But Sophie didn’t grasp his statement. She heard his rough voice as another bellow of rage, and it was one too many; she gasped almost thankfully as a sweet darkness flowed through her head, numbing the painful beat of blood in her ears, relaxing her clenched, throbbing fingers.

As Patrick leaped toward her in horror, Sophie swayed slightly and plummeted forward. It all seemed to happen so slowly. Her body fell forward like a rag doll, knees striking the next-to-bottom step, pregnant stomach slamming against the marble floor. The only thing Patrick caught as he desperately threw himself toward her was her head. With both his hands outstretched, he managed to stop Sophie’s head from striking the marble.

Carefully, carefully he turned her over and drew her into his arms. His wife’s face was dead white except for high-arching circles of red. Oh my God, that was no rouge. Her face was burning with fever, her body totally inert. The only thing Patrick could hear was blood pounding in his ears, a horrible rhythm that sorted itself into “please, please, please, please, please.”

Help. He needed help. Sophie’s eyes were closed, the eyelids pure blue.

“Clemens!”

Clemens appeared in fifteen seconds, a sure sign that he had retreated no farther than the opposite side of the servants’ door.

“Summon the doctor,” Patrick snapped.

Clemens looked stupefied, staring at the duchess lying on the floor. Then he looked up at his master and the expression of horror in his eyes turned to one of reproach.

“Dr. Lambeth, man! Now.” The blame in his butler’s eyes only confirmed the blame in Patrick’s heart. He turned back to Sophie, gently kissing her eyelids. She didn’t move.

Swiftly he felt his wife’s limbs to see if anything was broken, but they seemed intact. He whispered, “Sophie, I’m going to carry you upstairs now.” No response.

He gathered her up in his arms. Sophie’s head fell back against his left arm. Between the rise of her shoulders and the rise of her knees, where he held her, her stomach rose even higher.

Patrick swallowed hard. Oh God, if anything had happened to the babe. The drumbeat in his ears increased: please, please, please, please.

When Sophie’s maid arrived, running, Patrick had already stripped off Sophie’s morning gown and was pulling a nightdress over her head. Simone helped him silently, for which he was grateful. When Sophie was arranged in bed, the sheets drawn up to her neck, Patrick looked at Simone helplessly.

“What do we do now?”

“She hasn’t moved or spoken?”

Patrick just stared at her.

“She hasn’t woken up since falling down the stairs?”

“No.” His voice was husky with dread.

“We need to cool her down,” Simone said practically. “She’s burning up with fever, poor lamb.”