Selfish, arrogant, prideful, hateful, he was the worst sort of man. Horrid does not even begin to describe the type of man the late prince was. He must have been a horrid man.”Ĭuppins snorted. “He keeps saying my name, then he begins speaking in Russian, and screams at his father. “He isn’t worse.” Isabelle reached for the cold compress and held it to Dominique’s head once more. His forehead perspiring from exertion up the stairs. “How is he this morning, my lady?” Cuppins walked unsteadily into the room. Her mind would not allow herself to linger on the simple fact that Hunter could have failed in his mission. Worse, Hunter had yet to send word, and the doctor hadn’t shown up, which could only mean that he had trouble making it to Wellington, or he was injured in the process. Mostly, he would revert back to the language of his childhood making it impossible for Isabelle to know what he was murmuring about. Every time his fever spiked, he would either scream out her name or scream out his father's. His body was blazing hot, despite the packed snow and water she brought to his bedside.
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