Chemistry of Magic: Unexpected Magic Book Five (Unexpected Magic #5)(10)
“I was fortunate enough to be allowed to look into a Dolland at the university. It could be most useful in my research, but I am not interested in chemicals and elements,” she replied, proving she knew as much as he. “I am interested in living organisms. Microscopes are revealing that plants and animals have a cellular structure. What causes those structures to become diseased?”
He frowned, then closed his eyes. “An interesting approach. Let me think on it. The rocking of the coach is a better soporific than laudanum.”
“It’s been a rather long day, and it’s only half over,” she agreed, castigating herself for exhausting him with her need to defend her research. She’d spent this past week reading all she could on consumption. Rest was essential, which was why she’d had the mattress installed.
Once he closed his eyes, she found the latest scientific journal she’d been reading, removed her gloves, and settled into her corner. She had considered changing into a travel gown rather than cover her wedding gown in road dust, but had decided being cool was more important. Besides, this first part of the journey was along well paved roads, and would merely take them a distance outside the city. Tomorrow would be more daunting.
Despite her immense concentration, she couldn’t read. The big man beside her seemed to fall almost comatose. She had to keep checking to see if he breathed. Did she dare. . . ?
She contemplated the rise and fall of her husband’s shirt front. He’d managed to unfasten coat and waistcoat again. The man obviously did not like confinement. His neckcloth was still loosely tied but fell to one side. Did she dare. . . ?
She’d used her gift on him earlier. She thought it had helped. At the time, her fear and nervousness had made it easier to detach the physical connection that her gift demanded. Healing was far more difficult with children, when every instinct demanded that she cure them, to her own detriment.
She didn’t mind suffering with her patient if she knew she was healing him. The real problem was when she didn’t let go in time. She hadn’t fully tested her abilities when she connected with a patient, but the problem seemed to be that the healing itself deprived her of the life energy she needed to breathe.
Herbs were far safer.
She wasn’t foolish enough to believe she could cure consumption, of course, but if she could prove to herself that she actually helped. . .
She either tried now or must give up all hope of ever using her daunting gift. Delicately, she laid her fingers on Dare’s shirtfront. He didn’t stir.
With a little more confidence, she flattened her palm against a hard wall of muscle. Her new husband was a tall man, well-built, but lean. She wished she dared open his shirt, but that was a step she couldn’t take. Instead, she focused on his breathing, the way his lungs moved beneath her hand, the harsh raking of air against damaged tissue. . . Prickles crept up her arm, forming a raging current straight to her own lungs, creating a deep angry ache. . .
She lost herself in the energy, the exchange of pain and heat. If only she knew more. . .
He jolted awake, sitting up with a start. “What the—?”
Startled, Emilia yanked back her hand. Trembling at how far she’d gone, she pretended nothing had happened. Weak and not a little dizzy, she flipped a page of her journal. “You’re awake. Did the nap help?”
Healing always drained her. She ached in all the places he must, and she still had no means of knowing if she’d helped.
Dare rubbed absently at his chest and peered around the window curtains. “I’ve been better. We should be arriving before long. I’m a bit peckish for a change. I don’t think you ate much of the wedding breakfast. Shall we dine early?”
Emilia hid a smile of triumph. If he was hungry, she’d helped heal him a little, she was sure—because her gift drained her, and she was now exhausted and had no interest whatsoever in food.
Chapter 3
Dare was disgusted with himself for sleeping through the hours he’d thought to use seducing his bride. Climbing out of the coach, reinvigorated from his nap, he watched his calm and collected wife stand to one side while servants clambered and bustled about, handling the luggage and horses. She’d donned her hat again, so he couldn’t read her eyes.
Despite the heat, the dust, and the sweltering journey, she appeared detached from her surroundings. She clung to the heavy valise she’d insisted on removing from beneath the plank under his mattress. Books, she had said. She was taking books to their bridal chamber.
He didn’t even know what to call her. The formality of Lady Dare didn’t suit her—that was his mother, devil take it. But they had scarcely reached the intimacy of using her given name either.
She took his arm when he offered, dipping her blasted hat in acknowledgment of his support. Only when he led her to the stairs in the innkeeper’s wake did Dare realize she clutched his arm as if he were her anchor. Did the night ahead make her that nervous? He regretted having to release her when she lifted her skirt to follow in single file up the narrow stairs.
The inn had been chosen because it catered to aristocratic clientele, and their room had been arranged in advance. Their host led them to a large chamber with a wide bed and a small dining table. A door connected to a smaller room with two cot-sized beds, for children and servants—or a reluctant bride.
“Would you prefer to rest before dinner?” Dare asked, discarding his hat as the last of the servants departed. He regarded his seemingly composed bride with fascination.