Ecstasy Wears Emeralds (24 page)

“And how is that?”

“Besides the dangerous precedence of your Wednesday clinic, you are known for your liberal sentimentality. A good bedside manner is overrated, and all these nonsensical questions about how one is feeling have little weight on treatment and cure. The patients will muddle your diagnoses with all their blather and sighs! After all, they are hardly educated enough to understand the complex workings of their own bodies—why inquire after their opinions?”

Rowan shook his head, this argument all too familiar. Every month or so, Dr. Jessop would stop by for the same philosophical debate and insist on Rowan's participation. “You go too far, sir! They may not understand the science, but there is insight to be had, and a calm and involved patient can't hurt in our efforts to heal.”

“Your clients are wealthy and used to offering far more than mere opinions. You put them in charge when you placate them with these games.”

“Careful, Dr. Jessop. I strive for balance in my profession. And while some may see the populace as fodder for their laboratories, I refuse to ignore a person's humanity so that I can feel more secure or important.”

“I don't ignore a person's humanity. But it hardly matters if I set aside science and progress to waste my time listening to patients prattle rather than seeing to their diseases.” Dr. Jessop stroked his mustache and then sighed, rising from his chair and effectively signaling an end to his visit. “I've lost another evening in your stubborn company.”

“For which I am grateful.” Rowan followed him to the doorway. “I will see you at the lecture series next month.”

“Yes, yes. Come and meet some of the new students. Perhaps one of them will suit for an assistant and you can devote yourself more readily to that experimental approach to infections you presented in the spring. You need help, you know!”

“I know.” Rowan shook the other man's hand. “Thank you again, Dr. Jessop.”

Dr. Jessop finally retreated, mumbling down the stairs in his usual fashion. “Visiting foolish young doctors! That's
my
charity! A statue. A man should have a statue raised for visiting foolish young doctors. . . .”

“Everyone is always accusing you of being too softhearted.” Gayle sighed, stepping into the room.

He turned back, realizing that she must have been on the other side of the library door listening. “Except you.”

“You're practically a saint, Rowan.”

“Saints don't burn with desire. A saint wouldn't be considering at this very moment how to separate you from that dress and pull you down onto this bearskin rug.”

She blushed. “You have a good heart. And he's wrong to ask you to change.”

“Eavesdropping is a terrible habit, Miss Renshaw. Haven't you learned that by now?”

“I didn't intend to listen at the door. I followed you down because I didn't want you to leave without . . .” She shook her head. “All the most important things I've ever discovered, I think I've overheard by eavesdropping, Dr. West. It's a hard thing to give up. Besides, how else would I know what the Royal Society thinks of my mentor?” She smiled at him and playfully plucked at his sleeve. “No offense, but it's hard to look at you and see a revolutionary in danger of toppling the medical industry simply because you don't mind holding your patients' hands or asking them how they feel.”

“None taken, but don't say that I didn't try to warn you. If I'm a heretic for these blasphemies, and if Jessop and the others have their hackles up over my objection to the latest social reforms, what do you think they're going to say when I introduce you as my pupil?”

“I don't care. Someone has to be first.”

“Easy to say, Gayle. You have less to lose.”

The mischievous light dimmed in her eyes, and he watched the familiar retreat of her emotions as she withdrew from the topic. “You're right, of course. I'll try not to—”

A knock at the door cut her off. “Sorry to interrupt, but Miss Featherstone's sent a runner, and the boy is most insistent that the lady is dying.” Carter's look was all apology, since Miss Featherstone was known to be on the brink of death at least twice a month.

“I'll go.” Rowan retrieved his bag from behind his desk, and then gave Gayle an assessing look. “Miss Renshaw will stay here. Have Mrs. Evans draw a hot bath in the second-floor guest bath for the lady.”

“I'm fine! Please don't trouble Mrs. Evans on my account.”

“It's no trouble. You look like you're about to fall over, Miss Renshaw. So consider this an order. You'll bathe and rest and we'll restart the lab work tomorrow morning with fresh eyes.” He leaned closer, the glow in his eyes strong enough to make her heart race as a flutter of restless heat reminded her of the reason the lab work had gone undone. Carter was behind him, so Rowan couldn't touch her or make any overt comments. “Does that sound agreeable to you, Miss Renshaw?”

“Yes, Dr. West.” Every thought in her head was about how delicious it might be to torture a man like this—to seduce him if he couldn't move—and it must have telegraphed between them, as his eyes darkened with desire. “A bath sounds perfect.”

Mr. Carter nodded. “I'll see to it, doctor, and have Florence fetch you, Miss Renshaw, as soon as it's ready.”

“Thank you, Carter.” Rowan ground it out, his eyes never leaving hers as the butler backed out of the room.

Gayle heard the door close behind them, but still neither one of them was able to move, caught in the delicious spell of proximity and promise.

“I'll look in on you before I retire.”

“Thank you, Dr. West.”

Chapter
18

“I just come to see to you, miss.” Florence stepped inside Gayle's room off the laboratory, holding a small square basket with a hinged lid. “Mrs. Evans said your bath is ready and I wanted to bring you a little something with my thanks for what you did for me.”

“That's so dear of you! But you needn't have, Florence. Anyone would have done the same, and I was just glad I was there.”

“I wanted to! Dr. West gets gifts all the time from his patients, and I thought—well, I could be your first.”

“Thank you, Florence.” Gayle bit her lower lip. “You've been kinder than . . . I always look forward to bumping into you in the halls because you greet me, as you did even in the first few days after I'd arrived, and I think of you as a friend.”

“I'd love that! If we was friends! Here!” She pressed the basket into Gayle's hands. “I painted it myself! See?”

“It's beautiful, truly beautiful.” She held it up to admire the flowers and scrollwork that decorated the handle. “How is your hand feeling?”

“Better and soon it will be as good as new, I'm sure. Barnaby swears I should be rubbing goose fat on it, but”—Florence crinkled her nose in disgust—“the man once put a snail and mushroom poultice on one of the horses and nearly killed the poor thing! I'm not going to be under Dr. West's roof and ask a footman with no sense of smell for a cure!”

“You're a wise girl, Florence.” She retied her robe and stepped into her slippers to finish readying herself. “Are you . . . sweet on Barnaby?”

“Him?” She laughed. “He's mooning over the abigail across the street at Tildon's. They walk out on Saturday mornings sometimes, but she's away with the family for the winter season.” Florence reached up to adjust her white mobcap. “I've no beau, presently. But I put a white feather underneath my pillow and I had a dream about a man with ginger hair, so we'll see.”

“Do you believe in dreams, Florence?” Gayle asked in surprise.

“Always! But enough of this chatting! The water will be ice if I don't let you get going.” She stepped back to let Gayle pass. “I'll walk you down to the guest bath. It's ever so much nicer than yours. I'm sure that's why Dr. West insisted on it.”

“Dr. West is . . . very thoughtful.”

“Dr. West is the best man that ever was, Miss Renshaw! We all think fondly of him, and you mustn't be too cross with Mr. Carter or Mrs. Evans for it. They thought you were . . .”

“They thought I was what?” she asked, dreading the answer but sure she was about to be accused of prostitution.

“Likely to ruin Dr. West with this apprenticeship business. He's already on the outs with that Dr. Jessop, and mean old Whitfield is even worse! They come regular as a head cold to peck at him because they want him to go back to the Academy and teach like his great-grandfather,
settle in
they call it, and be more respectable instead of traveling off to India and causing a stir with all his newfangled ideas. But Dr. West is too good for those old birds! They try to rattle him, but Dr. West knows better. And I like his new friends!”

“His new friends . . .”

“Since he got back from India, he has a new circle of gentleman friends that pop in from time to time, and I like them! Mrs. Evans was afraid they were bad company for him, but Carter's as soft as peaches about the men now. Why, there's even a lord that comes by and takes a tray now and again! The man stands to be an earl one day! Can you imagine it?”

“An earl. That
is
hard to imagine.” Gayle tried to picture her kind and handsome Rowan entertaining some crawfaced earl, and just couldn't. The only earl she'd ever seen was a puffed old gourd of a man who appeared to be allergic to his own upper lip.

“As we see it, Dr. West is doing better than ever—but when you came, well, Mrs. Evans is protective, that's all.'Cause if the dusty Society gets wind of your skirts walking about in Dr. West's laboratory, they might turn on him faster than you can say
bedlams and bells
. But don't worry. We've all kept mum on the topic, and if Dr. West sees the way clear, well, who's to say it won't come out right as rain?”

“Yes,” she echoed in a whisper. “Who's to say?”

“Here we are! Mrs. Evans warmed the towels and I'll leave you to it. When you're finished, just ring the bell and head back upstairs, and I'll see that it's all cleared off with no worries.”

“Thank you, Florence.”

And she was alone in a grand room with a graceful clawfooted monstrosity that could easily have accommodated two of her. Steam rose from the water's scented surface, and Gayle sighed at the sight. Mrs. Evans had even sprinkled dried flower petals into the bath for a lovely touch.

Her own water closet upstairs provided a washstand and a toilet, but few other amenities. She'd been bathing daily by improvising with a basin of ice-cold water and a sponge, which was well and good for hygiene but was daunting to face in the winter drafts that blew through her rooms.

So this room, this was a slice of paradise with its bright enameled surfaces, ornate brass fixtures, and plush oriental rug. There was even a little fire going in the grate to ensure that there was no chill in the air.

She locked the door and disrobed quickly, sinking into the heated water up to her chin with a heartfelt sigh. She wriggled her toes and closed her eyes to soak in the comforts of a jasmine-scented bath.

The conversation with Florence echoed in her mind, and Gayle sat up to idly soap her arms and elbows as she examined the casual revelations of the day.
Up until now, I've been so worried about my own progress—but I really have selfishly pushed Rowan to the edge of a cliff.