The Girl With the Make-Believe Husband by Quinn Julia

Author:Quinn, Julia [Quinn, Julia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Romance, Historical, Adult
Goodreads: 31931722
Publisher: Avon
Published: 2017-05-30T07:00:00+00:00

By seven that night, Cecilia wanted to die.

Edward knew this because she said quite clearly: “I want to die.”

“No, you don’t,” he said with more pragmatism than he felt. Logically, he knew that she would be fine, that this was probably a case of bad fish at supper—although he’d eaten what she’d eaten, and he was fine.

But it was hell to watch her suffer. She’d already retched so many times all she had left was some pinkish-yellowish bile. Even worse, her skin was beginning to rise with thick red welts.

“I think we should get a doctor,” he said.

“No,” she moaned. “Don’t go.”

He shook his head. “You’re too ill.”

She grabbed his hand with enough strength to startle him. “I don’t need a doctor.”

“Yes,” he said, “you do.”

“No.” She shook her head, then moaned.

“What?”

She closed her eyes and lay very still. “It made me dizzy,” she whispered. “Can’t shake my head.”

Now she had vertigo? “Cecilia, I really think—”

“It was something I ate,” she cut in weakly. “I’m quite sure.”

He frowned. He’d thought the same, but she was getting worse by the second. “Did you have the fish at supper?”

“Aaaahhh!” She threw her arm over her eyes, even though as far he could tell they were still closed. “Don’t say that word!”

“Fish?”

“Stop!”

“What?”

“Don’t mention food,” she mumbled.

He thought about this. Maybe it was something she ate. He watched for a bit, more wary than worried. She was lying utterly still atop the bedclothes, her arms at her sides in two perfect sticks. She was still wearing the pink frock she’d had on earlier, although he supposed they were going to have to get it cleaned. He didn’t think she’d got any bile on it, but she’d been sweating rather viciously. Come to think of it, he should probably loosen her stays or unfasten her buttons or something to make her more comfortable.

“Cecilia?”

She did not move.

“Cecilia?”

“I’m not dead,” she told him.

“No,” he said, trying not to smile. “I can see that you’re not.”

“I’m just lying very still,” she said.

And she was doing an admirable job of it. He could barely see her lips move.

“If I lie very still,” she continued, her voice coming out slightly singsongy, “it almost feels like I’m not going to . . .”

“Vomit?” he supplied.

“I was going to say die,” she said. “I’m fairly certain I’m still going to vomit.”

He had the chamber pot next to her in a flash.

“Not right now,” she went on, reaching blindly out to push it away. “But soon.”

“When I least expect it?”

“No.” She let out a tired exhale. “More likely when I least expect it.”

He tried not to laugh. He sort of succeeded, but he had a feeling she’d heard him snort. He wasn’t nearly as worried about her as he’d been just a few minutes before. If she maintained her sense of humor, she was probably going to be fine. He wasn’t sure how he knew this, but he’d seen enough bouts of food poisoning to decide that she was probably right; she’d eaten something that had not agreed with her.

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