The bed shook, as if a mighty earthquake had descended upon their fashionable corner of Mayfair. Ivy mumbled, moving closer to the blazing heat beside her. She reveled in the warmth before coming to a hazy realization it was actually uncomfortable. Droplets of sweat trickled between her breasts, and restless, she scooted further away. Her eyes drifted open as the bed quivered.

A vague memory of returning from Sara’s after a morning of champagne and too many toasts to the end of the season rose in her mind. While undoing the buttons on her gown, she became a bit dizzy and decided to rest for only a moment. She must have fallen asleep.

The bed wobbled again, a tortured moan jerking her upright, setting her heart pounding. Sebastian lay beside her, making that awful noise. Ivy touched her palms to his forehead then his cheek and he trembled at her touch. His flesh was like fire burning her and she stared at him in utter confusion. With a small cry, she scrambled to her knees. Sweat drenched Sebastian, heat rolling off him in waves, yet he shuddered as if bared to the wilds of Northern Scotland during the depths of winter. He moaned again, eyes feverish and bright, opening to gaze through Ivy as though she were not even there.

“Sebastian,” Ivy choked. “Dear God, you are ill.”

Help. She must get help. Gabriel would know what to do.

Mid-tumble from the bed, Ivy found her arm caught in an unyielding grasp. With the strength of ten men, Sebastian held tight, fingers digging into her flesh. His face glowed the same pristine white as the pillow casings and between lips dry and cracked, a single word finally croaked out.

“S-s-sick.”

Somehow, Ivy managed to wrench away. She hurried to the bathing room, locating a porcelain basin in the dimly lit room. Sliding back onto the bed, she tipped the bowl toward him just as he rolled to his side to become violently ill. Bracing his shoulder, she supported his weight the best she could while the meager contents of his stomach emptied into the shallow bowl.

When the spell was over, Ivy set the basin on the floor and helped him onto his back. She procured a fresh cloth, a glass of water and set about cleaning him up, passing the cloth gently over his face. Murmuring soothingly, even though Sebastian seemed unaware of her presence, Ivy reached over, yanking hard on the servant’s cable that would summon Gabriel.

* * *

With a rustle of fabric, Lady Garrett glided through the open doorway, her brow furrowed as she took in the bustling scene. "Whatever is going on?"

Ivy did not answer. Taking a new basin of cold water and fresh cloths from Miss Agnes, she dabbed at the newly formed rivulets of perspiration on Sebastian’s forehead and upper lip.

"Is the earl not feeling well?" Rachel stepped around Gabriel where he’d taken up a post at the door.

"He is terribly ill,” Ivy replied. "Where have you been?”

"To lunch at the Countess of Latham’s, and tea at old Lady Danbury's. Poor old dear suffers terribly from gout. I thought a visit would cheer her, although she barely remembers who comes to call. Feebleminded, you know.” Rachel gazed at her nephew, a strange gleam in her eye. "I was under the impression you two were hardly on speaking terms. Although after that display in the park, and your antics this past week, I’m not sure what to believe. One must keep up appearances, I suppose.”

Ivy could barely breathe past the guilt choking her. "He is my husband, madam. Regardless of everything else, there is that. It is my responsibility to care for him.”

“How very admirable.” Rachel murmured, stepping back as Sebastian began to thrash restlessly. She bumped into an immobile, unsmiling Gabriel. “When did he become ill?”

“This afternoon.” Ivy dipped the cloth again in the cool water. “We are awaiting Dr. Callahan’s arrival to learn more.”

“Let us hope it is a passing illness. I confess I’ve never seen Sebastian ill before,” Rachel replied.

When Dr. Callahan arrived, he too, was perplexed. The possibility of food contamination was put forth, or perhaps some manner of blood poisoning. Had the earl recently suffered an insect or animal bite?

“A dangerous situation, Lady Ravenswood,” he intoned. “Extremely serious. You must prepare yourself for the worst, as the earl is very ill. Should he not awaken by morning, then I fear…well, let us pray circumstances are better by morning.”

Ivy sat frozen with terror during the doctor’s examination. It could not be explained how or why her robust and healthy husband was so vital that morning, but at Death’s doorstep by nightfall. There was her own perplexing illness to be considered, but Dr. Callahan did not believe the two to be related as the symptoms were not precisely the same.

The doctor left instructions; rest and cold compresses to be applied to the earl’s forehead and body to keep the fever down. Should the fever spike higher, ice baths would become necessary. A bloodletting was recommended, but when the instruments were pulled out for the procedure, Ivy quietly informed the man the only blood to be shed would be his own.

The devices were hastily packed away and the doctor took his leave.

Late in the night, for a few blessed seconds, Sebastian woke. A transient, lucid awareness lit his face and he stared at Ivy as if shocked to see her weeping so softly in a chair beside the bed. Remorse etched his features as he said in a gravelly whisper, "Ah, my little butterfly. What the hell have I done to you this time?"

He brushed his mouth across her knuckles until Ivy pulled away to pour cool water for him. As shudders rolled through him, she smoothed his hair from his fevered brow, holding the glass’s rim against his parched lips. “Sebastian…please, do not talk just now. Drink this.”

"Forgive me, love. Seems I’m always begging your forgiveness.” Moisture brightened his eyes as he drank his fill, then his head sagged forward in a struggle against the inevitable skid into unconsciousness.

“You must be strong, darling. For me.” Ivy pressed her lips to their tangled fingers. His skin was so hot, like a bright flame against her mouth.

“Ivy, promise me.” Fever left Sebastian twisting with pain. He brought her hand up to press it to his face.

“Anything, Sebastian.” Against the stubble roughened plane of his jaw, the coolness of her palm seemed to soothe him. She kept it there, willing to do anything to bring him comfort. “Anything.”

“Don’t leave me…don’t want…to be alone. Oh god, stay…Ivy, you must promise me. Stay.”

Ivy was frightened. More frightened than she had ever been in her life. This awful pain Sebastian suffered and her powerlessness to do anything for him eclipsed everything. Even the agony of losing her dear mother did not compare to this. She held his hand tight while his tears scalded her knuckles and she kissed his forehead until he drifted into a restless sleep plagued by nightmares. She could lose him forever this time. No matter how tight she held to him…he might slip away. Before she could tell him how much she loved him. I cannot live without him. Why did she continue to deny what was in her heart? She was so tired of fighting it. Tired of walling herself off from the love Sebastian repeatedly gave her. Sebastian loved her. She loved him. She never stopped loving him, even when he crushed her heart and destroyed her.

“Come back to me, my love.” Kissing his cheek, Ivy found his skin clammy and hot against her lips. “Come back to me.”

* * *

Was it a dream? A nightmare? Or a hallucination.

Sebastian’s stomach clenched with excruciating spirals, contracting with such painful sharpness he could only gasp. Icy torrents of his own musky sweat drenched him. He tried pulling his hand from the loose grip, to caress the soft mane of chestnut colored hair spilling across his forearm, but he was too weak. Frustration mounted as the pain in his belly grew into an unbearable ache. It hurt worse than anything he’d ever experienced before, but he welcomed it. He needed it. To feel something...something real. Tangible. It meant he was still alive.

Was Ivy really here? Holding his hand? Were those her tears splashing his fingers? Every drop scorched him, burning like salty acid on his skin. Then her lips brushed his flesh, the caustic blistering soothed by sweet coolness. Her kisses were numbing flecks of ice dousing waves of fire. She whispered something, words he could not quite make out. It was a struggle to keep his eyes open, to focus on the dark head bent over him. Oblivion encroached once more to envelop him within a silky, inky darkness. Long, black fingers reached for him, grabbing his face and his body, his hair...

No, no, no… He struggled to hold as the tunnel sucked him down. Ivy’s face floated above him, blue-green eyes wide. Terrified. For him

Please, Ivy, Ivy, don't let me go. Don't let me go...keep me with you.