Read Online Her Mad Baron by Kate Rothwell - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Kate Rothwell
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again.”
“You sound as coaxing and condescending as the doctor.” Nathaniel took the glass containing the morphine-based substance. He eyed the dark green liquid with loathing but swallowed half of it down. If it gave him the semblance of sanity, he’d drink it. For now.
Peter sniffed at the remaining inch of foul muck in the medicine glass, but he said nothing. He plunked it down on the tray on the bureau. A bottle of wine stood there as well, and Peter poured them both a glass and padded over to the overstuffed armchair next to the bed.
“You tremble and start at noises. You haven’t smiled yet, not really. Your usually calm, steady mind is disordered. But you will improve, my friend.”
“This mix won’t make me better, I know that much. I’ll take enough to stop the fits. No more.” Nathaniel drank some of the wine. His teeth clattered against the glass.
“You aren’t having hallucinations,” Peter said.
“The bloody stuff made me into a sniveling fool and now I crave it.”
“You’ll improve.” Peter’s yawn and casual remark wasn’t convincing. Nathaniel’s friends would attempt to hide the truth—that he might have the alarming symptoms for the rest of his life.
In the night, before the medicine began its calming effect, Nathaniel could speak his worst fears aloud. “If Dr. Marsh is to be believed there might be permanent mental unbalance.”
Peter made a snuffling sound but didn’t bother to deny the point. “Just do your best to smile more, eh? Be ready for tomorrow.”
Someone had notified the lawyers who held the barony’s interests at heart that the new baron might be non compos mentis , and it was up to Nathaniel to show he could function.
Nathaniel reasoned that as long as he could learn to hide his lingering symptoms, he’d be safe.
Peter slid deeper into his chair and propped his slippered feet onto a corner of the bed. He’d put a candle on the table, no doubt so he could keep an eye on his possibly insane friend. “Just go to sleep, will you? Then you won’t know I’m here.”
Nathaniel rolled onto his side. “Or you could turn into a young woman with brown eyes. I wouldn’t mind your presence then. I’d even offer to share the bed with you.”
“You have someone in mind.”
“Someone other than you.”
Peter chuckled. “You should be grateful to me. Your mother was quite agitated when we started asking her of your whereabouts. And Lord Bessette was angry that we would suggest anything out of the ordinary could happen to a relative of his. He told us to mind our own business.”
Naturally. Lady Margaret would worry that her son was embroiled in a scandal that might be made public, and her brother would be apoplectic.
“I am grateful. Thank you, Johnston,” Nathaniel said again. It wouldn’t hurt to repeat his thanks, considering how patiently his friends bore his uneven temper. “I should have known you’d come rescue me.”
“I didn’t get the chance. You rescued yourself.”
“Not really. I had help.”
He shouldn’t have said anything. Sure enough, the bed shook and the chair squeaked as Peter sat up straight. “Oh? Who helped you?”
“I don’t know if she wishes anyone to know she’d assisted me.”
“Interesting. A female? Care to share the story without naming na mes?” Peter and the others pressed for details at every opportunity. It wasn’t surprising that they were a prying lot; they investigated and wrote about scientific and social phenomena for their bread and butter.
“No.” Nathaniel drew a pillow to his chest and closed his eyes. He hadn’t taken enough of the green sludge and the prickles of sweat were starting up again and the long night would drag on. “I beg your pardon, but I don’t want to think about any of the experience just now. I shall have to dredge it up for the lawyers tomorrow. Feel free to listen and take notes when I talk.”
“That’s the lad,” Peter said approvingly. “Sarcasm is a good
“You sound as coaxing and condescending as the doctor.” Nathaniel took the glass containing the morphine-based substance. He eyed the dark green liquid with loathing but swallowed half of it down. If it gave him the semblance of sanity, he’d drink it. For now.
Peter sniffed at the remaining inch of foul muck in the medicine glass, but he said nothing. He plunked it down on the tray on the bureau. A bottle of wine stood there as well, and Peter poured them both a glass and padded over to the overstuffed armchair next to the bed.
“You tremble and start at noises. You haven’t smiled yet, not really. Your usually calm, steady mind is disordered. But you will improve, my friend.”
“This mix won’t make me better, I know that much. I’ll take enough to stop the fits. No more.” Nathaniel drank some of the wine. His teeth clattered against the glass.
“You aren’t having hallucinations,” Peter said.
“The bloody stuff made me into a sniveling fool and now I crave it.”
“You’ll improve.” Peter’s yawn and casual remark wasn’t convincing. Nathaniel’s friends would attempt to hide the truth—that he might have the alarming symptoms for the rest of his life.
In the night, before the medicine began its calming effect, Nathaniel could speak his worst fears aloud. “If Dr. Marsh is to be believed there might be permanent mental unbalance.”
Peter made a snuffling sound but didn’t bother to deny the point. “Just do your best to smile more, eh? Be ready for tomorrow.”
Someone had notified the lawyers who held the barony’s interests at heart that the new baron might be non compos mentis , and it was up to Nathaniel to show he could function.
Nathaniel reasoned that as long as he could learn to hide his lingering symptoms, he’d be safe.
Peter slid deeper into his chair and propped his slippered feet onto a corner of the bed. He’d put a candle on the table, no doubt so he could keep an eye on his possibly insane friend. “Just go to sleep, will you? Then you won’t know I’m here.”
Nathaniel rolled onto his side. “Or you could turn into a young woman with brown eyes. I wouldn’t mind your presence then. I’d even offer to share the bed with you.”
“You have someone in mind.”
“Someone other than you.”
Peter chuckled. “You should be grateful to me. Your mother was quite agitated when we started asking her of your whereabouts. And Lord Bessette was angry that we would suggest anything out of the ordinary could happen to a relative of his. He told us to mind our own business.”
Naturally. Lady Margaret would worry that her son was embroiled in a scandal that might be made public, and her brother would be apoplectic.
“I am grateful. Thank you, Johnston,” Nathaniel said again. It wouldn’t hurt to repeat his thanks, considering how patiently his friends bore his uneven temper. “I should have known you’d come rescue me.”
“I didn’t get the chance. You rescued yourself.”
“Not really. I had help.”
He shouldn’t have said anything. Sure enough, the bed shook and the chair squeaked as Peter sat up straight. “Oh? Who helped you?”
“I don’t know if she wishes anyone to know she’d assisted me.”
“Interesting. A female? Care to share the story without naming na mes?” Peter and the others pressed for details at every opportunity. It wasn’t surprising that they were a prying lot; they investigated and wrote about scientific and social phenomena for their bread and butter.
“No.” Nathaniel drew a pillow to his chest and closed his eyes. He hadn’t taken enough of the green sludge and the prickles of sweat were starting up again and the long night would drag on. “I beg your pardon, but I don’t want to think about any of the experience just now. I shall have to dredge it up for the lawyers tomorrow. Feel free to listen and take notes when I talk.”
“That’s the lad,” Peter said approvingly. “Sarcasm is a good
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