Florian stilled and, for a long moment, said nothing. Then he set his spoon aside and reached for his wine. “You are very observant,” he told her against the rim of the glass before taking a lengthy sip.
“I pay attention,” she said, adding a chuckle.
“Hmm...” He set his glass aside and shifted closer, not enough for anyone else to take notice, but enough for her to know a boundary was being crossed. “Will you tell me what you see when you look at me?”
It was an unmistakable challenge—the dangerous sort from which she’d be wise to retreat. For the manner in which it was spoken made one thing quite clear: he wanted something from her, something that had nothing to do with the question he’d just asked.
Rising to the challenge, she licked her lips and considered the man to whom she was so unequivocally drawn. “May I be completely honest?”
Glancing sideways, she noted the frown upon his brow and almost expected him to tell her she ought to forget the whole thing. Instead, he gave a curt nod. “Of course.”
Taking a moment to gather her thoughts, she said, “Your life is devoid of pleasure and happiness. You rarely smile and I have never seen you laugh with abandon, which makes me want to poke you until you do.” His lips twitched and her heart fluttered against her chest. Concealing her response to him with a small cough, she added, “You are an extraordinary man and physician, yet you never take pride in your accomplishments. Instead, you treat them like ordinary achievements, even though they are anything but.” She met his gaze and held it, his blue eyes pulling her into their depths. “I wonder why that is and can only conclude that something must have happened to you in the past—something that affected your opinion of yourself so gravely that the light inside you was almost snuffed out. By what, I do not know, but it must have been extremely significant to influence you so strongly.”
“So it was.”
They were immediately distracted by footmen who came to clear the dishes, replacing them with plates filled with venison, creamed potatoes and caramelized carrots. Juliette picked at her food, eating slowly while pondering what to say next. She hadn’t meant to criticize or pry, yet she felt as though she’d done so anyway.
Washing a piece of venison down with a sip of wine, she gave Florian her full attention once more. “You are also extremely dedicated and loyal. You’ve proven this in the way you’ve helped Viola run St. Agatha’s, in the attention you offer your patients and in the dignity with which you’ve accepted your uncle’s legacy.”
“I merely strive to do what is best.”
“And I admire that. Especially your ability to know what the best thing is.”
He harrumphed. “It’s not difficult. I simply weigh the potential outcomes and choose the path that will lead to the most favorable one.”
She stared at him and finally shook her head. “While that may be easy for you to do, it’s not as easy for me. I am invariably ruled by my heart.”
“Perhaps because you let different shades cloud your judgment. If you remove them, you’ll see more clearly.”
She chose not to argue even though she disagreed. To have that kind of objectivity would take extreme effort on her part and even then she doubted it would be possible.
The main course was finished, a sweet wine was poured and dessert, consisting of frosted cakes and marzipans designed to look like fruit, was brought in. Juliette carefully bit into one and immediately sighed with pleasure.
It took great restraint on Florian’s part not to reach out and touch her. By God, the woman was tempting. He wondered if she was aware of it, if she knew how seductive she was being while nipping at her cake. Her dress this evening was chaste, less revealing than the ones he’d seen her wear at the balls, and he found it far more enticing. The wicked fantasies it evoked of pulling that extra fabric aside, preferably with his teeth, to reveal the soft swell of her breasts beneath, was starting to cause him physical pain.
It shouldn’t have, after what she’d told him. The accuracy with which she’d homed in on the biggest influence in his life ought to have deterred him from having erotic musings where she was concerned. It ought to have jolted his senses, to force the same self-loathing he experienced whenever a connection was drawn between him and Bartholomew.
But it hadn’t. Not this time. Rather, he’d found her analysis of him shockingly intriguing.
Shifting, he inhaled her scent and found he could stand it no longer. He simply had to know. “What perfume do you wear?”
Her throat worked with the effort of swallowing her food so she could answer, her eyes wider than ever before. Perhaps on account of the way he’d posed the question, whispering it as if answering him was forbidden.
His gaze dropped to her lips, parted now and quivering softly against her tremulous breath. Impossibly strong desire rushed through his veins without warning and in that moment, the only thing he could think of was how much he longed to press his mouth gently over hers and take the kiss he so dearly wanted.
And more.
As alluring as that thought was, he recognized the danger of it and deliberately eased back. Guarding his control, he looked at her with a bland expression, and waited for her response.
“Peonies,” she told him simply. “We used to have them in the garden when I was a child. I always favored the scent to that of roses and other fragrant flowers.”
“I can understand why.” His voice was once again level with no sign of intimacy, for which he was grateful. “It is an extremely pleasant scent.” And since he wasn’t sure what else to say on the matter without once again descending into a lust-stricken state, he returned to a far more comfortable subject by saying, “If you have finished readingDomestic Medicineand you’re interested in the subject, there are other books I can lend you.”
“I found a copy ofThe View of the Theory of Medicineby James Gregory at the Library, so I have been reading that for the past couple of days.”
“Gregory is a fine physician. I was honored to meet him once.”
“According to what I have read so far, his views appear similar to Buchan’s, regarding hygiene, but what I found most interesting was his mention of poor food and drink as a cause for ill health. It made me wonder if this may have been the reason why I was always sick while living in St. Giles.”
