Page 9 of Prescription for Sin

Emma paused at the front door, heart stuttering as she heard movement inside. Though she’d spent all day at the hospital thinking through the arrangement with clinical detachment, the reality of Hughes’s presence in her home felt different now.

She smoothed her skirts, chiding herself for this uncharacteristic nervousness. “You’re a physician,” she muttered. “Act like one.”

But when she opened the door, the sight of him froze her in place. Everett was descending on the stairs, his shirt sleeves rolled up and the shirt open to reveal his sculpted pectoralis major.

“Good evening,” she said, her eyes darting around him.

“For you, perhaps,” he nearly snarled, though his eyes betrayed him by lingering on her lips. Feeling self-conscious, she bit her bottom lip slightly. It was his turn to look away.

“You seem displeased.” She climbed the steps, bringing them eye to eye. She tried to ignore the masculine scent teasing her senses.

“Do I indeed? Please take a guess as to why I might be vexed?”

A corner of her lips lifted despite her effort to suppress a smile. “What did you expect, Mr Hughes? That I would slumber peacefully with an unknown fugitive under my roof?” His eyes narrowed. “I have patients who rely on steady hands. I couldn’t afford a sleepless night.”

“I would rather you bind me to the bed than poison my mind with your mysterious draughts!”

The moment the words left his mouth, he seemed to realise their impropriety. A becoming flush coloured his cheeks.

With her voice steady, she said, “Careful, Mr Hughes. A lady might take that as an invitation.”

He gaped at her, his grip tightening on the banister. Emma smiled inwardly, glad to have stunned him. Most men expected her to be proper, based on her starched collar and precise manner. That is until she opened her mouth. Heat seemed to creep up his neck as he struggled to form a response.

Emma widened her eyes and tilted her head innocently.

“I… That is… Miss Brown, surely you don’t mean to suggest…”

How odd that a man of his supposed profession would be so easily embarrassed. “Come now, I merely meant a lady might supervise you during your recovery.” Her lips curved slightly. “Though your thoughts seem to have wandered elsewhere entirely.”

He shifted uncomfortably. Emma was aware of their proximity on the stairs. She rather enjoyed his discomfort but took pity on him.

“Descend with your injured limb first.” She put her professional mask firmly back in place. “Mrs Norris has left mutton warming below stairs. One glass of spirits, no more.”

She watched as he distractedly made his way to the sideboard, visible from the stairs, and quickly drained a glass of brandy. He then looked up, meeting her gaze, and smiled sheepishly. “Could you not count this glass toward my limit, seeing as how you necessitated it?”

She dipped her head in acquiescence. “Consider it medicine for your wounded sensibilities, Mr Hughes.”

Everett observed his saviour over the rim of his brandy glass, noting how the candlelight caught the delicate structure of her face and made her long blond lashes shimmer. Her skin glistened like porcelain as it stretched taut over her beautiful nose, high cheekbones. She puckered her small but full lips as she raised her wineglass to her mouth. He held his breath, captivated by the sight. She was stunning.

As they sat at the table, he noticed a curious tension lingering between them. Everett poured a second glass of brandy with deliberate slowness, aware of her scrutiny. She served them both mutton, her movements precise and efficient.

“You seem quite familiar with spirits for a nurse,” he ventured, having noted two kinds of brandy in her cabinet.

“And you seem quite proper for a man of your…profession.” She held his gaze as she placed the serving spoon down. “Though I suppose that’s part of your appeal to well-paying clients.”

He nearly choked on his brandy. A proper lady shouldn’t know of such matters, let alone discuss them over dinner. He was beginning to realise that a female physician’s sensibilities were entirely uncharted territory.

“Tell me. How did you develop your muscles? I imagine that, too, is for the benefit of your patrons.”

This time, he was better prepared to discuss such matters with her. “I’ve been doing gymnastics for years. It suits me, quiets my mind.”

“Quiets your mind... Yes, I conquer. I personally find walking very meditative. I hope you’ll oblige me by answering this question. Do you opine your superior physique makes you a superior lover?”

He finally choked, barely blocking a spray of brandy with his shirtsleeve. The woman's boldness was unprecedented. Even more disconcerting was the clinical detachment in her tone, as if she were inquiring about a medical condition rather than something so intimate. Was she devoid of emotions or so corrupt that nothing discomfited her?

Everett looked up from his reverie and found her studying him thoughtfully, her fingers toying with the wineglass. Something about her demeanour told him he wasn’t fooling her with his half-baked pretence. Were her inquiries designed merely to test him?

He cleared his throat. “I beg your pardon. I’m not accustomed to being addressed so frankly by a lady about such delicate matters.”