Chapter Twelve

B ea drifted in a haze that wrapped around the edges of dreams, softening reality into mere whispers. Voices floated to her, muffled and distant, as if she were underwater and the voices on the surface were discussing her fate.

“Why did she faint?” A man’s voice asked. Perhaps Andre.

“I didn’t even know she was with you.” Pippa’s voice rang familiarly. “Thank you so much for preventing her fall and carrying her here.”

But as Bea lay there, the voices sharpened, clawing their way through the fog of her consciousness. The bed beneath her felt unfamiliar, not the comforting embrace of her own but something foreign, too firm, and yet oddly yielding, like sinking into a cloud that refused to let go.

“Tell me exactly what happened,” a male voice said, and then Bea felt something cold, and round on her chest—a stethoscope. Then, someone touched her wrist and waited. “Her pulse is quick but stable,” the voice said.

“Thank you, Andre,” Pippa said.

For a moment, she imagined she was adrift in a dream, one of those vivid ones that felt tantalizingly real yet slipped away upon waking.

“Was she flushed or pale before this happened?” Andre asked.

“Flushed.” Alfie’s voice sounded grumpy but had the same effect his kiss had previously had. Bea felt her knees weakening again, and she was glad she already lay flat on a bed, for she’d swoon again.

The scent in the air was different, too; it lacked the comforting notes of lavender, chamomile, cloves, and alcohol from the apothecary.

“Is that a bad sign?” Pippa asked.

“Flushed before fainting means that she swooned,” Nick said but his voice sounded a bit farther away. Were all the doctors surrounding her and Pippa with them?

Another growl came from the room’s far end, but Bea couldn’t see anything. Her eyelids felt heavy as if weighted down by the remnants of sleep, but curiosity—or instinct—urged them open. The blur of colors and shapes that greeted her slowly coalesced into a room she did not recognize: stark white walls, a window with curtains that fluttered slightly with an unseen breeze, and shadows of people moving just beyond her line of sight.

A pang of fear knotted in her stomach, sharp and sudden. This wasn’t a dream. The realization hit her like the first breath after diving deep underwater. Real. Too real. The voices weren’t figments of her imagination but actual people, talking about her, discussing her as if she weren’t there, or perhaps as if she were nothing more than a problem to solve.

Then she remembered the last thing before she felt her vision going dark. The last thing she’d seen—the last person—had been Alfie.

She licked her lips.

“She’s coming to,” Pippa announced. Then Bea heard the trickling of water and a cold compress on her forehead. A gentle hand came to hers and gave her a reassuring squeeze. “I’m here.”

Her throat felt parched, her voice a mere whisper lost in the expanse of the room. Panic fluttered in her chest like a bird trapped in a cage, seeking an escape that seemed all too elusive. This was no dream. This was reality, and she was caught in its unyielding grasp.

“Please leave us,” Pippa said, and footsteps followed. The floorboards creaked, and a door clicked shut. The compress came off Bea’s forehead. There was more trickling of water, probably in a bowl, and then the compress returned cold and jarringly wet.

Bea reached for her head and frowned. She opened her eyes and saw her cousin’s concerned look.

“You swooned,” Pippa said.

Bea blinked a few times, and her cousin’s concerned frown turned into a scandalized curiosity usually reserved for girl talk or gossip over tea.

“Where am I?”

“The patient room. Alfie carried you here.”

He’d carried her in his arms; all she cared about was that she’d missed relishing the sentiment. Heat rushed to Bea’s face, and she inhaled deeply as she surveyed her surroundings. The window was slightly open, blowing the sheer curtain into the room as if fairies were trying to dance inside.

“So, my dear cousin, what happened?”

“I had a flare-up,” Bea said as she slowly propped herself on her elbows and sat up. “So I came to ask Alfie for powder to cover it up.” She didn’t want to admit to the love potion, for it was too embarrassing for a diamond of the first water to resort to such measures to land a prince.

“Like the maquillage Violet had?”

“Yes. He had similar ones in his apothecary.”

“Hm!” Pippa narrowed her eyes. “ Aaand ?” She drew the word out and arched a brow. When had she become such a wizard of women’s secrets?

“And he recommended an ointment.”

“Did it help?”

“Yes.”

“So you came back for more?”

“No.”

Pippa pursed her lips and crossed her arms. “Why were you in the apothecary with him instead of staying to eat cake with me?”

Bea nodded. “I had placed an order and came to retrieve it.”

“An order for more ointment for your skin?”

“No. It was for a love potion.” Bea always told her cousin the truth, which would be no exception regardless of how painful it was to admit it.

Pippa shut her eyes momentarily and sank onto the edge of the bed. Then she turned to Bea. “Why do you need a love potion?”

“Why?” Bea felt heat rising to her face, but it passed the level of a lady-like blush and went straight to red-hot anger. “Why, you ask? Because the coveted ‘belle of the ball’ is apparently all too easy for a prince to resist.”

“Prince Ferdinand of Transylvania?”

“How do you know about Prince Stan?”

“Violet told me. You already have a nickname for him?”

“ Hmpf ! He told me to call him ‘Stan’. It’s part of his name. Anyhow, he’s my chance to leave.”

“Go where?”

“First down the altar and then to his castle. Far away.”

“Where nobody knows about your flare-ups?”

“Yes. And where the Ton isn’t so mean to you and there’s no threat to my reputation all the time.”

“So a love potion is supposed to make him want to take you to his magic castle like in a fairy tale?” Pippa sounded skeptical.

“I don’t know about magic, but I hear it’s a large medieval construction with turrets and much green landscape surrounding it. You can see the mountains from Bran Castle.”

“Aha, well then, it’s a must that you devote your life to living there. Especially since there are no castles and green landscapes here in England.”

Bea’s eyes snapped to Pippa. She was making fun of her now. At least it distracted her so Bea wouldn’t have to tell her what else had happened.

That’s what Bea got for playing by the Ton’s rules, seeking the highest-ranking bachelor she could find before her parents returned. She was beginning to hate the rules and the expectations. Bristling against the requirements of her station, Bea had finally had enough. This ploy had to work; she must be on a ship in the Mediterranean Sea before her parents returned.

Only… she’d received a bone-shattering kiss from the apothecary.

If she had any sense at all, she’d distance herself from him, or else he’d turn her resolve to a powder finer than his medicines.

Her cheeks tingled and a flash of heat flushed over them. A burning itch sparkled across her face, making her want to rake her fingernails over her skin. The beast.

Bea touched her face, and it was hot.

Oh no, not again!