"No," Amelia said quickly, as she realized he had been about to reach out to her. Taking a step back, she gave a strong shake of her head. "I… I'm not the kind of woman who can lean on anyone. I would fall to pieces."

Kev understood. For people like her, and himself, closeness meant too much.

"What is to be done?" Amelia whispered, wrapping her arms around herself.

Kev rubbed his weary eyes. "Have you heard of a plant called deadly nightshade?"

"No." Amelia was only familiar with herbs used for cooking.

"It only blooms at night. When the sun comes up, the flowers die. There was a drabengro, a 'man of poison' in my tribe. Sometimes he sent me to get the plants that were difficult to find. He told me deadly nightshade was the most powerful herb he knew of. It could kill a man, but it could also bring someone back from the brink of death."

"Did you ever see it work?"

Kev nodded, giving her a sidelong glance as he rubbed the taut muscles at the back of his neck. "I saw it cure fever," he muttered. And he waited.

"Get some," Amelia finally said, her voice unsteady. "It may prove to be fatal. But they're both sure to die without it."

Kev boiled the plants, which he had found in the corner of the village graveyard, down to thin black syrup. Amelia stood beside him as he strained the deadly broth and poured it into a small eggcup.

"Leo first," Amelia said resolutely, though her expression was doubt-ridden. "He's worse off than Win."

They went to Leo's bedside. It was astonishing how quickly a man could deteriorate from scarlet fever, how emaciated their strapping brother had become. Leo's formerly handsome face was unrecognizable, turgid and swollen and discolored. His last coherent words had been the day before, when he had begged Kev to let him die. His wish would soon be granted. From all appearances a coma was only hours, if not minutes, away.

Amelia went directly to a window and opened it. letting the cold air sweep away the taint of vinegar.

Leo moaned and stirred feebly, unable to resist as Kev forced his mouth open, lifted a spoon, and poured four or five drops of the tincture onto his dry, fissured tongue.

Amelia went to sit beside her brother, smoothing his dull hair, kissing his brow.

"If it was going to… to have an adverse effect," she said, when Kev knew she meant "if it was going to kill him," "… how long would it take?"

"Five minutes to an hour." Kev saw the way Amelia's hand shook as she continued to smooth Leo's hair.

It seemed the longest hour of Kev's life as they sat and watched Leo, who moved and muttered as if he was in the middle of a nightmare.

"Poor boy," Amelia murmured, running a cool rag over his face.

When they were certain that no convulsions were forthcoming, Kev retrieved the eggcup and stood.

"You're going to give it to Win now?" Amelia asked, still looking down at her brother.

"Yes."

"Do you need help?"

Kev shook his head. "Stay with Leo."

Kev went to Win's room. She was still and quiet on the bed. She no longer recognized him, her mind and body consumed in the red heat of fever. As he lifted her and let her head fall back on his arm, she writhed in protest.

"Win," he said softly. "Love, be still." Her eyes slit-ted open at the sound of his voice. "I'm here," he whispered. He picked up a spoon and dipped it into the cup. "Open your mouth, little gadji. Do it for me." But she refused. She turned her face, and her lips moved in a soundless whisper.

"What is it?" he murmured, easing her head back. "Win. You must take this medicine."

She whispered again.

Comprehending the scratchy words, Kev stared at her in disbelief. "You'll take it if I tell you my name?"

She struggled to produce enough saliva to speak. "Yes."

His throat got tighter and tighter, and the corners of his eyes burned. "It's Kev," he managed to say. "My name is Kev."

She let him put the spoon between her lips then, and the inky poison trickled down her throat.

Her body relaxed against him. As he continued to hold her, the fragile body felt as light and hot as flame in his arms.

I will follow you, he thought, whatever your fate is.

Win was the only thing on earth he had ever wanted. She would not leave without him.

Kev bent over her, and touched the dry, hot lips with his own.

A kiss she could not feel and would never remember.

He tasted the poison as he let his mouth linger on hers. Lifting his head, he glanced at the bedside table where he had set the remainder of the deadly nightshade. There was more than enough left to kill a healthy man.

It seemed as if the only thing that kept Win's spirit from leaving her body was the confinement of Kev's arms. So he held her and rocked her. He thought briefly of praying. But he would not acknowledge any being, supernatural or mortal, who threatened to take her from him.

The world had become this quiet shadowed room, the slender body in his arms, the breath that filtered softly in and out of her lungs. He followed that rhythm with his own breath, his own heartbeat. Leaning back against the bed, he fell into a dark trance as he waited for their shared fate.

Unaware of how much time passed, he rested with her until a movement in the doorway and a glow of light awakened him.

"Merripen." Amelia's husky voice. She held a candle at the threshold.

Kev felt blindly for Win's cheek, laid his hand along the side of her face, and felt a thrill of panic as his fingers met cool skin. He felt for the pulse in her throat.

"Leo's fever has broken," Amelia said. Kev could barely hear her over the blood rush in his ears. "He's going to be well."

A weak but steady throb lay beneath Kev's searching fingertips. Win's heartbeat… the pulse that sustained his universe.

Chapter Five

London, 1849

The addition of Cam Rohan to the Hathaway family had set the table for a new company. It was puzzling, how one person could change everything. Not to mention infuriating.

But then, everything was infuriating to Kev now. Win had gone to France, and there was no reason for him to be pleasant or even civil. Her absence had put him in the prowling fury of a wild creature deprived of its mate. He was always aware of his need for her, and the unendurable knowledge that she was somewhere far away and he couldn't reach her.

Kev had forgotten how this felt, this black hatred of the world and all its occupants. It was an unwelcome reminder of his boyhood, when he'd known nothing but violence and misery. And yet the Hathaways all seemed to expect him to behave as usual, to take part in the family routine, to pretend the Earth had gone on spinning.

The only thing that kept him sane was the knowledge of what she would want him to do. She would want him to take care of her sisters. And refrain from killing her new brother-in-law.

Kev could hardly stand the bastard.

The rest of them adored him. Cam Rohan had come and swept Amelia, a determined spinster, completely off her feet. Seduced her, as a matter of fact, which Kev still hadn't forgiven him for. But Amelia was entirely happy with her husband, even though he was half Rom.

None of them had ever met anyone quite like Rohan, whose origins were as mysterious as Kev's own. For most of his life, Rohan had worked at a gentlemen's gaming club, Jenner's, eventually becoming a factotum and then owning a small interest in the highly lucrative business. Burdened with a growing fortune, he had invested it as badly as possible to spare himself the supreme embarrassment of being a Gypsy with money. It hadn't worked. The money kept coming, every foolish investment returning miraculous dividends. Rohan sheepishly called it his good-luck curse.

But as it turned out, Rohan's curse was useful, since taking care of the Hathaways was an expensive proposition. Their family estate in Hampshire, which Leo had inherited last year along with his title, had burned down recently and was being rebuilt. And Poppy needed clothes for her London season, and Beatrix wanted to go to finishing school. On top of that, there were Win's clinic bills. As Rohan had pointed out to Kev, he was in a position to do a great deal for the Hathaways and that should be reason enough for Kev to tolerate him.

Therefore, Kev tolerated him.

Barely.

"Good morning," Rohan said cheerfully, coming into the dining area of the family's suite at the Rutledge Hotel. They were already halfway through breakfast. Unlike the rest of them, Rohan was not an early riser, having spent most of his life in a gambling club where there was activity at all hours of the night. A town Gypsy, Kev thought with contempt.

Freshly washed and dressed in gadjo clothes, Rohan was exotically handsome, with dark hair worn a shade too long and a diamond stud sparkling in one ear. He was lean and supple, with an easy way of moving. Before taking the chair next to Amelia, he leaned down to kiss her head, an open display of affection that caused her to color. There had been a time in the not-too-distant past when Amelia would have disapproved of such demonstrations. Now she merely blushed and looked bemused.

Kev scowled down at his half-finished plate.

"Are you still sleepy?" he heard Amelia ask Rohan.

"At this rate, I won't be fully awake until noon."

"You should try some coffee."

"No, thank you. I can't abide the stuff."

Beatrix spoke then. "Merripen drinks lots of coffee. He loves it."

"Of course he does," Rohan said. "It's dark and bitter." He grinned as Kev gave him a warning glance. "How are you faring this morning, phral"

"Don't call me that." Although Kev didn't raise his voice, there was a savage note in it that gave everyone pause.

After a moment, Amelia spoke to Rohan in a deliberately light tone. "We're going to the dressmaker's today, Poppy and Beatrix and I. We'll probably be gone till supper." While Amelia went on to describe the gowns and hats and fripperies they would need, Kev felt Beatrix's small hand creep over his.

"It's all right," Beatrix whispered. "I miss them, too."

At sixteen, the youngest Hathaway sibling was at that vulnerable age between childhood and adulthood. A sweet-natured little scamp, she was as inquisitive as one of the many pets she had accumulated. Since Amelia's marriage to Rohan, Beatrix had been begging to go to finishing school. Kev suspected she had read one too many novels featuring heroines who acquired airs and graces at "academies for young ladies." He was doubtful that finishing school would turn out well for the free-spirited Beatrix.

Letting go of his hand, Beatrix turned her attention back to the conversation, which had progressed to the subject of Rohan's latest investment.

It had become something of a game to Rohan to find an investment opportunity that wouldn't succeed. The last time he had tried it, he had bought a London rubber manufactory that was failing badly. As soon as Cam purchased it, however, the company had acquired patent rights for vulcanization and had invented something called the rubber band. And now people were buying millions of the things.

"… this one is sure to be a disaster," Cam was saying. "There is a pair of brothers, both of them blacksmiths, who have come up with a design for a man-powered vehicle. They call it a volocycle. Two wheels set on a tubular steel frame, propelled by pedals you push with your feet."

"Only two wheels?" Poppy asked, perplexed. "How could one ride it without falling over?"

"The driver would have to balance his center of mass over the wheels."

"How would one turn the vehicle?"

"More importantly," Amelia said in a dry tone, "how would one stop it?"

"By the application of one's body to the ground?" Poppy suggested.

Cam laughed. "Probably. We'll put it into production, of course. Westcliff says he's never seen a more disastrous investment. The volocycle looks uncomfortable as the devil, and requires balance far beyond the abilities of the average man. It won't be affordable, or practical. After all, no sane man would choose to pedal along the street on a two-wheeled contraption in lieu of riding a horse."

"It sounds quite fun, though," Beatrix said wistfully.

"It's not an invention a girl could try," Poppy pointed out.

"Why not?"

"Our skirts would get in the way."

"Why must we wear skirts?" Beatrix asked. "I think trousers would be ever so much more comfortable."

Amelia looked appalled and amused. "These are observations best kept in the family, dear." Picking up a glass of water, she raised it in Rohan's direction. "Well, then. Here's to your first failure." She raised an eyebrow. "I hope you're not risking the entire family fortune before we reach the dressmaker's?"

He grinned at her. "Not the entire fortune. Shop with confidence, monisha."

When breakfast was concluded, the women left the dining table, while Rohan and Kev stood politely.

Lowering himself back into the chair, Rohan watched as Kev began to leave. "Where are you going?" Rohan asked lazily. "Meeting with your tailor? Going to discuss the latest political events at the local coffeehouse?"

"If your goal is to annoy me," Kev informed him, "there's no need to make an effort. You annoy me just by breathing."

"Forgive me. I would try to refrain from the habit, but I've become rather fond of it." Rohan gestured to a chair. "Join me, Merripen. We need to discuss a few things."

Kev complied with a glower.

"You're a man of few words, aren't you?" Rohan observed.

"Better than to fill the air with empty chatter."

"I agree. I'll go straight to the point, then. While Leo… Lord Ramsay… is in Europe, his entire estate, his financial affairs, and three of his sisters have been placed in the care of a pair of Roma. It's not what I'd call an ideal situation. If Leo were in any condition to stay, I would have kept him here and sent Poppy to France with Win."

But Leo was not in good condition, as they both knew. He had been a broken man, a wastrel, ever since the death of Laura Dillard. And although he was finally coming to terms with his grief, his path to healing, in both body and spirit, would not be short.

"Do you actually believe," Kev asked, his voice riddled with contempt, "that Leo will check himself in as a patient at a health clinic?"

"No. But he'll stay close by to keep an eye on Win. And it's a remote setting where opportunities for trouble are limited. He did well in France before, when he was studying architecture. Perhaps living there again will help to recall him to himself."