“Tulliver will give…laudanum.”
Opium hurled him into whirling oblivion. The dreams the drug brought threatened to send him mad indeed.
She frowned. “If it eases you…”
“No!” he all but screamed.
The girl recoiled. Good God, let him muster some control. He snatched another breath and fought to calm the frantic gallop of his heart.
She stared at him out of great, wide, terrified eyes. He loathed it when his personal…idiosyncrasies inconvenienced others.
Vaguely he told himself to assure her she shouldn’t be afraid. He wasn’t dangerous in this state. Unless she touched him. Thank Christ, after that first tentative attempt to offer comfort, she’d kept her hands to herself.
What had he meant to say? Thought was elusive and fleeting as wisps of mist.
That’s right. Tulliver. He set his jaw and spoke in a low, harsh tone. Quickly, before will failed.
“There’s nothing anyone can do. The best…” He stopped to fight back the caterwauling devils. “Please ignore me.”
“That won’t help.” Even through swirling chaos, he heard the firmness in her voice.
Every joint tensed into quivering spasms. His stomach heaved like a stormy sea. Waves of hot and cold washed over him. He lashed his arms around his chest, but nothing eased the agonizing cramps. This attack was one of the crippling ones.
On his own, he’d bear the pain until it passed. But he couldn’t distress the chit by vomiting all over her.
He’d have to accept opium’s poisonous boon.
“Can you stop the coach?” he managed to force through chattering teeth.
Mercifully, she didn’t question his change of mind. She banged hard on the roof. The carriage lurched to a halt. The abrupt movement set off jangling cymbals in his head, dimmed his sight.
The door wrenched open. Voices were a buzz in his ears. Tulliver passed in a tin basin.
“It’s a bad one this time, lad,” he said impassively, as Gideon’s shaking hands curled around the dish.
Gideon’s gut tangled into knots. He was seconds from losing control. He managed to snarl, “Take the girl.”
His world turned to violent black as he began to retch. He was lost on a hideous sea, lit by brief crimson flashes where pain flared into agony.
He had no idea how long it was before awareness returned. Opening bleary eyes, he realized someone else’s hands held the basin steady.
His mouth tasted foul. A hundred mallets battered his skull. Just the simple act of breathing threatened to split his chest in two.
Efficient hands removed the disgusting bowl. The same hands, soft and gentle, pressed a damp cloth to his burning forehead. He closed his eyes and groaned at the bliss of that coolness on his burning skin.
His belly was still rebellious. He concentrated on breathing. In. Out. In. Out.
“Akash?” he rasped across a raw throat. Although he knew the hands didn’t belong to his friend.
“He’s back in Portsmouth.”
The girl. Miss Watson. Sarah.
With difficulty, Gideon cracked his eyes open. His blinding headache built with every second. Soon, he wouldn’t be able to sit upright.
His clothes were rank and dripping with sweat. Acrid shame for his animal filth assailed him. “I told Tulliver to take you outside.”
Her smile was dry as the deserts of Rajasthan. She knelt on the bench at his side. Her surprisingly competent hands supported his head. He was so sick and weak, her touch didn’t make his skin crawl with familiar revulsion. He had a vague thought that helping him couldn’t be easy with her sprained wrist, but the notion drifted off like a will-o’-the-wisp.