WHOO! Last chapter! I'm sad it's over, but also a little relieved. For better or worse, here's the end.

I feel as if I should burst into flames. The room is unbearably hot.

The fog of fever has made me delirious, and it is only in the moments when the fog lifts that I realize I am not in my right mind.

I see Gemma leave, and I register that I don't want her to leave. I want her to stay here with me.

But then I am pulled under, and I am not sure whether I am dreaming or not. Suddenly I am reliving the night's events for what seems like the hundredth time.

I am sitting in the Doyles' carriage, waiting eagerly for the evening to be over and watching the guests in the dining room through the distant windows.

Then I am talking to the flirtatious maid who approaches me under the pretense of bringing a cup of coffee. And then my vision seems to fill with shadows and slip away, and I glimpse the maid running for help before surrendering to the darkness.

I am coming to in the carriage, the maid and a friend she has fetched beside themselves fussing over me.

The scene rushes by in a blur, and the next thing I am aware of is waking up in the maid's room to hear the click of the lock.

Mustering my strength, I sit up just in time to see Gemma turn and run straight into Middleton, who wraps his arms around her and kisses her. Outraged, I draw a small knife from my belt and use every bit of strength I have left to stand and take a step towards them. Still several paces away, I growl, "Get away from her."

They spring apart, looking satisfyingly alarmed, and Middleton turns to me. "Kartik? Kartik!" I am unsure of how he knows my name, but that is beside the point. I would dearly love to strangle him with my bare hands for touching Gemma, and that is currently all that I can think about. In fact, I lunge at him in order to do just that, dropping the knife.

He gasps and dodges me. In my fury, I aim a blow at him. He lets out a high-pitched cry as my fist makes contact with his head. Encouraged, I continue to throw punches, but he dodges my fatigued attempts.

"Kartik! Kartik, stop! It's me! Gemma!"

Gemma? Is Middleton trying to confuse me?

Suddenly, and completely inadvertently, I open my eyes. I had not realized my eyes were closed.

Gemma is standing next to the bed, holding a wet rag. When I open my eyes, she sits cautiously on the edge of the bed.

"Gemma," I sigh in recognition. My voice sounds weak and hoarse. I spot a nasty bruise forming along her cheekbone. "What happened?" I ask, concerned.

She puts a hand to her cheek, feeling it gingerly. "You hit me." She sounds surprised even as she says it.

"I did?" I ask, partially confused and exceptionally horrified.

She laughs lightly. "When you were sleeping. You've the most shocked expression on your face."

"Did I really hit you?"

Gemma looks amused, but I could hardly find the situation less amusing. "Yes…who were you under the impression you hit?"

"I don't know," I mutter, my dream seeming embarrassing now.

Gemma gives me a sympathetic smile. She nearly glows when she smiles.

I return her smile, fighting a nearly overwhelming urge to again succumb to the fever.

Gemma must sense this, for she puts the cool rag to my face. It eases the burning of my body, and I lean my head towards her hand and the cool relief and close my eyes, not realizing that once my eyes are closed, the onslaught of exhaustion becomes irresistible.

---

I don't realize Kartik has fallen asleep again until I attempt to move my hand, which he has pinned against the pillow by resting his head on it, and he doesn't move.

He is flushed and sweating profusely. He presses his face against my head with a small, incoherent mutter. I smooth his curls away from his face and gently turn his head to the other side so that I can place the rag on his forehead again.

His eyelids flutter briefly. "Gemma?" His voice is heartbreaking, weak and miserable.

"I'm here, Kartik," I reply softly. "I won't leave you."

Two Weeks Later

"Gemma?"

I open my eyes. "Oh, it's you," I reply sullenly, coughing a bit. "Here to give me another hideous illness?"

He laughs. "I'm only here to see if you are feeling any better."

"No," I groan, leaning back on my pillows. "Only worse."

He sits next to me on the bed. "You'll be better in no time at all."

"Maybe," I reply. "But promise me one thing."

"Hmm," he says, playfully pretending to consider this, "What would this promise entail?"

"No matter how badly I feel," I begin, "don't give me brandy."

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