Doctor...to Duchess? (6 page)

CHAPTER FOUR

“
R
IGHT
.” O
LIVER
TURNED
around decisively as the helicopter swept up and beyond their sightline. “It’s time we jumped in the shower.”

Julia stared at him in disbelief. She’d only just met the man and he wanted them to take a shower together? Images whirled through her mind kaleidoscope-style. Warm water cascading down her naked body, through the thick tangle of Oliver’s black hair. Little streamlets weaving their way along the contours of his cheekbones, past those green eyes, along his jawline, as they took turns lathering...

“Earth to Julia. C’mon, jump in the car. We’re going straight to the Hall. You’re shaking.”

Julia shook her head, not comprehending. She knew Oliver was hard to read, but this? This she wasn’t ready for. “Sorry? No. No. I’m fine—you can just drop me at mine. I need to get to the clinic.”

“You’re not going anywhere near the clinic in the state you’re in. You’re lucky I’m not strapping you to the bonnet, you mucky pup.”

Well, then.
No room for misinterpretation on that one.

“Fine.” She shot him a glare, as if it would change anything. At least she’d stop thinking about soaping up his naked...

“No need to be churlish. We’re on the same side here.”

Unlikely.

Her eyes traveled up from his lips to the inky-black tumble of his hairline. What would it be like, she mused, just to tease her fingers through...?

Oliver tipped his head toward the four-by-four, an undisguised expression of exasperation playing across his face. “Are you getting in or am I going to have to lift you in?”

Ooh. Well, if you put it that way...

Shock.
She must be suffering a minor case of shock after the accident. Never before had she been prone to the waves of saucy thoughts crashing through her systematically practical approach to life. “No Nonsense Julia,” her friends had dubbed her. Blimey. It was more like Jitterbug Julia these days.

Shock. Definitely. Or she was going nuts.

Before she could climb into the car, Oliver was squaring her to him, a hand on each shoulder, the heat spreading like a warm balm along her neck and gently meandering down her spine. “Your pipes have burst, the place is filthy—
you’re
filthy—and you need to get cleaned up. You’re a head cold waiting to happen and that’s the last thing your patients need.”

Good point. She would’ve come to the same conclusion. Eventually. Particularly if he hadn’t been standing a hand’s breadth away from her, diverting her focus with all his man scent and rugged handsomeness. It was plain rude to be so distracting. Surely they’d taught him that in charm school or wherever it was dukes-in-waiting went?

“I think I can manage well enough, thank you,” she primly announced.

He opened the door, pointedly ignoring her refusal as he put a supportive hand to her elbow while she climbed in.
Mmm...
That felt nice, too. She wondered how his hands would feel if they shifted from her elbow to her waist, a finger just tracing along the curve down to her hip and... She shook herself out of her reverie. This really had to stop.

The engine roared to life, and Julia grabbed ahold of the door handle as the vehicle surged forward under the thick green canopy of woodland.

She risked a glance over to the driver’s side of the car. Oliver was stony-faced, staring dead ahead.
Uh-oh.
Here they come.

The giggles.

Her go-to nervous reaction. A hand flew to her mouth to stem the flow, only causing her to choke instead. A series of coughs overtook the giggles and before she knew it tears were streaming down her face. Without warning a sting of pain fought the whimsy of her laughter. She missed intimacy. Knowing someone would touch her. Desire her. Support her when she was feeling fragile. Matt would’ve known her giggles meant she was a bit overwhelmed and would’ve pulled her in for one of his reassuring bear hugs. A hiccupped laugh escaped the fingers clamped over her mouth. Were grief and joy natural bedfellows? Whether her tears were happy, sad or just a biological by-product of her coughing attack was suddenly beyond her. Perhaps Oliver had a point—she wasn’t up to seeing the patients just yet.

She swiped at her face, hoping to heaven Oliver was too focused on the rutted track flashing underneath them to notice her emotional tailspin.

“All right, there?”

“Of course!” Her high-pitched
I’m okay
voice filled the cab. “Just a little something stuck in my throat.”

What was going on with her?
With Matt she had never been this nervy. She could hardly bear what interacting with Oliver was reducing her to. A giggling wreck with a newfound panache for daydreaming. Seriously?

She had no illusions that Oliver was responding to her in the same way. He was too assured. Too no-nonsense. The man she’d seen out there working today had been one hundred percent focused. Not someone daydreaming about slipping his fingers through her hair. A latent twist of heat stirred within her. She pinned her legs tightly together and pressed her head against the car window, willing the cool glass to freeze away the tempest of thoughts teasing at her imagination.

She needed to see Oliver as the enemy. Frenemy? Whatever. He was the one person who could take away the life she’d built here. So. Enemy it was. Even if the enemy came in a to-die-for, six-foot-something, uberassured, sexy-as-they-come package. Making St. Bryar her home and career base was the goal. Not soapy encounters in the shower with the man who had the power to take it all away.

“Right you are, madam. Let’s get you scrubbed up.”

Not helping!

* * *

Oliver watched as Julia skipped up the stone steps leading up and over the moat to Bryar Hall’s formal entrance. He never used the front door. Using it was too close to ownership of the title that would inevitably fall to him. Even so, something had made him bring her here. He had feigned ignorance when he’d seen Julia wiping away tears in the car and, despite all his well-constructed defenses, had physically ached to reach out to her, comfort her. There was something about this woman that spoke to him, told him they were on a similar emotional journey. Fighting demons from the past.

Bringing her here—to the cornerstone of his inheritance—was akin to admitting he wanted her to try and peel away the protective layers he’d built up through the years, see if the good man he knew he was still lay within. To having someone to confide in, to understand the pressure to fill his brother’s shoes and take on the weight of history foisted upon him from that awful day when Alexander had died.

Who was he kidding? It was his burden alone. Julia had enough on her plate without him lumping his problems on, as well. Besides, one of her biggest problems was him. Whatever he chose to do with the estate wouldn’t just affect him—it would directly affect her life in the form of the clinic.

He swung the car door shut with a satisfying clang.

“Is that a hint I’ve gone the wrong way? Are you sure you don’t want me to go in the servants’ entrance?” Julia teased, turning to him from atop the steps, her eyes bright with humor. She looked like a child about to go into a candy store.

“I’ll make an exception, as you’re a guest.” He allowed his eyes slowly to scan up her skinny jeans and curve-hugging jumper as he carefully chose his words, his smile growing as he spoke. “It is
unusual
for someone covered in muck to enter through the front. My mother would have had a fit if she saw you like that in the entrance hall.”

The thought felt simultaneously accurate and disloyal. She hadn’t been a cruel woman by any means, just born and bred to an exceedingly strict set of guidelines. One he had always taken delight in stretching to the outer limits.

“I’m quite happy to go back to my—
your—
little cottage and change there.” Julia’s bright eyes darkened. “I’ve got patients to see, things to do. I didn’t ask for any of this, Oliver.”

“And you think I did? I wanted this about as much as you wanted—” He stopped, knowing he was heading toward being unfair. He’d nearly said she hadn’t asked to be a widow. Surely a rage must be burning in her from the loss of her husband? God knew his brother’s death seared his heart each time he thought of it. The subsequent battle to live up to the expectations of the title he’d never wanted... He would never be like Alexander. How could he?

“I didn’t want what?”
Too late.
Julia’s eyes were ice blue—and just as cold.

“You didn’t ask for the pipes to burst in that tumbledown cottage of yours. Now come on. Let’s get you sorted.”

“I’m perfectly happy in that so-called tumble—”

Julia’s voice stopped midprotest as Oliver swung open the doors to Bryar Hall. He knew they’d be unlocked. His father’s voice rang through his head as the doors opened wide. “We’ve been given so much, son, we should always open our doors to others.”

A trio of fingers played at Julia’s lips as she scanned the grand hall. He envied them for a moment, the way her mouth pressed up against them as she intently took in the details of the opulent entry hall. He wondered how her lips would respond to his fingers touching her, tracing the lines of her mouth.

“I don’t get it.”

Oliver bristled at her tone. It was pretty clear she wasn’t going to ask for an art history lecture.

“What?”

“Why you aren’t here more. If this were mine, you’d have to tear me away from it.” It was impossible to miss the delight and wonder in her voice. Exactly the type of reaction that made him want to get shot of the place as soon as possible. She didn’t know the weight of memories that came with Bryar Hall. The loss. The grief. The millstone of responsibility his mother had weighted the title of Duke of Breckonshire with.

Wasn’t being a good doctor enough? That was where his heart was. That was where his passion lay. Not in an old building.
This
old building.

“It’s nothing particularly special—there are plenty of others with a much higher renown, if you’re into that sort of thing,” he replied briskly, reaching out to steer her away from the grand entrance hall after allowing himself a micromoment to scan their surroundings. They weren’t opulent in an ostentatious way. The restrained elegance of the marble flooring, a dual twist of matching mahogany stairwells, enormous swathes of Persian rugs and walls covered in well-chosen artwork spoke of the centuries of care and craftsmanship that had brought a select renown to Bryar Hall. Too bad every beautiful nook and cranny also hid a private sorrow, a painful memory.

“Aha!” Her eyes sparkled with delight. “I knew it. You
do
love it! How could you not? Are these portraits family members?”

“What?” Oliver turned to meet Julia’s delighted expression. She wasn’t to know there was a noticeable absence. Noticeable to him, anyway.

“A few. Most. Let’s get on, then, shall we?”

“Feign to deny it, Oliver Wyatt. I saw love in your eyes when we walked in here. Or is it—?” She stopped speaking, her own eyes clouding as she looked at him intently, scrutinizing his face as if it would reveal his secrets. Her face was so open, honest—the antithesis of the unwritten codes of conduct for England’s upper classes. Oliver felt another rush of desire to tell her everything. To bare it all and just see what happened.

“This can’t be a burden to you, can it?” Julia put a hand on his arm as she unwittingly hit the emotional bull’s eye. The first person ever to do so.

“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s just an old house, nothing more.” Oliver cleared his throat, gave her hand a conciliatory pat and pointed her toward a staircase. “Come along, then, Dr. MacKenzie. Let’s get you sorted.”

* * *

Julia dutifully followed Oliver as he loped up the stairs two at a time in long-legged strides. She’d seen something in his eyes that had spoken to her very marrow. What was it that kept him away from such an amazing place? Surely there had been good times here? Many reasons to preserve the family home? The estate
. A community.
An interwoven support system of people. “Home is where the heart is!” Matt had always riposted whenever she’d daydreamed aloud of the “little house with a picket fence” scenario. “We’ll have plenty of time to do that sort of thing!”

Perhaps it wasn’t something they’d been meant to have together. She was so grateful to be able to give her children that solid base she’d always longed for. A home. But heartbroken at the price she’d had to pay. Looking around the beautiful surroundings, she had to stifle a laugh. This place was a far cry from her little cottage. A luxurious five-star setting with its arms flung wide-open.

Her children loved it here. She was loath to tell Oliver they’d all but moved in with his father over the Christmas holidays. He’d been planning on going to his gentleman’s club in London but weather had snowed them in. They’d all been appalled at the idea of leaving him on his own and had made an enormous plate of gingerbread cookies for him on Christmas Eve, after which they’d ended up spending the rest of the holidays together. Reading by the fire, playing board games, playing music, chatting about the house and its history. It had been absolutely lovely.

Her cottage suited her to a T. But being here in the main house? She had to admit, it took her breath away. A true testament to the glories of yesteryear. If she’d been wearing crinolines she would’ve looked more at home. She mentally superimposed her face onto one of the portraits of a woman in a Victorian bonnet with ringlets just peeking out beneath the lace.

“What’s so funny?” Oliver’s tone implied he’d mistaken her burble of laughter for mockery.

“Cool it.” Julia tried her best to placate him. “Just enjoying the view.”

“It is quite special, isn’t it?” Without her having noticed, Oliver had drifted back down the stairs to stand just behind her. His brisk demeanor seemed to have dissipated up and away into the sky-lit dome of the hall. His face visibly softened as he scanned the room. There was obviously much more to this man than she’d given him credit for. Her first impressions— Well, her first impressions had been downright physical, but as to his character? She was sure there was a kinder, gentler side to his periodically gruff demeanor. Was he seeking balance between the two? How else could you explain that the same man who had a clear passion for caring, healing, for helping people survive life’s hardships, was so emotionally withdrawn from his own family?