Page 48 of The Dravenhearst Brides

His speech. Oh, heavens!

An insidious flush crept up the back of her neck as panic set in. She panted, distressed.

No. Not now. Not when Merrick needed her.

She grabbed his hand and tugged. “Come with me.”

He was hardly in a state to protest. Margot dragged him from the crowded ballroom into the foyer of city hall. There, she spotted salvation—a private bathroom, guarded by an attendant.

The beginnings of a shaky plan formed, only slightly compromising. She’d far rather compromise herself than Merrick. She stepped up on tiptoes to whisper, “Grab my backside.”

“What?” Merrick’s gaze was heavy-lidded, confused.

She gripped his hand and guided it to her rear. “Right there. Now kiss me.”

She was pleased to find, if nothing else, he was a very obedient drunk. His lips pressed softly into her cheek.

“Merrick,” she murmured, looking shyly at the uniformed attendant. “Hold on a moment, darling.”

She flashed the bathroom attendant her most charming southern belle smile, then reached into Merrick’s pocket for his billfold. Miserly as he was, it held but a small wad of scratch. She pulled out the lot and thrust it at the man.

“Take a smoke break,” she commanded, channeling Ruth’s haughtiness. “Fifteen minutes.”

He snatched the money, watching them with amusement. “Yes, ma’am.”

Margot pushed Merrick inside the bathroom, then slammed and locked the door. Before she turned, his arms were reaching for her, his lips pressing her neck.

“Merrick, no.” She smacked him away.

“What?” He stumbled sideways, off balance. “But you just told that fella—”

“Merrick, there’s something wrong with you. You’re not well.”

“I’m not?” He looked down at himself, puzzled.

“No. Do you feel…normal?”

He considered the question, tiny lines appearing on his forehead. “My stomach feels odd,” he admitted. “And my legs are a bit funny…heavy.”

“Merrick, I think Alastair put something in your drink. I’m worried.” She started to pace, thinking furiously.

On the one-year anniversary of Elijah’s death, Margot had found her mother on the floor of her parents’ bedroom, passed out, barely breathing beside an empty laudanum bottle.

A bottle that had been full mere hours earlier.

When the physician arrived, he stuck a tube down her throat and sucked out her stomach contents, purging the drug.

Margot had gotten there in time to save her mother.

Years later, however, history repeated itself.

Empty bottle on the nightstand. A cold, still body in the bed.

A hollow shell of the woman who used to be her mother.

Margot hadn’t found her in time. Couldn’t save her.

And she wasn’t entirely sure her mother even wanted to be saved.

She blinked back tears, looking at her husband. A curse on both our houses, not just his.

But not one that would take Merrick away from her. Not today. Not while there was breath left in her body to prevent it.

Merrick doubled over, hands on his knees. “Margot,” he groaned. “My stomach is twisting.”

She had only one option. She grabbed his hand and tugged him forward. “This way.”

She guided him on stumbling legs to the toilet, propping him against the porcelain. He closed his eyes and leaned back. His skin had gone pale, his breath shallow.

“Merrick, I’m dreadfully, dreadfully sorry about this,” she said. “I do hope you’ll forgive me.”

Before she could give herself time to back out, Margot tipped his head over the toilet rim and jammed her fingers down his throat.

There was only one person Margot trusted inside the ballroom, one person she could count on to help her protect Merrick.

And she was currently in the center of the room, dancing a tango in Alastair’s traitorous arms.

How on God’s green earth had that happened?

“Ruth.” She flagged her, pleased to see her friend had enough sense to abandon Alastair rather than bring the bastard along.

“Where’s Merrick?” Ruth asked, searching the crowd. “It’s almost time for his speech.”

“He’s ill. Someone spiked his drink. He can’t give the speech.”

“What?” Ruth cried, slapping a hand over her mouth.

“Shh.” Margot quieted her. “No one can know. He looks corked. We can’t have people talking. Pass along our regrets and give his notes to Colonel Blanton. Or get up there and do Merrick’s part yourself. Please, it’s such an important night for him…for all of us.”

“Of course. I’ll come up with something.” Ruth’s blue eyes hardened with resolve. “Just get him home and summon Dr. Smalls. Will he be okay?”

“I don’t know,” Margot admitted, turning to depart. Before she’d taken two steps, Ruth grabbed her arm.

“Who could have done this?”

“Alastair gave Merrick a drink shortly before he became ill.”

Ruth’s jaw tightened. “I understand. I’ll handle it.”

Margot had scarcely taken two steps when she was besieged once more.

“Mrs. Dravenhearst.” Toni sidled up to her, tipping his fedora. He tucked her fingers within his own, lifting them to his lips for a kiss.

Margot’s skin crawled. She would have to scrub the spot later with bleach. “Lovely to see you again, Antoni.” She forced a perfunctory smile. “If you’ll excuse me—”

He didn’t release her hand. “Where’s your husband run off to? I was hoping to catch up with him tonight, see if he’d reconsider our business relationship.”

Margot held her smile in place. “I’m sure he’s around here somewhere. If you would just release me”—she tugged her hand from his grasp—“I’ll go find him.”

Toni laughed. “You do that. Prohibition isn’t going anywhere, not in this state. Bet he’s realizing what a mistake he’s made tonight. Mistakes sure can be painful, can’t they?”

Margot froze, thinking of Merrick doubled over in the bathroom, his gut seizing in pain. What, precisely, was Toni implying?

She shook her head. No. Toni had been on the other side of the room all night. He had nothing to do with this.

“Have a lovely evening, Antoni.”

Margot disappeared into the crowd, returning to the bathroom posthaste.

“It’s me,” she whispered, helping Merrick stand. “We’re going home. Come on.”

“Is dinner over?” he slurred, accepting her hand. His was terribly clammy, his pupils dilated. “Did I give my speech?”

“Yes,” she lied. “All done. It’s time to go.”

With one wobbling step after another, they departed city hall. They’d parked the roadster less than a block away.

The roadster!

How had she not realized before? Merrick was in no condition to drive. Perhaps Ruth…

But Ruth was inside, salvaging their reputations and their livelihood.

No, Margot would have to do this alone. She gritted her teeth and assisted Merrick into the passenger seat, his head lolling back, eyes half closed.

There was no time for fear. None whatsoever.

Margot settled in the driver’s seat and slid her hands over the wheel. It was larger than she’d expected, dwarfing her grip. The seat swallowed her, an imprint of Merrick’s overly large body pressed into the cushions. She needed to sit up very straight to see over the dash.

Keys.

She fumbled for them, digging in Merrick’s pockets.

Gas valve open. Gearshift neutral. Hand brake on.

She took a deep, nervous breath before adjusting the throttle.

Ignition.

The roadster rumbled to life, a metallic beast at her fingertips. Her feet scrambled forward to find the pedals. Her fingers darted over the wheel. She’d seen Merrick do it so many times. She knew how.

In theory.

Be brave, she told herself. She brushed a hand over the back of her neck. It prickled with heat, but Margot was determined. Her vision did not tunnel. Distressed or not, she was strong enough to do this.

She had to be.

For Merrick.

“Lord Jesus, protect us,” she prayed, sliding the car into gear.

They lurched forward into the night. Lurched out of the city and onto winding roads, making wild but swift progress toward the one place Margot swore she’d never return.

Dravenhearst Distilling.