She stroked the exposed skin below her clavicle. “This patch of skin—does it not look red to you?”
He stepped closer, peering down at the spot. He cleared his throat. “What has Daniel said about it?”
“I have not asked him. He is away in London again at that precious lying-in hovel of his.”
“I hear the old Manor Home is quite well run.”
“Manor indeed.”
“How would you describe the irritation? Does the area itch? Burn?”
“Yes, I burn ...”
He looked from the mild rash up to her face, into her smoldering eyes.
“Do I not feel warm to you?” She let her dress fall farther down her shoulder, exposing a hint of cleavage.
He hesitated, feeling beguiled and perplexed. He forced his gaze away and focused again on her face. This time he saw that, indeed, her complexion looked flushed, her eyes nearly fevered. He looked once more at her lovely neck and shoulders. He reached out and pressed his fingers to the side of her throat. Then he lowered his hand across her bodice, to her abdomen, resting there, kneading, exploring. She shivered.
Again he cleared his throat and stepped back. “Yes, well, I believe I have all the information I need. You may do up your frock now.”
He turned his back to her and picked up a pen and prescription booklet.
“That is all?” Her tone was bitter.
“Yes. I shall write up a prescription for some salve that should help.” He ripped the script from its binding and turned to hand it to her. “I am sure the chemist will have this in supply.”
“That is all you great physicians are good for. You write your orders like a housekeeper with a list for the greengrocer.” She held up the paper and crumpled it into a ball. “But youdonothing.” She let the wad fall to the floor.
Stepping nearer, she grabbed a handful of his coat in one fist and pushed her face close to his. “You do not help us. You do not give us what we need.”
Swallowing hard, he stepped back, pulling his coat loose from her grasp. “You must excuse me, Mrs. Taylor. I have another patient waiting.”
He turned, opened the door, and stopped abruptly. Daniel Taylor stood waiting, hat in hand.
“Taylor! How good to see you,” Kendall enthused rather falsely, though his relief at his friend’s sudden appearance was genuine enough. “We thought you were in London. That is, Mrs. Taylor here was just telling me that you were. But how could you be, for here you are.”
Daniel’s pleasant expression faded and his brow furrowed. Kendall self-consciously smoothed down his coat. Glancing over his shoulder, he noted that Mrs. Taylor had shrugged her gown up higher on her shoulder, but it was still not properly done up.
“I’ve only just returned by the afternoon coach,” Daniel said flatly.
“How fortuitous. You are just in time to offer a second opinion on my diagnosis. Mrs. Taylor has a skin irritation she was just pointing out to me.”
Daniel looked at him a moment longer, than swung his gaze to his wife, to her exposed shoulder.
“You have not mentioned this to me,” he said, stepping into the office. “Is this a new affliction?”
She looked at him pointedly. “I have suffered for some time.”
“You knew I was on my way. Could you not wait?”
Lizette Taylor narrowed her eyes. “You have shown little interest in my skin of late, Dr. Taylor.”
Daniel glanced up and Kendall shook his head slightly, forcing himself to meet his friend’s stare. He had done nothing wrong, whatever fleeting thoughts had flitted across his mind. He hoped Daniel would believe him.
Dr. Kendall asked Lizette to wait in his office while he spoke to Daniel in the other room. Mr. Dumfries took himself home, saying he would return on the morrow.
Once they were alone, Kendall began somberly, “I believe it is as you feared.”
