Doctor...to Duchess? (12 page)

Julia gave a tight-lipped nod of encouragement to continue. She didn’t look happy and he could hardly blame her.

“Don’t think I’m apportioning blame. I know my lot in life has hardly been tragic—quite the opposite. But seeing Dr. Carney like this and not being able to do anything...” He paused, searching for the right words. “It’s my fault we lost my brother. Don’t you see? It’s because I didn’t do anything and losing him was the most painful thing my family has ever gone through. Pure heartbreak. I know it’s nothing other people haven’t endured.”

He chanced a glance at Julia and was immediately glad he had. Her eyes spoke volumes, assuring him he wasn’t alone. He leaned against the clinic wall, pressing a foot up against the ivy-covered stone with a noisy exhalation. This was really out of character. All of this confessing. What was it about this woman that brought all of his neatly filed away issues tumbling out? He’d lashed out at her, and she’d stood her ground. She was still here, trying her best to understand. Trying her best to be his someone.
In for a penny...

“You know the burdens of grief as well as I do, but living up to my brother’s unfulfilled legacy when I was to blame? Impossible. In my mother’s eyes, Alexander could do no wrong, and I can’t say I disagreed with her. He was truly born into the right life. He relished the idea of running the estate, maintaining the status quo, ensuring the Wyatt name stayed high on the social register of the nation’s elite. He loved all of this—the estate, the village, the tea parties, the shoots, the humdrum everyday life of St. Bryar.”

“You think it’s humdrum?” Julia asked. “Being here?”

“What do you think?”

She shrugged noncommittally, and he couldn’t say he blamed her.

“No. No, I don’t. Not anymore.” Of course he didn’t. Hurricane Julia had whirled into his life and changed everything. But she couldn’t change the past. He scrubbed his hands across his face, as if willing the memories away, then looked directly into Julia’s eyes. “Until now, I never envied Alexander’s passion for the estate because it let me get on with my life. Being a duke? It’s just not me. Never has been. I wasn’t made for a life of ribbon cuttings and fox hunts. I was made to practice medicine, pure and simple.”

A crease formed on her forehead. If she hadn’t thought he would hang around before, she was suffering no illusions now.

“How old were you both when this happened?”

Her question caught him by surprise.

“I was fourteen and he was eighteen. Why?”

“You’re blaming yourself for not diagnosing teenaged meningitis when you were a teen yourself?”

“The symptoms were textbook. I should have known.”

“Of course they’re textbook to you
now
—you’re an experienced doctor. But then? Oliver—how could you have known?”

“Because nothing was normal in how he was behaving. He was irritable and complaining about muscle pains and a headache. That wasn’t Alexander. He was the poster boy for ‘good-natured.’”

“And it’s natural for a little brother to go tell his parents his brother is being irritable?” Julia raised her hands in disbelief. “I think you’ve been too hard on yourself.”

Oliver shook his head, not wanting to let himself believe her words even though they rang true. “I’m not so sure. Regardless, none of this is helping Dr. Carney. I’m not going to stand by and do nothing this time.”

“You know as well as I do, practicing medicine involves a lot of listening.” Julia crossed over to him and laid a hand on his arm, her thumb soothingly sliding back and forth across his wrist. “Go in there.” She inclined her head toward the door. “Go in there and
talk
with him.”

She was close. Not more than a few inches away. He could smell the scent of her freshly washed hair; read the appeal for peace in her eyes, as if it had been handwritten. He tucked a stray wisp of her hair behind her ear, his fingers slipping along her arm, before reluctantly returning to his side.

It was all he could do not to pull Julia in toward him and kiss her promise of a mouth with unchecked passion. Pull her in tighter and begin to physically explore her—with his hands, his lips, his tongue, as he had the other night. He wanted to tug her hair out of the tight ponytail she wore and slip his fingers through the flax-colored waves. He wanted Julia to be his someone. The someone he knew more intimately than anyone else in the world. Every pore in his body ached for it.

And every cell in his brain was saying no. For that to happen he would have to let go of years of cemented beliefs. Rage. Grief. He couldn’t forgive himself. Not yet.

“Good idea. I’ll do that.” He nodded toward the clinic door. “Shall we get on, then? Busy day ahead.”

* * *

“Dr. MacKenzie!” Clara called from the stove as Julia stepped into the huge old kitchen. “I was just bringing some soup up to Oliver and His Grace. Shall I fetch you some?”

Julia closed the kitchen door behind her, already feeling revived by the savory scent of fresh soup. Her gut instinct was to say yes. Clara’s soup and some freshly baked bread in the library? Just what she needed after a tense afternoon in the clinic. Dr. Carney had elected to try out the artichoke and milk thistle tablets in lieu of surgery. Oliver’s tightened jaw at the news had spoken volumes. Not happy. Giving him a wide berth was probably for the best.

“Would it be all right to eat down here or in my room?”

“Rubbish! I won’t hear of it—you’ll join us in the library.” Oliver’s voice filled the kitchen before Julia had noticed him entering.

“I’m sorry, Dr. Wyatt,” Julia replied evenly. “I am fairly certain I hadn’t chosen that as an option.”

“Clara, tell Dr. MacKenzie she’s being silly. Besides,” he countered with a soft smile, “Father’s been asking after you. If you won’t accept an invitation from me, surely you wouldn’t refuse The Most Noble Duke of Breckonshire?”

“Ooh! Listen to you, Mr. Toff! Since when have you gone all traditional?” Clara guffawed openly as she ladled some soup into a third bowl.

“Mr. Toff?” Julia couldn’t help but clap her hands gleefully at Oliver’s mortified expression. “I think there’s a story there.”

He’d been an old grump all day. It was nice to see his obvious emotional turmoil regroup into a bit of good old-fashioned embarrassment. She plonked her elbows on the long expanse of a wooden counter and cupped her chin in her hands. “Pray, do tell Clara.”

“Oh, now, I wouldn’t betray a confidence, dear. Nothing to hurt my Ollie.” Clara gave her a broad wink. “Let’s just say a certain ten-year-old needed a trip to the dentist after a particularly greedy toffee apple episode.”

“Clara, I don’t really think we need to delve into the past,” Oliver sternly protested, but his obvious affection for the woman turned his words from terse to loving. “Here, hand us the tray, you old minx—
with
an extra bowl of soup for Dr. MacKenzie. Everything smells delicious, as usual. Why don’t you knock off and I’ll sort out the washing up after?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Ollie. You’d do it all wrong. Besides, you’ll be doing me out of a job if you keep hanging round the place like this!”

“Clara! You’re irreplaceable!”

Julia’s heart leaped at the words. Had he reconsidered? Was he going to stay? She immediately checked herself.
He’s talking about dishes, you fool
.
Now, c’mon. Be a big girl and play nice. Have a bowl of soup with the man.

“You know, I
was
being silly.” Julia picked up the chopping board laden with steaming bread. “I will join you. I could do with a good game of backgammon after, if you’re willing?”

“We’d best get on, then, before this gets cold.” Oliver smiled and headed for the stairs.

“Don’t worry. I’m right behind you.”

* * *

Julia leaned back in the deep cushioned armchair and sighed contentedly. “That was delicious.”

“I’m so glad you joined us. An unexpected surprise!” the Duke of Breckonshire quipped.

Julia shot Oliver a sharp look. Hadn’t he lured her here under the premise his father had been asking after her? He gave her a noncommittal raise of the eyebrows as his father continued, “It’s nice to have a young woman round the house again.”

Julia laughed. “I’m hardly a young woman, but thank you for saying so.”

“To me, my dear,
everyone
is young.” The kindly gentleman reached across to pat her hand before moving to push himself up and out of his chair. “Which brings me to the point of the evening where I must make my excuses. It’s time for me to turn in. Oliver?”

Oliver rose to give his father a bit of support as he got to his feet. “Sure you don’t want to stick around for a battle of the champions, Father?” He nodded toward the backgammon board he’d been setting up.

“Oh, heavens, no. Not tonight, anyway. I’m sure you’ll give each other a run for your money—or whatever it is you’re going to play for.” The twinkle in his eye was undeniable, and Julia felt, for just a moment, she was being set up on a not-very-blind date.

“Good night, all.”

“Good night, Duke.” Julia made a move to get up but was stopped as Oliver’s father waved her back down to her seat.

“Please, dear. Do call me Stephen. It’s my given name and I’m not so caught up in all the formalities these days. With Lorna gone, there’s no one round to say my given name. It could be our little secret.” He patted his son’s arm as he spoke. “Doesn’t do a body good to be averse to change, does it, son?”

“Have a good night, Father,” Oliver replied noncommittally.

“That I will, son.” He tossed a quick wink over his shoulder at Julia. “Give him a run for his money, dearie. The boy’s a shark!”

Oliver gave his father a loving clap on the back before pulling the library doors shut after him.

“He’s great. I just love your father.”

“It’s rich, hearing him talk about throwing tradition to the wind!” There was a tight bite to Oliver’s words.

“He’s hardly sitting in the cobwebs praying for time to stand still,” Julia shot back, feeling defensive on the duke’s behalf. “He’s always been open to all of my suggestions.”

“And how do you think he’s going to take to me shrugging off hundreds of years of tradition and becoming the daredevil doctoring Duke in Absentia?”

“Is that what you want to do? Work in conflict zones for the rest of your life?” Was she holding her breath while she waited for his answer—or holding her breath because she already knew it?

“Honestly?”

She nodded. “I think we’ve moved beyond light chitchat, don’t you?”

Oliver laughed good-naturedly then took up a studied position by the impressive stone fireplace. “Honestly, Julia—if it were two or three weeks ago, I would’ve told you I’d put Bryar Estate on the market in an instant and donate the lot to the Red Cross or Flying Doctors—or both. But now?” He ran a hand along the mantelpiece and turned to her, green eyes focused so intently on her she had to fight the urge to squirm. “Right now, I couldn’t even begin to tell you what I want.”

“Why’s that? Are the books more complicated than you thought?” Playing dumb didn’t come naturally, but they were treading on territory where Julia felt anything but safe.

“Don’t be daft. You know as well as I that I’ve been doing anything but looking at the ledgers from the very moment I arrived at Bryar Hall.” He began to rattle off a list. “I’ve been eating cake that reminds me of my mother, seeing people I haven’t spoken to in years, learning about the merits of a long-term family practice and dredging up memories I had hoped to never think of again.”

“Why?” She knew the answer, knew it in her heart right that very instant, but wanted—needed—to hear it anyway.

“Because they’re painful. Horribly, horribly painful. And I wanted more than anything to keep them locked up forever. Then one very blue-eyed lady I’ve come to know, someone I’ve grown very fond of, suggested it just might be possible to forgive myself.”

“And what would you do if you did—if you forgave yourself?” She held her breath again, the room so silent she was sure she could both hear the blood rushing between her ears.

“That’s a loaded question.” He quirked an eyebrow but didn’t break eye contact.

Julia’s mind positively reeled with questions.

Would you stay? Would you stay here with me?

Could she live with the answer? Could she even believe it was fair to ask? What would she say if he asked her the same thing?
Think, think, think! Do you love him? He quizzed you about your feelings—now it’s your turn.

“I suppose it’s not your usual garden party question, but you’ve been more than clear that’s not your sort of thing.”

“Are you suggesting, Dr. MacKenzie, that I lack social dexterity?”

“Oh...” She mused, a smile playing on her lips. “I hardly think your social skills are substandard.” She glanced down at her fingers, still lightly splinted, and laughed. “Then again...”

Oliver collapsed onto the sofa, swinging his long legs up onto the overstuffed cushions. “See?” He was grinning now. “If that’s the kind of first impression I make here at home, I don’t think the House of Lords is quite ready for this Most Honourable Marquess of St. Bryar.”

“Pah!” She hadn’t meant to bark with laughter, but...too late now. “You made quite a first impression, all right.” And a second. And a third. Julia’s belly felt a warm eddy of desire as their eyes connected.

“Really?” Oliver propped up his head on an elbow and pushed himself up onto his side. “What sort of impression was that?”

“A favorable one.” She tried for an air of nonchalance but knew her body language was betraying her. A shift of the hips. A finger winding up a strand of hair. Thank goodness Oliver didn’t know about the fiery tingles working their slow and leisurely way through her body. As if she c
ould be any easier to read.

“Are you still up for that game of backgammon?” Oliver pushed himself up from the sofa and offered her his hand.

Don’t take it. If you take it you might kiss him again. If you kiss him again you won’t be able to stop...

“Come here, you.”

Was he thinking what she was thinking?

Her lips parted.