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The men left the room, almost sprinting to the door, as if afraid their wives would stop them.

Siobhan stared agog at the closing door, wondering if she was dreaming. No one seemed to be taking the situation seriously. Or the fact that two people—their children!—were being forced to marry just because of stupid rumors.

Although, to her shame, in truth it was only Miles who was being forced. She knew she would gladly marry him, especially after their shared time in bed. At the thought, her cheeks went hot, and she quickly looked at their mothers, wondering if they noticed.

The women went into a discussion of color themes, and who would be invited. The duchess called for a maid to bring paper and quills so they could write things down. It was as if they’d forgotten she and Amelia were present. Or that it was Siobhan’s wedding and that she would be the bride. Shouldn’t they be asking her what she wanted? And what about Miles? What did he want?

“A dress,” her mother exclaimed. “Siobhan, we must make an appointment with the modiste immediately.”

“Lavender would be lovely on you,” the duchess added. “Your eyes are the most astonishing color. They seem to go from pale to dark blue, into a shade that seems almost lavender.”

Siobhan tried to smile but failed. It was important to her that he be involved. This wasn’t right, at all. “Have you discussed any of this with Miles?”

Something flickered in the duchess’ expression and for a split second, she glanced toward the ceiling. “Yes, and he understands.”

In that moment, Siobhan knew he was not gone, but was there, somewhere, on the estate. Had he purposely refused to be present? Was he so enraged that they’d banned him from being there?

Siobhan worried and listened as the mothers began making a guest list. “May I go sit in the garden? I require a bit of air.”

“Of course, dear,” the duchess said, then looked at her mother.

There was a slight hesitation on her mother’s part. “You should be present for this. There is much to discuss, and we cannot linger.”

“I will only be a moment,” Siobhan explained, looking past the window to the flowers that swayed in the breeze. “The garden looks so lovely, I just want to see it.”

“Very well,” her mother finally acquiesced. “Make haste.”

She moved as quickly as her bruised body allowed her, choosing to ignore the protests from her injured hip. Once outside the door, she motioned to a maid who arranged flowers in a vase. “Where is Lord Miles?”

The maid glanced at the stairwell, and it was clear that she wanted to let Siobhan know the truth in spite of what the duke and duchess had ordered. She spoke slowly and loudly in case they were overheard, but as she spoke she nodded her head and pointed with her chin at the stairwell. “He is gone for a few days.”

“I understand,” Siobhan told her. “Please…Is there a powder room upstairs, perhaps?”

It was obvious the maid understood what she was asking, and she gave Siobhan a knowing look. “There is indeed a powder room on the third door on the right.”

“Thank you,” Siobhan whispered and hurried up the stairs.

Upon coming to the door, she lost her nerve and almost turned back. She knocked lightly, but there was no response. She glanced around to ensure no one was about, then rapped on the door a bit more loudly. “Miles?”

There was no reply, so she tried the doorknob. To her surprise, the door opened easily, and she slipped inside. After closing the door softly, she turned around to survey the room, but what she saw made her freeze.

The bed was disheveled, blankets half on and half hanging onto the floor. A strange moaning came from the other side, and she tiptoed to peer over the edge of the mattress where she was shocked to see Miles, wearing only a nightshirt, lying on the floor in the corner of the room. He seemed oblivious to her presence. Was he asleep?

Or worse, was he inebriated to the point of being passed out?

Her footsteps must have woken him because he mumbled something incoherent. Siobhan moved closer.

“Water. More drops,” he rasped hoarsely, holding out a hand. But both his eyes were squeezed shut and he appeared to be in pain.

Siobhan spotted a pitcher on the table next to the bed and hurried to it. It held water; beside it was a glass and a small bottle with a stopper. She opened it and sniffed; it smelled medicinal, similar to the tincture the doctor had given her for her pain. Hoping it was what he needed, she poured water into the glass and then squeezed several drops of what she’d assumed was medication into it. Then she moved around the bed to him, leaning down to press the glass into his hand and helping him to wrap his fingers around it.

He drank greedily, finishing the water with great gulps, then held out the glass for her to take. She took it from his fingers, and he seemed to fall back to sleep. He’d not realized who she was, or even that she was there, and Siobhan realized that even if she spoke to him, he’d not remember.

Nonetheless, she had to try.

Wincing at the pain it caused, she lowered to the floor and touched his shoulder. “Miles. What’s happening?”

He groaned, and barely opened his eyes. “You?” The word came out in a hoarse whisper. To her surprise, he immediately pulled her into a tight embrace, pushing his face into the crook of her neck. For a long moment, they remained like that, Miles with a desperate hold on her, moaning into her shoulder.