“Charlotte—” Coe’s demeanor had changed after his sister’s arrival and Charlotte did not like it at all.
She put her arms around his neck. “I’m sure she’ll be gone soon.”
“I don’t think she will,” Coe said, but Charlotte smiled when his arms encircled her waist.
Charlotte stroked his cheek. The scratch of his whiskers on her skin still fascinated her. “She can’t stay here forever. But I’ll wait. I can wait until the stars burn out.”
Linnet began to make sounds as though she were choking.
“She did not say that.” Linnet was speaking to Coe, but she stared at Charlotte as though Charlotte were some sort of monster.
“Do you think it’s fair to geld me now?” Coe asked his sister. “I’ve been trying to keep her safe, but she’s been very . . . persistent.”
Linnet spared him a flat stare. “I don’t think you want me to answer you honestly. Never mind. I don’t care what you want. You’re in command of your mind and body. She is not. That is all I need to know.”
Charlotte sighed. Their quarreling was awful and none of it would have happened if Linnet hadn’t intruded on her and Coe. “Please go away, Linnet. You’re my friend and I’m very fond of you. But I was so happy until you came. You’re ruining everything. Don’t you want me to be happy?”
Linnet ignored Charlotte, but sniffed the empty glass. “Absinthe. But it can’t be that alone. Even several glasses of absinthe wouldn’t have this effect.”
“You think someone poisoned her drink?” Coe asked. His arms tightened around Charlotte. She mewled with pleasure and kissed his neck.
“Stop that,” Linnet snapped at her.
“Why are you so mean?” Charlotte whimpered, snuggling into Coe. “He smells wonderful. I need to taste him.”
Coe gave a polite cough and pushed Charlotte’s mouth away from his neck.
“That’s not very nice,” Charlotte told him. “Neither of you are very nice.” She glared at Linnet. “I wish you would leave. I asked nicely. Now you’re just being rude.”
“You’ll realize how thoughtful I’ve been in the morning,” Linnet replied. “There’s already plenty for you to be rueful about. Now it’s just a matter of preventing further injury.”
“Am I hurt?” Charlotte asked. She held her arms out and stared at them. “I don’t see any blood. Is there blood on my dress? Maybe it’s under my dress. Should I take it off?”
“Spear of Athene,” Linnet muttered. “That is not absinthe. I have no idea what it is.”
“I don’t want to wear this gown.” Charlotte reached around her back and attempted to undo the knot of her corset lacing. “I’m terribly warm. Why is the room so warm?”
Coe grabbed her wrists and pulled them into her lap. “You’re keeping the gown on, Charlotte.”
“I hate you!” Charlotte burst into tears.
Linnet gazed at Charlotte. “I know you won’t care right now, but I’m going to kill whoever did this to you.”
Charlotte sobbed, swung her arm out, and fell over.
“I think she just tried to punch you,” Coe said, cradling the now-wailing Charlotte in his lap.
“And I think you know how lacking in judgment she is in this state,” Linnet replied.
Charlotte sat bolt upright and thrust one pointed finger in Linnet’s face. “You! You . . .”
The fire heating Charlotte’s limbs no longer brought pleasure. It seared every inch of her flesh. She screamed in agony. Linnet seized Charlotte, holding her tight as Charlotte cried out and jerked violently in Linnet’s arms.
The flames coalesced into a thick, molten tar that covered Charlotte’s skin and poured down her throat, drowning her.
WHEN CHARLOTTE WOKE, the first thing she knew was pain. It wasn’t the same pain she’d felt the night her world had gone dark. Charlotte had no words to describe that agony. It had been beyond comprehension and Charlotte believed she’d sell her soul before willingly enduring that sort of torment again. Even so, the pain she woke to was no easy thing. She groaned and opened her eyes.
The first thing Charlotte saw were wide eyes staring down at her. Tears welled in those eyes and dripped onto Charlotte’s cheeks.
“Charlotte!” Pip threw herself against her. “I prayed to Athene every day. I was so afraid for you.”
Charlotte put her arms around Pip, giving her a hug. Charlotte’s nerves were raw, but she took comfort in Pip’s affection. The few memories she could muster before this moment were troubling at best, and incredibly difficult to comprehend.
“Thank you, Pip.”
After crushing Charlotte in a hug for several minutes, Pip jumped up, ran to the door, threw it open, and shouted, “She’s awake!”
Charlotte had just enough time to prop herself up before her friends streamed into her cabin.
Birch reached her first. “We’ve been so worried.”
Scoff was right behind him. “They made me concoct an antidote. By Hephaestus, Charlotte, I’ve never been so scared. Don’t ever do that again. I don’t like saving lives. It’s far too much pressure. I am so relieved it worked, though.”
“Leave some air for the girl to breathe.” Lord Ott’s booming voice made Scoff and Birch scuttle away from Charlotte’s bed. Ott tossed an apologetic glance at the pair. “Didn’t mean to frighten you, but I’d be much obliged for a moment alone with our patient.”
Charlotte nodded, and Birch and Scoff hurried out of the cabin.
Lord Ott drew up a chair. His face was etched with concern when he looked at Charlotte.
“You were almost stolen from us,” he told her. “And that would-be thief is aboard my ship. I take great offense at that.”
“I was poisoned?” Charlotte asked. “How long have I been unconscious?” She was remembering more with each minute she was awake. She wasn’t sure she wanted to remember all that had happened.
“Yes.” Lord Ott took her hand. “And you’ve been out for a day and a bit.”
The mischief that Charlotte had come to recognize in his expression was gone, and she saw fear in his eyes. “From Linnet and Coe’s accounts of what transpired and their descriptions of your behavior and physical symptoms, we were able to narrow down possible substances you were dosed with.”
He grimaced, shaking his head. “Whoever meddled with your drink was more foolish than a Dionysian—an obvious amateur. You had a near-fatal reaction. If not for the cleverness of your boy, Scoff—what kind of a name is that . . . never mind—we wouldn’t have been able to save you.”
Charlotte didn’t know how to reply. Her skin was terribly cold, as if it might never warm again, and her heart was cramped. She felt so much like a little girl about to cry and the only person she wanted to see was Ashley.
“You’ll be all right, my girl.” Ott’s voice was gruff, but thick with sentiment. A tear leaked from Charlotte’s eye and he gripped her fingers tight. “You’re stronger than steel. I saw that from the first moment I met you. Don’t let this fester. Fear can do that to you. It’s just like the poison some coward handed you in a glass. But only if you let it.”
Charlotte nodded, clinging to the certitude of his words. “But if my death wasn’t the purpose behind the poisoning, then what was?”
“Scoff recognized your reactions as potential side effects of a concoction he’d been working on for some time: an elixir of truth, he called it,” Ott told her. “But the body is extremely sensitive to the combination of herbs used in such a potion. The effects vary wildly in relation to a person’s weight, age, or any number of variables. Whoever targeted you either had no regard for your safety, or was too hurried to bother with making sure they’d used the proper dosage. In any case, though the fiend may only have wanted information, it nearly cost your life.”
“Do you have any idea how this happened?” Ott asked gently. “I don
’t want to ask questions you aren’t ready to answer. If trying to recall that night is too much, then wait. You shouldn’t tax your body or mind until you’re well again.”
Though every movement made her body ache, Charlotte refused to be manipulated by her unknown assailant for a moment longer. She fought for her memories.
“I’m sorry.” She cringed as she spoke. “I’m still trying to understand the way that night . . . how I was taken so far from what I know of myself . . . But I don’t know what I would know that could be of such great value. I’m a refugee.”
“There is no circumstance in which you should apologize.” Lord Ott’s eyes were filled with fury. “You were attacked while under my protection. The fault lies with me. I beg your forgiveness for failing you.”
Charlotte wanted to cry again, but she refused to break down. She needed to remember her strength. “There is no blame that lies with you, only with the one who poisoned me.”
“You have a kind heart.” Ott smiled at her.
“I don’t know that kindness has any part in it,” Charlotte replied. “But I trust that you bear me no ill will. Someone tried to harm me, but you took no part in whatever plot was at work. Of that I have no doubt.”
Ott regarded Charlotte for a long moment. “I will retract my suggestion of kindness and instead offer shrewdness. Linnet speaks of your sharp mind with admiration. She’s right to do so.”
“Thank you for saying that.” Charlotte tried to sit up straighter and winced, regretting that Ott should witness her discomfort.
But he quickly said, “There’s no shame in honest suffering, my dear. You’re enduring more than many could.”
Charlotte offered him a wan smile. “I want to remember as much as I can about that night, unpleasant as it may be.”
“Unfortunately the most significant moments of our lives are often unpleasant,” Lord Ott said. “I wish I could say otherwise.”
Charlotte nodded. “It didn’t start out as an ill-fated evening. I was with Linnet.”
“She told me that she engaged you in a game of collection,” Lord Ott said, chuckling. “She has an enterprising spirit.”
“And I was happy for it,” Charlotte said. “The night took a turn for the worse when you sent me a drink.”
“I’m sorry?” Lord Ott’s expression clouded.
“I was conversing with two gentlemen,” Charlotte told him. “Gamblers by the names of Lannock and Hume.”
Lord Ott inclined his head. “I know those men. Scoundrels, but the harmless kind. Harmless to the body, that is, not to the coin purse.”
“That’s how I regarded them,” Charlotte said. “But while I was speaking with them a servant came to me and gave me a drink.”
“What kind of drink?” Ott asked.
“I don’t know,” Charlotte told him. “I had a glass of peach nectar and he took that. He gave me a tumbler of something else. It tasted like licorice and blackberries.”
“Linnet thought it was absinthe,” Ott said. He rose from his chair, pacing along her bedside. “And while many attribute visions to the green fairy, those with real experience know such stories to be exaggerations. Absinthe may have been the greater part of what you were given, but that was not the substance that put your life at risk.”
“But you did send me a drink?” Charlotte didn’t know what troubled her more, that Ott could have requested the glass be sent to her only to have it tampered with, or that she accepted the drink without question.
Lord Ott smiled at her, but his eyes were regretful. “I did not. In truth I was not in attendance that night. I served as the host in name only. While it is unfortunate that your trust in me was a means to put you at risk, it does offer a clue about the fiend that perpetrated this crime.”
“Whoever poisoned me knew that I trusted you,” Charlotte said.
“Yes.” Ott clasped his hands at his back, frowning. “Though that fact in itself is troubling.”
“Because the person who sent the drink to me knew enough about both of us to be confident I’d accept it,” Charlotte said. The pain she’d experienced when she’d woken had begun to fade, but the conclusions this conversation had drawn presented a much greater threat than whatever physical burdens Charlotte anticipated in the wake of her ordeal.
Lord Ott turned a steady gaze toward Charlotte.
“What happens now?” Charlotte was glad her voice didn’t tremble, because she thought it might.
“Vigilance,” Ott said.
While Charlotte didn’t believe vigilance in and of itself was without value, she still asked, “Is that all?”
Lord Ott chuckled. “That was my sage advice, dear girl.”
“And other than your sage advice?” Charlotte regarded him with a new curiosity.
She hadn’t known until that moment that Lord Ott’s smile could be full of daggers.
“A great deal more than an old man’s wisdom remains at my disposal, Charlotte,” Ott said. “But if I revealed anything further, by necessity I’d be the next man putting poison in your glass.”
When Lord Ott took up her hand and pressed his lips to it, Charlotte was still staring at him in disbelief.
Charlotte was contemplating Lord Ott’s words when someone else called her name.
“May I come in?” Coe was standing at her cabin door.
The heat of embarrassment flooded Charlotte’s cheeks, while another heat altogether fought for attention in a very different part of her body.
Ignoring the strength of both physical reactions, Charlotte forced her voice to remain calm. “Please do, Coe.”
Charlotte took note that Coe closed her cabin door after he entered, whereas her other visitors had left it ajar. She wasn’t sure if she was pleased or disconcerted by the difference.
Coe was obviously hesitant to approach her. His eyes traveled swiftly over her body and Charlotte became horribly aware that she had no idea what state of appearance she was in. She fought the overpowering desire to dive beneath her bed linens and carry on whatever conversation Coe wished to have from the safety of her cotton defenses. Given that such action would make her incredibly cowardly as well as vain, Charlotte endured Coe’s inspection and tried not to think of all the awful transformations she might have undergone while fighting off the toxins she’d ingested. She didn’t even know if her hair was the same color, much less if it resembled anything other than a thatched roof of straw.
Her mind was still running through the best and worst possibilities when Coe came to stand beside her bed.
“I don’t mean to be forward,” he said quietly. “But I’d like to sit beside you.”
All thoughts about how she might look fled Charlotte’s mind and she nodded, shifting her body to make room for Coe.
He sat, but he didn’t look at her. His head was slightly bowed when he said, “Charlotte, you must think me the worst sort of man.”
Charlotte had pulled as many memories from that night as she thought possible, but none of them cast Coe as the villain.
“How can you say that?” Charlotte laid her hand on his arm. “I should beg your pardon for my inexcusable behavior.”
“You weren’t yourself,” Coe said.
“Still . . .” Charlotte’s eyes were downcast. She knew that someone had stolen her senses when handing her that drink, but she couldn’t shake off the shame of losing control. What a fool she’d played that night.
“Stop that,” Coe said. He laid his hand atop hers. “I can see that you’re punishing yourself. Nothing that happened was your fault.”
Charlotte looked up at Coe. His expression was full of kindness and entirely absent of judgment.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
Coe smiled and brought Charlotte’s fingers to his lips. “I will always do whatever I can to keep you from harm. You have my word.”
 
; His pledge took her aback. She wasn’t certain what she’d done to earn such devotion from the elder Winter brother. They’d just barely begun to know each other.
“Ahem.” Linnet stood in the doorway. “If I might interrupt.”
“I was just leaving.” Coe dropped Charlotte’s hand and stood up. “Good day, Linnet.”
“Good day.” Linnet gave a sarcastic little curtsy as Coe brushed past her to exit the cabin.
Charlotte gazed after him, still puzzled by his declaration and his abrupt departure. Did he think Linnet had overheard him? Was he embarrassed? Coe had left so suddenly, he hadn’t bothered to bid Charlotte farewell.
“Charlotte.” Linnet’s voice was like the crack of a whip, drawing her attention.
“It’s good to see you,” Charlotte said. “I know you did so much to help me after I’d been poisoned. I wish I could remember more so I could fully appreciate all you’ve done.”
Linnet smirked at her. “If you did remember, you might not thank me.”
“Why is that?” Charlotte’s question carried an edge that made Linnet’s friendly demeanor go rigid. She quickly tried to compensate. “That came out other than as I intended.”
“And what did you intend to say?” Linnet asked coolly.
“My memories of that night are still muddled,” Charlotte said, which was not altogether untrue. “I’m finding it difficult to admit I wasn’t in control of my own actions.”
Linnet sat on the edge of Charlotte’s bed. “Being robbed of your own will is a terrible thing. I hate that it happened to you.”
The depth of Linnet’s expression made Charlotte uneasy.
“So do I,” Charlotte said. “But I’m grateful it wasn’t worse. I’m fine now, thanks to you.”
“And Coe,” Linnet added.
That admission surprised Charlotte. Linnet never seemed that happy to encounter her brother. “Yes. I’m grateful to him as well.”
Linnet sighed, offering Charlotte a smile she could only describe as tolerant—like the kindness a loving parent thought was obligated to a misbehaving child.