“May I talk to you privately?” He shot a glance at me. “I don’t think it’s appropriate—”

“You may speak freely in front of my wife,” Colin said, his dark eyes serious.

The doctor clenched his jaw and scrunched his eyebrows together. “Sir Richard took an extremely high dose of chloral hydrate. A not uncommon occurrence among those dependent on the medication—it’s given as a sleeping aid. I believe he’d mixed it in with his wine at dinner. He’s lucky to be alive.”

“Will he be all right?” I asked.

“There’s not much to do but wait, and I’ll sit with him as long as necessary. You need not stay.”

Colin scribbled the number of our compartment on a piece of paper and handed it to the doctor. “Please alert us if the situation changes.”

“Of course.” He went back to Sir Richard, leaving us alone.

“I don’t feel hungry anymore,” I said as Colin and I started down the corridor.

“I’ve not the slightest interest in the dining car.” He stopped walking and pressed me against the wall, kissing me.

“That’s not what I meant. You’re a beast to kiss me at a time like this,” I said, twining my fingers through his. “Perhaps we should be doing more for him.”

“A man who can’t properly dose his own medicine has no right to interrupt our honeymoon.”

“Could we contact his son?” I asked. “I don’t feel right leaving him so alone.”

“When we get to Constantinople. We’re on a train, Emily.”

“I had noticed that,” I said.

“Perceptive girl.” He kissed my forehead. “I do adore your compassion for Sir Richard. But right now, forgive me, I think you should direct it to me, your husband, who by unfortunate coincidence of seating arrangements has been forced to deal with doctors and train stewards all evening instead of being left to his violently elegant and relentlessly charming wife.”