Midnight Marriage: A Georgian Historical Romance (Roxton Series) Read Online Free PDF Page A

pillow to look down the foot of the bed at an elderly gentleman with grizzled hair. “Have I been a sad trial, mon parrain ?”
    Martin Ellicott smiled and shook his head. He showed the physician to the door and then returned to pull up a chair beside the bed, motioning away his lordship’s hovering valet with a slight wave. “How do you feel?”
    They spoke in French.
    “Passable,” Julian replied. “I have a thumping headache. Have I really been tossing about in bed for three nights?”
    “Yes. You contracted a chill that turned into a fever. That is not important now. You must rest and regain your strength.”
    “Always in and out of some scrape, aye, Martin?” Julian grinned self-consciously. “But this time it was not of my making. If you can believe me.”
    “I never doubt you, M’sieur.”
    “ M’sieur ? When has my godfather ever called me anything but Julian when we are private?” He frowned. “Ah. Your expression, or should I say, lack of one, gives you away. You look remarkably like mon père when you put on that face. Did you learn from Father or vice versa? Never mind. You are about to lecture me on my folly.”
    “No. Not now. Could you eat something?”
    “I don’t know. Mayhap something other than that pap I seem to recall having pushed down my throat.” He watched the old man stand slowly. “Martin,” he said abruptly, “was I ever lucid during those days?”
    “Occasionally.” He gave a rare smile. “Always in French.”
    Julian sighed. “Thank God for that.” He looked past his godfather. “Did I make mention of any particular circumstance?”
    Martin Ellicott was silent a moment and it brought the younger man’s eyes back to his face. “You asked that your parents not be told. I did not tell them. You know I would not distress their Graces for the world. I need not add that Monseigneur —”
    “I am well aware of the Duke of Roxton’s uncanny ability to know my every move. He’ll be as mad as hellfire but I’ll deal with that when the time comes. Anything else?”
    “No.”
    “Oh… Then I must have dreamed… I seem to recall asking you—”
    “—about a young lady with brown eyes?”
    “Yes. She patched me up.”
    “Is that so?” mused Martin Ellicott, a twinkle in his eye.
    “I didn’t conjure up this female in some opium induced dream. She is flesh and blood.”
    “If she is the one who bandaged you up, then you do indeed owe her a debt of gratitude.” Martin Ellicott executed a neat bow. “Now you must rest and I will send Frew in with a tray of something palatable. Tomorrow we will discuss what is to be done to find your savior.”
    The Marquis gave a grunt of laughter that made him grimace. “Well, I’d hate for you to think me as weak-brained as Uncle Lucian—”
    The old man gave an involuntary shudder. “No one could be as weak-brained as that.”
    “—but you shouldn’t have difficulty finding her. She sneaks out to the Avon forest to play her viola because Gerry don’t like it one bit. Then again he’s tone deaf, so he wouldn’t, would he?”
    Martin Ellicott refrained from commenting and went out of the room. Opium, he thought. It had to be the opium.
    ~   ~   ~
    The young woman with the brown eyes who occupied the Marquis of Alston’s thoughts in his sickbed waking hours was Miss Deborah Cavendish who lived in a tall, narrow fronted house on the east side of Milsom Street, two doors up from the Octagon Proprietary Chapel. It was a respectable address, close to all the amenities of town and only a short walk to the newly opened Upper Assembly Rooms. Yet, it was not considered a fashionable place to reside by the first families. The street housed chapels and trade, and the great rumble of traffic during the Season was considered unpleasant. The buildings lacked the style and elegance and aspect to be found in Queen Square, the Circus or Gay Street. Such an address might do for the seasonal lodger but could not be considered a