It was only the thought of her sisters that caused her to grip the knob and turn it. For their sakes, she could act with purpose and confidence. She would do whatever needed to be done.

Hurrying along the hallway, she pushed at the half-open door of Merripen's room and went to the bedside.

The muted light of dawn barely leavened the darkness, but it was enough for Amelia to see two people in the bed. Merripen was on his side, the formerly strong lines of his body collapsed and sprawling. And there was the slim, neat shape of Win sleeping beside him, fully clothed, her feet tucked beneath the skirts of her house dress. Though it was impossible for such a delicate creature to protect someone so much larger, Win's body was curved as if to shelter him. Amelia stared at them in wonder, understanding more from the tableau than any words could have conveyed. Their position conveyed longing and restraint, even in sleep.

She realized her sister's eyes were open—there was the shine of her eyes. Win made no sound or movement, her expression grave as if she were absorbed in collecting each second with him.

Overwhelmed with compassion and shared sorrow, Amelia tore her gaze from her sister's. Retreating from the bedside, she left the room.

She nearly bumped into Poppy, who was also walking through the hallway, her robe a ghostly white.

"How is he?" Poppy asked.

Her throat hurt. It was difficult to speak. "Not well. Sleeping. Let's go to the kitchen and put a kettle on." They went toward the stairs.

"Amelia, I dreamed all night about Leo. Terrible dreams."

"So did I."

"Do you think he's... done himself harm?"

"I hope not, with all my heart. But I think it's possible."

"Yes," Poppy whispered. "I think so, too." She heaved a sigh. "Poor Beatrix."

"Why do you say that?"

"She's still so young, to have lost so many people... Father and Mother, and now perhaps Merripen and Leo."

"We haven't lost Merripen and Leo yet."

"At this point, it would be a miracle if we could keep either of them."

"You're always so cheerful in the morning." Amelia caught her hand and squeezed it. Trying to ignore the weight of hopelessness in her own chest, she said firmly, "Don't give up yet, Poppy. We'll hold out hope for as long as we can."

They reached the bottom of the stairs. "Amelia." Poppy sounded vaguely annoyed. "Don't you ever feel like throwing yourself to the floor and crying?"

Yes, Amelia thought. Right now, as a matter of fact. But she couldn't afford the luxury of tears. "No, of course not. Crying never solves anything."

"Don't you ever want to lean on someone's shoulder?"

"I don't need someone else's shoulder. I've got two perfectly good ones."

"That's silly. You can't lean on your own shoulder."

"Poppy, if you mean to start the day by bickering? Amelia broke off as she became aware of some noise from outside, the thunder and jangle and gravel-crunching of a carriage and team of horses. "Good heavens, who would come at this hour?"

"The doctor," Poppy guessed.

"No, I haven't sent for him yet."

"Perhaps, Lord Westcliff has returned."

"But there would be no reason for that, especially for him to have come so early?

A footman knocked at the door, the sound echoing through the entrance hall. The sifters looked at each other uneasily. "We can't answer it," Amelia said. "We're in our nightclothes."

A maid came into the entrance hall. Setting down a pail of coal, she wiped her hands on her apron and hastened to the door. Unlocking the massive portal, she tugged it open and bobbed a curtsy.

"Come away." Amelia muttered, urging Poppy back to the stairs with her. But as she glanced back over her shoulder to see who had come, the sight of a man's tall, dark form struck sparks inside her. She stopped with her foot on the first step, staring and staring, until a pair of amber eyes looked in her direction.

Cam.

He looked disheveled and disreputable, like an outlaw on the run. A smile came to his lips, while he stared at her intently. "It seems I can't stay away from you," he said.

She rushed to him without thinking, almost stumbling in her haste. "Cam?

He caught her up with a low laugh. The scent of outdoors clung to him; wet earth, dampness, leaves. The mist on his coat sank through the thin layer of her robe. Feeling her tremor, Cam opened his coat with a wordless murmur and pulled her into the tough, warm haven of his body. Amelia couldn't contain her shivering. She was vaguely aware of servants moving through the entrance hall, of her sister's presence nearby. She was making a scene—she should pull away and try to compose herself. But she couldn't. Not yet.

"You must have traveled all night," she heard herself say.

"I had to come back early." She felt his lips brush her tumbled hair. '"I left some things unfinished. But I had a feeling you might need me. Tell me what's happened, sweetheart."

Amelia opened her mouth to answer, but to her mortification, the only sound she could make was a sort of miserable croak. Her self-control shattered. She shook her head and choked on more sobs, and the more she tried to stop them, the worse they became.

Cam gripped her firmly, deeply, into his embrace. The appalling storm of tears didn't seem to bother him at all He took one of Amelia's hands and flattened it against his heart, until she could feel the strong, steady beat. In a world that was disintegrating around her, he was solid and real. "It's all right," she heard him murmur. "I'm here."

Alarmed by her own lack of self-discipline, Amelia made a wobbly attempt to stand on her own, but he only hugged her more closely. "No, don't pull away. I've got you." He cuddled her shaking form against his chest. Noticing Poppy's awkward retreat, Cam sent her a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, little sister."

"Amelia hardly ever cries," Poppy said.

"She's fine." Cam ran his hand along Amelia's spine in soothing strokes. "She just needs?

As he paused, Poppy said, "A shoulder to lean on."

"Yes." He drew Amelia to the stairs, and gestured for Poppy to sit beside them.

Cradling Amelia on his lap, Cam found a handkerchief in his pocket and wiped her eyes and nose. When it became apparent that no sense could be made from her jumbled words, he hushed her gently and held her against his large, warm body while she sobbed and hid her face. Overwhelmed with relief, she let him rock her as if she were a child.

As Amelia hiccupped and quieted in his arms, Cam asked a few questions of Poppy, who told him about Merripen's condition and Leo's disappearance, and even about the missing silverware.

Finally getting control of herself, Amelia cleared her aching throat. She lifted her head from Cam's shoulder and blinked.

"Better?" he asked, holding the handkerchief up to her nose.

Amelia nodded and blew obediently. "I'm sorry," she said in a muffled voice. "I shouldn't have turned into a watering pot. I'm finished now."

Cam seemed to look right inside her. His voice was very soft. "You don't have to be sorry. You don't have to be finished, either."

She realized that no matter what she did or said, no matter how long she wanted to cry, he would accept it. And he would comfort her. That made her eyes water again. Her hand crept to the open neck of his shirt, partially open to reveal a glimpse of sun-burnished skin. She let her fingers curl around the linen placket. "Do you think Leo might be dead?" she whispered.

He offered no false hope, no empty promises, only caressed her damp cheek with the backs of his fingers. "Whatever happens, we'll deal with it together."

"Cam?would you do something for me?"

"Anything"

"Could you find some of that plant Merripen gave to Win and Leo for the scarlet fever?"

He drew back and looked at her. "Deadly nightshade? That wouldn't work for this, sweetheart."

"But it's a fever."

"Caused by a septic wound. You have to treat the source of the fever." His hand went to the back of her neck, soothing the tautly strung muscles. He stared at a distant point on the floor, appearing to think something over. His tangled lashes made shadows over his hazel eyes. "Let's go have a look at him."

"Do you think you could help him?" Poppy asked, springing to her feet.

"Either that, or my efforts will finish him off quickly. Which, at this point, he may not mind." Lifting Amelia from his lap, Cam set her carefully on her feet, and they proceeded up the stairs. His hand remained at the small of her back, a light but steady support she desperately needed.

As they approached Merripen's room, it occurred to Amelia that Win might still be inside. "Wait," she said, hastening forward. "Let me go first."

Cam stayed beside the door.

Entering the room with caution, Amelia saw that Merripen was alone in the bed. She opened the door wider and gestured for Cam and Poppy to enter.

Becoming aware of intruders in the room, Merripen lurched to his side and squinted at them. As soon as he caught sight of Cam, his face contracted in a surly grimace.

"Bugger off," he croaked.

Cam smiled pleasantly. "Were you this charming with the doctor? I'll bet he was falling all over himself to help you."

"Get away from me."

"This may surprise you," Cam said, "but there's a long list of things I'd prefer to look at rather than your rotting carcass. For your family's sake, however, I'm willing. Turn over."

Merripen eased his front to the mattress and said something in Romany that sounded extremely foul.

"You, too," Cam said equably. He lifted the shirt from Merripen's back and pried the bandage from the injured shoulder. He viewed the hideous seeping wound without expression. "How often have you been cleaning it?" he asked Amelia. '"Twice a day."

"We'll try four times a day. Along with a poultice." Leaving the bedside, Cam motioned for Amelia to accompany him to the doorway. He lowered his mouth to her ear. "I have to go out to fetch a few things. While I'm gone, give him something to make him sleep. He won't be able to tolerate this otherwise."

"Tolerate what? What are you going to put in the poultice?"

"A mixture of things. Including apis mellifica"

"What is that?"

"Bee venom. Extract from crushed bees, to be precise. We'll soak them in a water-and-alcohol base."

Bewildered, Amelia shook her head. "But where are you going to get? She broke off and stared at him with patent horror. "You're going to the hive at Ramsay house? H-how will you collect the bees?"

His mouth twitched with amusement. "Very carefully."

"Do you... do you want me to help?" she offered with difficulty.

Knowing her terror of the insects, Cam slid his hands around her head and pressed a hard kiss to her lips. "Not with the bees, sweetheart. Stay here and dose Merripen with mor**ine syrup. A lot of it."

"He won't. He hates morphine. He'll want to be stoic."

"Trust me, none of us will want him to be awake while I'm applying the poultice. Especially Merripen. The Rom call the treatment 'white lightning' for good reason. It's not something anyone can be stoic about. So do whatever's necessary to put him out, monisha. I'll be back soon."

"Do you think the white lightning will work?" she asked.

"I don't know." Cam cast an unfathomable glance back at the suffering figure on the bed. "But I don't think he'll last long without it."

While Cam was gone, Amelia conferred with her sisters in private. It was decided that Win would be the one most likely to succeed in making Merripen take the morphine. And it was Win herself who stated flatly they would have to deceive him, as he would refuse to take it voluntarily no matter how they beseeched him.

"I'll lie to him, if necessary," Win said, shocking the other three into speechlessness. "He trusts me. He'll believe whatever I say."

To their knowledge, Win had never told a lie in her life, not even as a child.

"Do you really think you could?" Beatrix asked, rather awed by the notion.

'To save his life, yes." Delicate tension appeared between Win's fine brows, and splotches of pale pink appeared high on her cheeks. "I think... I think a sin committed for such a purpose may be forgiven."

"I agree," Amelia said swiftly.

"He likes mint tea," Win said. "Let's make a strong batch and add a great deal of sugar. It will help hide the taste of the medicine."

No pot of tea had ever been prepared with such scrupulous care, the Hathaway sisters hovering over the brew like a coven of young witches. Finally a porcelain teapot was filled with the strained and sugared concoction, and placed on a tray beside a cup and saucer.

Win carried it to Merripen's room, pausing at the threshold as Amelia held the door open.

"Shall I go in with you?" Amelia whispered. Win shook her head. "No, I'll manage. Please close the door. Make certain no one disturbs us." Her slender back was very straight as she entered the room.

Merripen's eyes opened at the sound of Win's footsteps. The pain of the festering wound was constant, inescapable. He could feel the toxins leaking into his blood, feeding poison into every capillary. It produced, at times, a perplexing dark euphoria, floating him away from his wasting body until he was at the periphery of the room. Until Win came, and then he gladly sank back into the pain just to feel her hands on him, her breath on his face.

Win shimmered like a mirage in front of him. Her skin looked cool and luminous, while his body raged with miasma and heat.

"I've brought something for you."

"Don't... don't want?

"Yes," she insisted, joining him on the bed. "It will help you to get better?here, move up a bit, and I'll put my arm around you." There was a delicious slide of female limbs against him, beneath him, and Merripen gritted his teeth against a dull burst of agony as he moved to accommodate her. Darkness and light played beneath his closed eyelids, and he fought for consciousness.

When Merripen could open his eyes again, he found his head resting against the gentle pillow of Win's breasts, one of her arms cradling him while her free hand pressed a cup to his lips.

A delicate porcelain rim clicked against his teeth. He recoiled as an acrid taste burned his cracked lips. "No?