Seated behind his cluttered desk, Florian tried to concentrate on what Lady Juliette was saying. Her arrival in the office he occupied at St. Agatha’s Hospital had come as a surprise. Perfectly turned out in a dove gray gown trimmed with lilac ribbons, she’d been waiting for him when he’d returned from his rounds.
Sitting opposite him with her back perfectly straight and her chin set at precisely the right angle, she portrayed feminine comportment with extraordinary flair. Not a hint of her background could be detected by looking at her. Nor could it be heard in the soft sweetness of her voice when she spoke. One had toknowshe’d come from the slums of St. Giles to be aware of her meager upbringing. And now she was here, her intrusion on his private space throwing him slightly off balance.
He frowned, tried to focus, which was damnably hard when those warm brown eyes of hers were muddling his mind. The effect was not dissimilar to the one she’d had on him a week ago at the ball. Although he’d been terribly busy since then, thoughts of her had snuck their way to the front of his mind whenever he had a moment to himself.
Which was pointless of course and not at all helpful.
So he made a deliberate effort to focus on their conversation instead.
Something about raising funds to help with the typhus outbreak. It was certainly an interesting idea considering the cost of medical expenses.
“You make a generous offer. I will happily recommend it to the hospital’s benefactor on your behalf. Donations are always welcome.” He considered the graceful line of her jaw, the gentle sweep of her nose and the high cheekbones infused with a subtle blush of pink. Her complexion was flawless, her black lashes long and elegant, her lips—
“I think you misunderstand me.”
The gravity of her voice sharpened his attention. “How so?”
She shifted slightly, her gaze sliding away from his for a moment. When their eyes met again, her resolve showed in the unforgiving hardness of her stare. “I do not wish to simply make a donation.”
Confused, he darted a look at the maid Lady Juliette had brought with her. She offered no hint of what her mistress might be about to propose. So he shifted his gaze back to Lady Juliette. “The first thing you asked about when you arrived was for me to give an account of the situation in St. Giles.”
She gave a firm nod. “Yes.”
“But offering funds is not enough, is it?” He could see her eyes sharpen and knew he was on the right track. “You want to manage it—to ensure your donation is well spent, your idea executed to your liking.”
“Exactly.”
He hesitated, watching her closely while she chewed on her lower lip. “You want to be more than the average debutante.” If their previous discussions had taught him anything about her character, it was that she possessed a desire to learn and to challenge ideas.
“What I want is to stop the typhus from spreading by whatever means necessary. My intention is to save those who can be saved, not by handing over a lump sum and then retreating to my comfortable Mayfair home. That is too easy, too selfish.”
“Selfish?” He could not hide his shock.
She blew out a breath. “Donating vast amounts of money to deserving causes is what rich people do to feel better about themselves. They do it because they want to help without actually helping, because it facilitates involvement at a safe distance, thus making it a selfish act of kindness.”
Florian stared at her, confounded by the astute observation of such a young woman and her cynicism. She wasn’t more than one and twenty. “Lady Juliette...” He wasn’t entirely sure of what to say next. So he paused, schooled his features and tried to deduce her exact intent. Eventually, he asked, “Are you saying you want to nurse the sick back to health yourself?”
A gasp from the maid underscored the impropriety of such an idea. And yet, Lady Juliette showed no hint of outrage, though she did look at him as though he’d just fallen off the back of a wagon. “Of course not. I have no experience with such things, and besides, my brother would never allow it.”
Her rebuff was so firm it almost overshadowed the relief flowing through him. Thank God he didn’t have to persuade her to stay away. Apparently she was perfectly willing to do so on her own, which was good, not only for her own safety, but because the idea of having to work with her made his heart race in the sort of way that would only be an unwelcome distraction.
“Good to know,” he muttered, sensing a need to fill the ensuing silence.
“I know the afflicted area has been closed off,” she added with an extra bit of steel in her voice. “But that will only ensure the disease doesn’t spread. It will not cure those who already suffer from it.”
“Nothing will,” Florian told her starkly. “There is no cure for typhus, my lady. Surviving it is a matter of luck.”
“Nonsense.”
He blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“Luck is an illusion created by man to explain the inexplicable.” She narrowed her gaze on him, as if trying to see more than he wished her to see. “People survive diseases for a reason. Just because we haven’t yet discovered the reason does not make it less true. But I believe you already know that. Don’t you?”
Her mind was something to be admired. Florian knew he could easily lose himself in days’ worth of discussions with her. So he stood and went to his bookcase, intent on ensuring her departure sooner rather than later so he could return to his work and stop thinking about the way her dress hugged the most perfect curves he’d ever seen.
Selecting a well-used copy ofDomestic Medicineby William Buchan, he handed it to her. “You mentioned an interest in medical texts. This is one of my favorites. You’re welcome to borrow it if you like.”
She accepted the offering, her gloved fingers swiftly brushing his. Yet it was enough for a surge of energy to dart up his arm. “Thank you,” she said, seemingly unaffected by the brief moment of contact. “I look forward to reading it.”
