the glass at the ready, and as soon as Mary had stopped gasping, he pressed it back to her lips and pinched her nose closed again.
She drank. Her body convulsed around each swallow.
Grieves didn’t relent until every last drop had been forced down her throat. When the glass was empty, he stepped back. “Now what, Your Grace?”
Edward rocked Mary carefully against him, imploring her to stay with him. “We wait.” Edward grimaced, willing her to respond. “And grab the chamber pot.”
It was only a matter of moments before she jerked, her throat working as her stomach rebelled. Quickly, Edward turned her. Grieves was there, the chamber pot ready.
The poison came out of her mouth in one fast go.
“There you are, Calypso,” Edward said gently, his hand stroking her back. He wished he could tell her the worst was over, but he knew it wasn’t so.
She shuddered and groaned.
Gently, Edward pulled her back up and rested her against his chest. He whipped a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped it softly against her mouth. He longed to wrap his arms about her and clasp her to him in a vise, but that would not aid her fragile body.
“Will the young lady require water, Your Grace?” the butler asked with surprising calm.
“Certainly.” Mary was not going to want to ingest a damned thing, but water was the only thing that would help her now.
The butler took a step back, transfixed by Mary’s still form.
“Grieves.” Edward stayed his butler, rocked by a level of gratitude that astonished him.
“Yes, Your Grace?”
Edward paused for a moment, aware that he might have never before said these words to a servant. “Thank you.”
Grieves’s brows lifted slightly in shock. “Of course, Your Grace.” The older man bowed, then headed out the door at a brisk clip.
As soon as he was gone, Edward allowed himself the brief luxury of closing his eyes. He savored each strong breath Mary drew in. He hadn’t been mistaken. His Calypso hid a depth of experiences and emotions that it would take a lifetime to uncover.
Any man in his right mind would drop her back on Madame Yvonne’s doorstep.
Any man would have judged her beyond saving. She had been at death’s door, knocking determinedly for hell to let her in. Perhaps she had no wish to be saved. If that was the case, could he still manage it? Could he force her out of hell?
As he stared down at her, his need to keep her close was so fierce he burned. He brushed his fingers over hers, needing to believe she hadn’t tried to kill herself. Not like his mother. He’d seen Calypso’s strength, and those tempered by such determination didn’t try to take their own lives. But what if she had?
Edward closed his eyes, and for the first time in years, he prayed to a god he didn’t believe in. He prayed with all his might that she longed to live.
Chapter 7
“C an you tell me her family name?”
Mary felt herself pulling away from the safety of her dreamless void. Fractured and in shocking pain, a healthy dose of panic laced through her as voices murmured in the shadows of her mind.
She held absolutely still, not sure whether she was truly hearing this muted conversation or whether she was just imagining it.
Dear lord, she had no idea where she was. Or what had happened in the last hours. Mary struggled to keep her breathing even, lest she make the men aware she was awake. She needed time. Time to understand what was happening and time to decide upon her next course of action.
She wasn’t at the asylum. Of that she was sure. There were no kind voices in that prison.
“I don’t know her family name.”
This last voice. It was familiar. She’d heard it before. Sensual and strong. Genuine. Now it was hard and strained with tension. She waited. Waited for any indication that she might be in danger, and if so she should bolt.
She strained to hear what these disembodied men would say next.
If she was lucky, the voices were a figment of her tortured
She drank. Her body convulsed around each swallow.
Grieves didn’t relent until every last drop had been forced down her throat. When the glass was empty, he stepped back. “Now what, Your Grace?”
Edward rocked Mary carefully against him, imploring her to stay with him. “We wait.” Edward grimaced, willing her to respond. “And grab the chamber pot.”
It was only a matter of moments before she jerked, her throat working as her stomach rebelled. Quickly, Edward turned her. Grieves was there, the chamber pot ready.
The poison came out of her mouth in one fast go.
“There you are, Calypso,” Edward said gently, his hand stroking her back. He wished he could tell her the worst was over, but he knew it wasn’t so.
She shuddered and groaned.
Gently, Edward pulled her back up and rested her against his chest. He whipped a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped it softly against her mouth. He longed to wrap his arms about her and clasp her to him in a vise, but that would not aid her fragile body.
“Will the young lady require water, Your Grace?” the butler asked with surprising calm.
“Certainly.” Mary was not going to want to ingest a damned thing, but water was the only thing that would help her now.
The butler took a step back, transfixed by Mary’s still form.
“Grieves.” Edward stayed his butler, rocked by a level of gratitude that astonished him.
“Yes, Your Grace?”
Edward paused for a moment, aware that he might have never before said these words to a servant. “Thank you.”
Grieves’s brows lifted slightly in shock. “Of course, Your Grace.” The older man bowed, then headed out the door at a brisk clip.
As soon as he was gone, Edward allowed himself the brief luxury of closing his eyes. He savored each strong breath Mary drew in. He hadn’t been mistaken. His Calypso hid a depth of experiences and emotions that it would take a lifetime to uncover.
Any man in his right mind would drop her back on Madame Yvonne’s doorstep.
Any man would have judged her beyond saving. She had been at death’s door, knocking determinedly for hell to let her in. Perhaps she had no wish to be saved. If that was the case, could he still manage it? Could he force her out of hell?
As he stared down at her, his need to keep her close was so fierce he burned. He brushed his fingers over hers, needing to believe she hadn’t tried to kill herself. Not like his mother. He’d seen Calypso’s strength, and those tempered by such determination didn’t try to take their own lives. But what if she had?
Edward closed his eyes, and for the first time in years, he prayed to a god he didn’t believe in. He prayed with all his might that she longed to live.
Chapter 7
“C an you tell me her family name?”
Mary felt herself pulling away from the safety of her dreamless void. Fractured and in shocking pain, a healthy dose of panic laced through her as voices murmured in the shadows of her mind.
She held absolutely still, not sure whether she was truly hearing this muted conversation or whether she was just imagining it.
Dear lord, she had no idea where she was. Or what had happened in the last hours. Mary struggled to keep her breathing even, lest she make the men aware she was awake. She needed time. Time to understand what was happening and time to decide upon her next course of action.
She wasn’t at the asylum. Of that she was sure. There were no kind voices in that prison.
“I don’t know her family name.”
This last voice. It was familiar. She’d heard it before. Sensual and strong. Genuine. Now it was hard and strained with tension. She waited. Waited for any indication that she might be in danger, and if so she should bolt.
She strained to hear what these disembodied men would say next.
If she was lucky, the voices were a figment of her tortured
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