He returned her gaze blandly.

"You may go," she said with equal sharpness.

At the door, he hesitated with his hand on the knob.

"You may go." She spoke more firmly this time. Inside, she was trembling. This was how it had started before. A little too much familiarity, definitely too much assertiveness on the part of the footman.

But today, had Robert behaved so in reaction to some encouragement on her part? Some encouragement she had given him but been unaware of consciously? Was she deceiving herself?

Oh, when would she ever be able to trust herself again?

"I was wondering if your tea is acceptable."

"I am sure it is. Go on."

He just stood there.

Oh, wasn't her heart leaping now! Why did he seem to think he had the right to be alone with her now that the maid was gone? It was dreadfully impertinent of him. How she wished with all her might that James would appear in the doorway. A woman like her needed a protector. Someone to set strict limits for her. Someone to warn off other men. At least until she was better able to trust herself. Until she became whole again. She compressed her lips a moment. "I shall call for you if I need you."

Robert stared at the teapot. Indeed, he seemed transfixed by it.

She regarded the silver pot and the cup with pale pink roses and yellow-green leaves, the colors muted by time. A few biscuits lay on a matching plate. There was nothing remarkable about anything on the tray. She cleared her throat.

He managed to tear his eyes from the service and met hers. "Very well, my lady."

Slowly, he walked from the chamber and the door closed with a soft click.

She sank into one of the chairs at the table. Robert had seemed a respectful sort before, and James must be happy with him. He had sent for him to come to London some months ago, so they had been together for a while now.

He knows you were with James the other night. That's why he disrespects you.

But the valet had only brought coffee and left it in the dressing chamber that adjoined James' bedchamber. Had he heard of her wanton affaire with a footman?

Only Mrs. Tibbs, her maid, Aunt Frances and Grandmother Blayne had known. And, of course, Dr. Meeker.

But had her maid told others? The traitorous little chit had told Aunt Frances. Who else had she told?

A wave of queasiness twisted through Sunny's stomach and she placed her hand over her belly and rubbed. The story would leak out sooner or later. Such things always did. Grandmother Blayne had wanted Sunny to remarry and quickly. But Dr. Meeker had warned against such a thing, saying it would only result in Sunny's being rejected, abandoned and all the worse off for it.

You can't torment yourself like this. It does no good.

Sunny poured herself a cup of tea and sweetened it with two generous spoonfuls of sugar. She sipped it cautiously, wondering if it would cause her further stomach upset. But it rested quite easily, calming her churning belly. She bit into one of the biscuits.

The sharp taste of ginger caught her off guard. Her favorite teatime treat. Could Robert have possibly known?

She drained her teacup, feeling warmer inside. Calmer.

Too calm.

She sat the cup on the tray. It rattled and rolled onto its side and she stared at it, confused. Giddy.

Her eyelids were heavy, so heavy.

That tea had been drugged! Opiate. Too much opiate. Far too much.

She glanced at the bed. It seemed so far away. She tried to set the china cup to rights and the silver teapot fell with a crash, sending tea gushing out all over.

She cried out.

"'Tis all right, my lady."

The masculine voice drew her attention to the doorway. The door stood open and Robert approached, followed by another man. She frowned. Oh, yes, she recognized him-he was one of the coachmen from Blayne House.

A woman, dressed all in black with a heavy veil, came as well.

Sunny closed her eyes and covered her face with her hands.

The woman's hands touched her shoulders, softly.

"I have been so worried over you. Worried sick!" Aunt Frances' voice was soft with a serrated undernote. "If anyone had heard of this madness-I swear, you and your misadventures will be the death of me."

Sunny tried to reply but the sleepiness was overpowering.

"Why didn't you bring her directly to my office as I requested?" Dr. Meeker's voice leached into Sunny's slumber.

She moaned and pulled the covers over her head.

Sleep pulled her back under.

The door to her chamber opened. The soft click was something she'd learnt to be sensitive to and it broke through despite her current state. She pulled the covers down a fraction, trying to focus her eyes and steal a peek.

But her vision wouldn't clear.

She licked her dry lips.

"I didn't think she ought to be seen entering your office in such a state." Aunt Frances sounded apologetic. Subservient.

"Who would recognize her? Wrapped in a blanket?"

"I don't know. It just didn't seem wise."

"We don't want the current Lord Blayne coming here, making trouble for us, do we?"

"His valet says he shall be gone all day. He is making arrangements for their journey."

"We cannot depend on the valet's word that he will be gone all day. But neither can we help matters now. We must get her down to my carriage immediately."

"Are you sure this is necessary?"

"It is absolutely imperative, my lady."

"Yes, but such a long journey and in her condition."

"It is not that far to France. Not really."

France?

Sunny startled and bolted to an upright position and threw off the coverlet. Cool air rushed over her. Mercy, she was in a state of undress! Mrs. Tibbs must have stripped her down to her shift at some point whilst she'd been unconscious. She rubbed her eyes, staring around at her chamber and trying to focus her thoughts.

France!

She tried to arise, but sleep kept trying to pull her back. She swallowed against a mouth and throat dry as dust. Dizziness swirled around inside her head. Her stomach lurched.

She was forced to lie flat and close her eyes.

Boots sounded on the floor.

"Catriona?"

She opened one eye a fraction.

Dr. Meeker's lean, distinguished face stared down at her.

He took her hand and caressed it. "Do you feel sick to your stomach?"

"Yes," she admitted.

"I am sorry about that."

"Wh-what did you-"

"Opiates. But also a little something else that would assure you would sleep deeper."

"It feels...terrible."

"I am sorry, Sunny, you forced me to do this." She should have known they would come for her.

"I think you need a rest, Sunny, a nice long rest." Dr. Meeker continued caressing her hand.

"Aunt Frances," Sunny called out. The word was a plea. She was drowning. She didn't want this. So, why wasn't she fighting them?

"We'll go to France, just me, you and Mrs. Tibbs and her assistants," Dr. Meeker explained softly. He gave her hand a squeeze. "How will that be? Lovely, eh?"

"No...no..."

"No?" Dr. Meeker used a jesting tone but she also heard his hurt beneath it. And he was still squeezing her hand.

"James...he will..."

"Ah, yes, Lord Blayne. He means well."

"Yes...he does."

"But he doesn't understand what ails you, Catriona. He can't help you the way I can." Dr. Meeker said, taking her by the upper arm. Gripping her.

"I think..." She licked her lips and tried to swallow, to wet her mouth. "He could help me."

Dr. Meeker chuckled. The toneless laugh sent a chill through her. His fingers dug into her arms as he looked away from her.

He smiled but continued to grip Sunny mercilessly.

Was he looking at Aunt Frances? Mrs. Tibbs?

Sunny couldn't tell. "Please leave us for a moment," he said, so politely one would never know how his fingers were pinching her. She would have bruises there.

"Oh, no...Aunt Frances, please, no...," Sunny began.

"Now, you're not afraid to be alone with me, are you?" Dr. Meeker asked in an amused tone.

She felt the hollowness of that amusement in the pit of her stomach. "No, I trust you," she said.

Fight! Do something!

The soft click of the door resounded in her stomach. Acid lurched into her throat and she swallowed it back.

"You want to be Blayne's whore?" Dr. Meeker's voice was steely soft. "After all I have done for you?"

"I-I..." She swallowed, hard. "I think he could help me."

"He doesn't care for you. Not as I do. I daresay, he doesn't know how to care for a woman. None of these gentlemen do. I treat you like a princess. You know I do. And you know you're not worthy of it, not yet. But you can be. If you let me help you."

"He could help me. I-I...I know he could."

"Don't spoil everything we've worked for. I have worked too hard on you to lose you, to give up on you."

"Yes, I suppose you have but-"

"I shall have to administer correction."

"No," she blurted. "No more..." Silence ensued.

The clock ticked and ticked.

Sweat flooded her palms. Her stomach twisted.

"It would be a great shame if your secrets were ever to reach the ears of Society," Dr. Meeker said.