No sense alerting the household of her presence at Sinclair’s door. They might leap to the conclusion that she was looking for an assignation with the duke’s heir. She could well imagine that gossip. They would think she was set on becoming his mistress. Of course that would be their salacious conclusion. In no way could they imagine the likes of her in Sinclair’s life in a conventionally romantic way. He was one breath from the altar with the very admired Lady Elise.

Con opened the door to her knock. “Nora?” He blinked those inky lashes over his dark eyes. “What are you doing here?”

“I’ve been contemplating the duchess’s condition, and . . .” Her voice faded away at what she was about to impart. She could still hear Marian’s voice in her head . . . both her sisters’ voices actually, pleading with her not to do it. Not to say it.

“And?” he prompted.

She took a deep, fortifying breath. “And I think I have something that could help her.”

Chapter 18

“Why did you not mention this tonic of yours sooner?” Constantine asked, peering down at her with suspicion.

Upon finding her outside his door, he had pulled her inside his chamber lest someone stumble upon them and draw the wrong conclusions.

Now they were alone. Together, in his room.

He swallowed thickly and very deliberately looked away from her face.

“It’s still very . . . experimental,” she replied.

Something in her voice made him glance again at her face. Was it his imagination or was she blushing? That was decidedly new. He would never have considered her the blushing type. In fact, he had never seen her look as nervous or agitated as she was now.

At the hospital, she’d watched from the gallery without blinking or looking away or turning the slightest shade of green as a very nearly naked body was cut open.

But now she appeared discomfited. Something about this tonic discomfited her.

“Experimental in what way?”

She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and then let it pop back out. “My sister tried it. Charlotte. It had the most . . . unusual effect on her.”

“Your sister Charlotte? That is not Warrington’s wife?”

“No, it is not. Charlotte married Warrington’s stepbrother. She lives nearby. In Brambledon.”

“Is she ill?”

“Oh, no. She is hale and hearty.” Nora nodded assuredly. “She was just suffering from some aches and took this tonic the one time.” She opened her palm to reveal a little bronze vial in her hand.

He peered down at it thoughtfully. “And did it relieve her pain?”

“Um, in a manner.”

“Cease speaking in riddles, Nora. Can this help or not?” he snapped, determined to get to the heart of the matter so that she could soon leave his room.