Page 67 of Road Trip With a Rogue

How had she ever thought him cold? The emotion burning in his eyes was unmistakable. God, this man. He’d killed for her. Blackened his soul even more to protect her. But he’d also lied to her, deceived her, and then casually announced their engagement.

What on earth was she going to do?

Chapter Thirty-One

Daisy recognized the ominous signs about an hour later. At first, she’d dismissed the headache and the stiffness in her shoulders as a result of being slammed into the stable wall, then tied up in the cart, but the worsening pain in her head brought a horribly familiar sense of impending disaster.

She was about to be extremely unwell.

To call the episodes she occasionally suffered “just a headache” was like calling a severed limb a “little graze.” The pain in her head would gradually increase, and she’d start to see dark spots in her vision, or little flashes of black and white, like spinning discs, in the periphery. Soon the pain would get so bad she’d vomit.

She was almost at that point now. She tried breathing through her mouth and ignoring the pounding in her skull, but her head felt like it was being crushed in a vise.

“Stop. Let me down!”

Lucien reined in immediately and she slid from his lap as quickly as she could.

“What’s the matter?”

She couldn’t answer him. She simply staggered a fewfeet away from the horse, sank to her knees in the scratchy heather, and retched up what little was in her stomach.

She heard him dismount behind her as Finch said, “Maybe it was the blow to her head? Sometimes make’s ’em sick like that. I’ve seen it before.”

Daisy shook her head, feeling utterly miserable. “It’s not that. It’s a dreadful kind of headache that makes me ill. It happens a few times a year.”

Her stomach rebelled again, and she spat into the grass, humiliation warring with the throbbing pain. “Go away, Vaughan.”

She heard him snort. “Don’t be ridiculous. You think I’ve never seen anyone cast up their accounts before? I’ve dealt with all three of your brothers when they couldn’t handle their drink. Do you need to eat something? Drink?”

“It won’t help. I just need to lie down in a dark room until it passes.”

“We’re only a few miles from Carisbrooke Hall. Let’s get you there and put you to bed. Is there some medicine you can take? A tincture of some sort?”

“Laudanum helps.” Her sluggish brain made it hard to think. “Wait! There’s some in that vial I tried to give to you, at the inn.” She patted her jacket pockets in sudden recollection, but they were frustratingly empty except for her knives. Anger made her head throb even more. “Those bastards must have taken it.” Or perhaps it had fallen out during the fighting.

“There’s laudanum at the house. Can you stand?”

She nodded and rose on shaking legs. She felt so unwell she could barely see straight. Lucien took her arm and guided her back to the horse, and she managed to support herself long enough for him to haul her back up.

Instead of placing her astride, he positioned her sideways, across his lap, her head resting against his chest ashis arms came around her to hold the reins. It felt precarious, but she didn’t object. He wouldn’t let her fall.

The wind blew her hair against her cheek, and she pressed her face into his jacket and took deep, calming breaths.

“Close your eyes.” His deep voice rumbled in her ear. “Don’t worry about trying to stay upright. I’ve got you.”

The world was spinning unpleasantly, so she did as he suggested, trying not to wince as her head pounded with every jolt of the horse’s hooves.

The rest of the journey passed in an endless, pain-filled blur. She concentrated on counting each individual breath. In. Out. Exhale the pain. When that didn’t work, she savored the reassuringly steady thump of Lucien’s heartbeat, then catalogued the delicious scent of him instead of the pressure hammering her skull.

Perhaps she should ask Finch to choke her unconscious again?

She was barely aware of their arrival at Carisbrooke Hall. At any other time, she would have been craning her neck to note every detail of Vaughan’s ancestral lair, but she barely opened her eyes. She had a brief impression of a long, tree-lined drive, tall stone walls, and a set of wide, curved steps.

A huddle of servants appeared. Lucien passed her down into a pair of waiting arms, then dismounted himself, and Daisy only managed a murmur of protest as he swept her back up into his arms. She was too exhausted to walk, too dispirited to argue. Everything hurt.

He strode through a huge doorway and into an echoing marble hall, and the agonizing flare of lanterns inside made her squeeze her eyelids tight again. There was a flurry of concerned conversation, his commanding tones a low rumble where she rested against his chest.

She would not be sick on his coat. It probably cost more than she earned in a year.