Page 26 of Mistress of Darkness

The doctor nodded and held out his hand for it. He wasted no time in opening the bottle, looking down inside, and then sniffing it. “Mmm hmm,” he said, and then poured a little in the glass. As Gwen watched, she realized that the glass held some sort of crystals, not tablets.

He roused Robert and held the glass to his lips. “Drink this,” he ordered. “All of it.” As Robert opened his mouth, the doctor expertly tipped the contents of the glass in. “Swallow.”

As Robert obeyed, his eyes opened wide and he coughed, sputtering. “What in God’s name?” He sat up and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.

Gwen went to his side. “Robert, be careful. Let me–”

“Let him be,” the doctor said, as Robert coughed again. Thackery seemed to take no notice but instead added more crystals from the bottle and then some brandy. This time he handed him the glass.

“Again,” he said. “All of it.”

Though Robert gave him a baleful glare, he did as he was told, followed by another round of coughing. But when he could catch his breath, he said, “What is this vile concoction?”

“Ammonium carbonate,” Thackery said, replacing the bottle’s stopper. He glanced at all of them, and apparently seeing their confusion added, “Smelling salts.”

“Smelling salts?” Robert barked and put a hand to his throat. To Gwen’s astonishment—and great relief—he swung his legs over the side of the bed. “Are you trying to poison me?”

“Oh quite to the contrary,” the doctor assured him and fixed his gaze on Gwen. “He was indeed sedated. You were quite right to call for me. He’ll be fine now.”

Her aching shoulders sagged at his reassurance.

“I don’t understand,” Robert said, setting the glass down with a look of revulsion. “How does drinking smelling salts, of all things, help?”

“Ammonia counteracts the laurel water,” the doctor said simply, as if everyone should know that fact.

“Laurel water, sir?” Parks asked. “Begging your pardon, doctor, but how do you know it was laurel water?”

“The smell on Mr. Sheraton’s breath,” the doctor said, packing his bag. “It was almonds.”

“The port,” Robert whispered. He looked at Gwen. “While I was examining my father’s papers I poured a glass of port. I only took one sip.” He looked at the doctor. “It tasted…off.”

The doctor snorted as he put on his coat. “I don’t doubt it.”

“Do we keep this laurel water in the hall?” Gwen asked, looking between Parks and Robert.

The valet nodded. “Cherry laurel water for coughs and insomnia. It’s in the medical closet.”

The doctor picked up his bag and gave Robert a long look. “I cannot prove that you were sedated, Mr. Sheraton, not without proper tests. But I would stake my reputation on it.” He headed toward the door. “Parks, fetch my rig.”

“Wait,” Gwen said, hurrying after him. “Dr. Thackery, do you know who treated Mrs. Thorne?”

The doctor frowned, looking from her back to Robert. “What do you mean?”

“Mrs. Thorne,” Gwen said, “the wife of the original owner of the hall. I believe she fell ill and died. What did she die from?”

The doctor looked positively baffled. “The original owner of Dredthorne? I can assure you, Miss Archer, that despite my appearances, the founding of the hall was well before my time.” He took out his pocket watch. “Speaking of which, the hour is late and I have another appointment.”

“Thank you, doctor,” Robert said to Thackery’s back. “Send your bill directly.”

The doctor snorted. “You can be sure of it.”

Keeping one hand on the bed, Robert slowly stood. Gwen went to him and immediately found herself wrapped in his embrace. “Gwen,” he whispered into her hair. “Are you all right?”

“I am now,” she said, hugging him fiercely, and the tension in her body finally released. Her eyes burning, she buried her face in his chest and quietly began to cry.

Robert’s hand stroked her back as he said, “My poor, Gwen. It’s been awful for you. You must be exhausted.” She could only nod. “I have you to thank for my life,” he said quietly.

“And Parks,” she said with a sniff. “It took us both to pull you out of the library.” She paused and pulled back to look up at him. “Oh, your father’s papers. I don’t know if–”

He pulled her back against his warm broad chest—not that she resisted for a moment. “The documents will wait,” he said. “Sleep will not. Let me close the door.”

As he did, she removed her dressing gown. It seemed like a lifetime ago when she’d put it on in her room. He peeled back the covers for her and she gratefully slid in, the sheets still warm from his body lying on top. He snuffed out the candle, and she heard him disrobe.

The same excitement that she’d felt when she’d waited for him in her bed returned, but the weariness of worry and exertion had sunk deep into her bones. When he got into bed, she instantly tucked herself against his side. As he wrapped his arm around her, she sighed deeply and smiled against his smooth skin, and then sleep claimed her before she could draw her next breath.