Ecstasy Wears Emeralds (3 page)

She didn't move, and for a moment, Rowan wondered if she'd heard him. But then she replied as she casually readjusted her gloves and smoothed out her skirts, and he almost dropped the glass in his hands.

“An odd thing about gossip, Dr. West. It can travel long distances with a single whisper. Refreshing to think that no one in London seems to have heard anything of your life in the village, wouldn't you agree?”

I don't care how beautiful you are, Miss Renshaw—you vicious little thing!
“Are you attempting some subtle threat to my reputation?”

“Not at all. There was nothing subtle about it. But let me start again, Dr. West. What I propose is mutually beneficial. You need help and I am bound and determined to do whatever it takes to gain the knowledge and experience I need to become a true physician. I have the money and the means. My gender is irrelevant, but no one else will even talk to me on the subject.... When I learned certain details of your past from an involved source, I seized on the chance. It occurred to me that a man of your skill, with a reputation to protect, might be willing to risk bending the rules once you knew how set on this I am.”

“It's one o'clock in the morning, Miss Renshaw.”

“Perhaps you should have your man show me to my room, then?” She stood up and bent down to retrieve her bags. “We can come to terms in the morning.”

“By morning, your reputation is forfeit, Miss Renshaw.”

“My reputation is already forfeit, Dr. West. I have traveled unescorted into Town and called on an unmarried man at an inappropriate hour, and whatever you think, I am none the worse for it.” She waved off the matter as if it were of no consequence. “But I agree that it's far too late to worry about the finer points of my current social standing. My room?”

“I'm agreeing to nothing, Miss Renshaw, but I honestly don't think I have the strength to debate your ethics or lack of them until I've gotten a few hours of sleep. This headache is crippling my ability to reason.” He set down his glass and walked to the door to open it and signal the waiting Carter.

“Have you tried feverfew with an infusion of rosemary? I prefer ginger, myself.”

Rowan turned back to look at her, a bit surprised. “That was too easy. Any housewife would say the same. Have you a remedy for kidney stones?”

She hesitated for a single breath before answering coldly, “Cinnamon. Or celery seed and stone root. But if the pain is acute, perhaps corn silk. I know the use of herbs is deemed quaint, but I was a quick study of the apothecary in the village—at least, when the man wasn't looking.”

Carter appeared before he could think of a ready response, and Rowan decided he'd had enough for one night. “Carter, show Miss Renshaw to the first-floor guest room, if you please, and let Mrs. Evans know of her presence so that a breakfast can be provided before she leaves us.”

“I'm not leaving, Dr. West.”

Carter gave him a look of alarm at the protest, but Rowan held up a hand to smooth his butler's ruffled feathers. “That's to be determined, Miss Renshaw. We'll talk more in the morning and see if we can't reach a compromise or if I'm better at holding my ground when I'm not exhausted and in agony. But if you change your mind in the next few hours and come to your senses, I wouldn't wish to see you return home on an empty stomach.”

Carter cleared his throat. “This way, miss.” He held out a hand for her suitcase, but Rowan stopped him.

“Miss Renshaw prefers to carry her own things, Carter. She is a forward-thinking creature who would probably claim insult.”

The color on her cheeks returned at the petty gesture, but she didn't argue as she readjusted the apparently heavy leather satchels to carry them more easily. “Thank you, Dr. West.”

“Good night, Miss Renshaw.”

He watched her ascend the stairs, as graceful as a duchess despite the awkward load she carried, and he marveled that anyone could be that beautiful and still manage to make a man dedicated to healing consider poisoning her poached eggs in the morning.

Carter made brisk work of seeing her to the guest room, openly rattled by her disregard for the rules of decency and decorum. “There's no coal, as we weren't expecting anyone, but if you insist, I can have some brought up to warm the room.”

“That won't be necessary, Carter. I have no desire to impose on the staff any more than I already have. The room is lovely, and only a simpleton would think to complain about its comforts.” She set her bags down at the foot of the bed, careful not to groan at the relief in her shoulders. “Thank you.”

The compliment did its work, and Carter bowed briefly and retreated with a minimal amount of grumbling under his breath about houseguests in the middle of the night and misguided ladies.

Once the door closed behind him, she sat on the edge of the bed with a shaky sigh. It had worked. She'd brazened her way into his home and made her first arguments toward convincing him to take her on as an apprentice. Her impulsive plan had carried her along on the journey and her daydreams of easy success had bolstered her spirits—until she'd actually found herself sitting in his parlor.

The mail coach had arrived later than she'd anticipated, and by the time she'd reached his brownstone, Gayle had been shaking with nerves. The brilliant proposals she'd crafted to dazzle him into agreement in the afternoon light sounded like nothing short of bedlam after dark.

His poor butler had borne the brunt of her unorthodox invasion, and amidst other things occupying her thoughts in the long hours of waiting, she'd begun to prepare arguments to spare the man just in case his employer proved to be an unreasonable man and threatened his butler's livelihood.

But Dr. Rowan West had been nothing she'd anticipated.

The brilliant demon that her aunt had cursed and spit vague invectives over for the last year had seemed the perfect candidate for her plans. What difference would it make to a man like that if he had a unique apprentice? And if his reputation were bruised slightly, who would care? There had been a twisted justice to making a villain play the role of her savior and become the means to her noble end of becoming one of the first female physicians in England.

She would turn the tragedy of her family's past into triumph, and the evil man who had played a part in her cousin's death would provide her with the tools she needed.

Except he hadn't looked very evil.

Nothing like a demon, at all.

She'd overheard her aunt, Mrs. Jane Hamilton, say that the doctor was far too old for her delicate daughter, Charlotte, and that only a colder soul could have destroyed such a tender young flower without a single backward glance. Mrs. Hamilton had then lowered her voice, and Gayle wasn't sure about the method of destruction, but the point was made.

“Why did you allow the engagement, then?” Mrs. Smythe had asked over her teacup.

“Because he has an unparalleled reputation as a physician, of course! My brother assured me he had a future ahead of him and had inherited a fashionable practice in London that would give my little nightingale nothing but the best that life had to offer! If only I'd known what a vile, vile heart could hide behind such talent! To destroy my darling and skip off without a nod!” Aunt Jane had cried.

And suddenly the daring plan had taken shape.

All her inquiries to the physicians in her aunt's acquaintance had been firmly rejected and, worse, had alerted Mrs. Jane Hamilton to the strange designs of her wayward charge. She'd spent weeks locked in the house afterward and learned that the direct approach was going to end her up in bedlam.

So when the specter of Dr. Rowan West was invoked, the solution was simple. If a good man who was a doctor was too worried about his social standing to take on a female assistant, then a bad man who was a very good doctor might not even blink. And if he did balk, well, he wouldn't want the world to know just how evil he was—and if she could be ruthless, she would possess the lever to move her own world.

In Gayle's imagination, Dr. Rowan West had taken shape as a wicked genius who would do anything to further his practice—or protect it. She would make a generous offer from her inheritance to acquire a position in his service, and with hard work and study, she would receive her own certifications and take London by storm as one of the first women to venture into the medical profession.

But where was the vile man she'd envisioned? Gayle wondered. Where was the pockmarked, icy soul who would growl about ethics, but bend to greed at the promise of her money?

The real Dr. Rowan West was a man to be reckoned with, well seated in his prime and radiating masculine power and authority. There was nothing wizened about him, and even exhausted and in pain, his gaze radiated experience and intelligence. He hadn't shouted or threatened to throw her out. He hadn't even chastised his butler for allowing her to wait. Instead, he'd appeared to be every inch the gentleman, even expressing concern for her reputation and well-being.

Worst of all, Dr. Rowan West was a bit too handsome for a woman to recall contempt and keep her wits about her.

She pushed away the sensation instantly.

Gayle nodded, letting out a longer sigh as her hands finally stopped shaking, although the tears came at last. Quiet trails slipped down her cheeks and betrayed her true nature. Gayle retrieved her handkerchief from her reticule and purposefully wiped her eyes. She had the tiger by the tail and couldn't let her conscience weaken her grip now. She had hinted that not even blackmail was beneath her, and there would be no backing down.

If Dr. Rowan West was half the villain her aunt believed him to be, then there was nothing unjustified in pressing him into this contract against his will. She didn't require him to be a decent human being. She just needed a decent teacher.

And if he hated her for it, so be it.

She only prayed that she didn't end up hating herself as well.

Chapter
2

By dawn, she had unpacked her dresses, organized her things, and even polished all her shoes. She'd brought only what she considered her most practical clothes, though Gayle's vanity didn't preclude that a practical and professional wardrobe should not also be as flattering and fashionable as possible. It was London, after all! Whatever obstacles and prejudice she was going to face, she'd decided that no one was going to look down on her and mistake her for a woman without means or proper feminine sensibilities.

He'd failed to appear for breakfast, but Gayle wasn't going to retreat. She ignored the pinched looks from Mrs. Evans, his housekeeper, and ate alone in the small downstairs dining room. Her nervousness had returned in full force, but she did her best to hide it behind a façade of complete confidence that there was nothing out of the ordinary in an unmarried woman arriving unannounced and inviting herself to stay.