Page 68 of Road Trip With a Rogue

“Master Peregrine and his new bride arrived earlier,” someone said. “But they’ve already retired.”

“Not surprisin’, on their weddin’ night,” Finch snorted with a chuckle.

“He said you’d be bringing a guest,” an older, female voice said. “I’ve readied a suite in the east wing, Your Grace.”

Daisy didn’t care where they put her, as long as it was dark and had a bed. The blessed oblivion of sleep beckoned.

Lucien carried her upstairs, just as he’d done at the inn, only this time she was grateful for the assistance. When he finally stopped moving, she opened her eyes to a pretty room decorated in shades of cream and gold. A servant rushed to light the lamps, but she groaned in protest.

“No light, please. It hurts my head.”

The servant paused, and she felt Lucien’s arm tighten around her as he adjusted his grip.

“Dark,” Daisy mumbled. “It needs to be dark.”

“We have darker,” he said decisively. The world spun as he turned and marched back out onto the corridor. The servant scurried after them.

“Fletcher, bring me a bowl in case she needs to be sick again. And laudanum.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

Daisy cringed inwardly. God, she hated to be so weak, so helpless. Why was her body being so bloody uncooperative?

Dark paneling, gilt mirrors, and huge paintings passed by in a blur as Vaughan strode along a hallway and entered a room that was blessedly, deliciously dark. Nolamps or candles pierced the Stygian gloom, and she moaned in relief as she was deposited gently onto a bed, and sank into the heavenly softness.

“Oh, thank you.”

The pain in her head was so intense she wanted to cry. She curled up onto her side and pressed the heel of her hand into her right eye socket to try to relieve the pressure.

“What else helps, other than darkness?” Vaughan’s voice was low, but brisk, and she appreciated his no-nonsense approach. If he showed her any pity she would crumble.

“Cold things. Like ice wrapped in a cloth on the back of my neck.”

He glanced at the door as the servant returned.

“Laudanum, my lord.”

“Thank you. Do we have any ice?”

“I’m afraid not, Your Grace. We haven’t restocked the icehouse, since we didn’t expect you or Master Peregrine to be here until the end of the season.”

“Fine. Go and wet a cloth. With the coldest water we have, from the well in the orchard.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Daisy?” Lucien’s voice was softer as he spoke to her. “Can you sit up and drink this laudanum?”

“Yes.”

She might be sick again, but it was worth trying. She’d drink hemlock if it made the pain stop. There was the sound of a bottle being unstoppered and the faint glug of liquid as she pushed herself upright, keeping her eyes closed.

“Open your mouth. I have a spoonful of it here.”

She obeyed, dutifully swallowing the bitter-tasting medicine with a grimace.

“It tastes vile,” he murmured. “I know. I used to take it for my burns. But at least it should help you sleep.”

She nodded and lay back down, stretching out against the blissfully cool pillows. The mattress sagged as he sat down next to her, but before she could protest, his big hands were on her head, massaging her skull with just the right amount of pressure. She managed a groan.