron bunched in her hand, Mrs. MacLean rushed forward and blotted Sophia’s damp brow. The elder woman shook her head. “Ye are normally so hale. Haven’t seen ye with a case of the collywobbles since ye were a young lass. I’ll make a mixture of . . .” Mrs. MacLean’s voice faded, her eyes grew wide, and she clutched her dress at her bosom. “Saints preserve.”

Ignoring the woman’s gaping mouth, Sophia moved to the armoire, removed her pale blue paletot, and slipped it on. “A touch of gastritis. I must have eaten something disagreeable.”

“Oh, lassie dear. ’Tis the second time in less than a week ye retched yer morning meal.” The woman ticked off her fingers and counted. “Seven weeks since you let that blackguard into your bed, and I’m thinking he left more than his calling card.”

Dashing an errant tear off her cheek, Sophia sat on the bed and stared down at her lap.

“Miss—”

The sound of someone clearing his throat halted the housekeeper’s words. Thomas stood in the doorway. “I know it’s in exceedingly poor taste to enter a woman’s bedchamber uninvited but . . .” He looked pointedly at her. “You are usually so punctual. I thought there was a problem. I called up. Neither of you answered.”

Standing, Sophia glanced at him. Had he heard? She toyed with the tasseled fringe edging the bottom of her coat. “Sorry, Thomas, I’m ready.” She forced a small smile. “Did I mention how pleased I am you’ve asked me to accompany you to Mr. Philips’s architectural office? I’m sure the exterior perspectives of the new hospital will be fascinating.”

He stared at her, but said not a word.

She pressed her palms to her cheeks. I must look dreadful.

Thomas stepped fully into the room. “Mrs. MacLean, would you be kind enough to give Sophia and me a few minutes alone?”

The woman appeared hesitant, but exited the bedchamber.

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