Ecstasy Wears Emeralds (32 page)

“My solicitor was extremely thorough in the contract for her education, and Mrs. Evans is as watchful a guardian as Cerberus and a good deal more frightening.”

“That's goo—contract? I thought you said there was no official apprenticeship?” Horace looked like a man on the verge of an apoplectic fit.

“I couldn't leave myself open to indecent accusations! You just advised against it, yourself!”

“Yes, that's . . . true.” Horace pulled out a handkerchief, mopped his brow, and made a grand show of preparing to leave. “Well, if you don't mind my saying, it's too risky a business! Send her home to her family, Dr. West, before anyone hears of your arrangement and misinterprets your charity for something more. Save yourself the shame and the threat—I will say it!—of being blacklisted for entertaining this girl and her outlandish notions!”

“Horace.” Rowan gave him a pat on the shoulder. “What need do I have to worry when I have your friendship and loyalty and you know the truth? I
do
have your friendship and loyalty, do I not?”

“Of course you do, Dr. West, but—”

“I'm not
entertaining
this girl. If anything, why not think of this as a passing experiment that will, in all likelihood, give the Association exactly what they need to prevent any serious attempts from misguided women in the future? How much easier to argue against it when you have a documented example?”
Or argue for it, but we both know you can't even think of a woman succeeding in the medical field, Horace.

“Yes! Well, you can count on me to avert my gaze while you sort this mess out!” Dr. Whitfield paused in the door for one last parting shot. “Be sure to document everything! If it were me, I'd track her monthly illnesses and be sure to note how it affects her concentration and health. With a delicate constitution so hindered by the feminine inconveniences, you can seize on irrefutable proof of her unsuitability. You might win a medal from the Society, after all, Dr. West!”

Rowan almost cringed but managed a smile. “Yes, good day, Dr. Whitfield!” He closed the door behind him as the old man let himself out and Rowan could hear the muffled voices of Carter helping him with his coat.

He put his forehead against the study door, sighing.
If only Whitfield were the worst of them.... Thankfully, Gayle wasn't here to—

“H-how could you?” Gayle stepped from behind the hidden door behind the curio cabinet, and it was all he could do not to throw something against the wall in frustration.

Chapter
25

“This eavesdropping has to stop, Gayle!”

“Is that how you see me? As some jest or passing experiment until I wisely quit and run home begging my aunt to find me a husband?” She was standing in the adjoining doorway to the servants' hall and, quite obviously, had overheard everything.

“I'm entitled to a conversation now and then without you creeping about editing the damn thing!” He knew it was a defensive reaction to be so angry, but there was little he could do. “Do you think I'd tell a man like Horace how I really see you or how I really feel about what you're becoming?” He stood with both hands splayed on his desk, his ire unmistakable. “If you were really listening, most of it was entirely complimentary, Gayle!”

“What? You said I wasn't truly your apprentice! You said that such a thing would be ridiculous! You said you signed that contract only to shield yourself from indecent accusations!”

“I was as truthful as I could be, Gayle, and then allowed the old goat to fill in the gaps as he wished.” He closed his eyes to try to calm himself, then opened them again to address her as carefully as he could. “I
said
that you were as talented as any man I'd ever met and that if you continued, I'd have no choice but to recommend you to the Academy for admittance! But I can't control the world, Gayle, and guarantee you that they'll let you in the doors. What I can do is destroy my standing in the medical community by pushing you under their noses! Would that be enough for you? Do I have to profess to every tight-lipped, overblown physician from here to Kent about your skills or great desire to be a doctor? What satisfies, Miss Renshaw? What requirement would you have me fulfill to prove my feelings for you?”

“Do you truly have feelings for me?”

“Now? You want me to say it now? We're in the midst of yet another delightful argument revolving around my villainous character. I'm exhausted because I've been at a friend's wife's bedside and narrowly escaped watching him become a widower. And while I'd hoped to return home and play out some tender scene of reconciliation, you, Miss Renshaw, are making me question my own sanity! You've pushed and pulled me until I'm not sure where I'm going, Gayle. But
now
? Did you want me to profess my heart now?”

“No! Yes!” She put her hands on her cheeks, horrified. “I don't know what I want anymore! I've forgotten who I am! I want to hear nothing from you! You're so charming and quick! You tell Whitfield what he wants, your patients what they need, and so what's to stop you from telling me whatever sweet lies you think I'm hungry to hear? Don't worry! You don't have to prove anything to me! I'm foolish enough to take you on faith and believe everything you say!”

“You're impossible! Why can't you accept that I'm just trying to protect you?”

“I don't need your protection!”

“Like hell you don't! A lady isn't supposed to go out in public without wearing gloves, much less take a strange man's hands! How do you think they'll feel about the idea of you running bare hands all over people's bodies—and for a fee, Gayle! Instead of seeing it as a wish to become a doctor, they're going to run you out for being some aberration of nature, or worse, just a misguided whore!”

She gasped in shock. “How dare you!”

“Here! Here's the kind of gift that every addle-headed light-skirt longs for! Here! Take it, Miss Renshaw! Here's what I apparently think of you! Take the damn thing and leave me be! For I swear, I cannot win the day!”

He dropped the wrapped bundle on the desk, the weight of it making an ominous thud that rattled his pens and lamps. His head was pounding from another one of his wretched migraines. He grabbed one of the prepared paper packets from the top drawer of his desk and dropped it into his pocket.

“I'm going to call on a friend and see if I can't clear my head. Stay here, Gayle. It's over.”

“What are you saying?”

A firm knock at the door reminded her that the world hadn't disappeared into the cold void that enclosed her chest.

“A runner, doctor. You're needed.” Carter imparted the news and hesitated just long enough for Rowan's reply.

Rowan read the note quickly. It was a summons from Lady Pringley, and Rowan hated the taste of the bit in his mouth. But she was as good an excuse as any to step away. “Tell Theo. I'll be right down.”

Carter closed the door and Gayle sprang forward trying to stop him. “Rowan, wait!”

“It's fate, the delay of Whitfield arriving and this ridiculous fight. It's better this way.” He shook his head. “Good-bye, Miss Renshaw. Please believe me when I say that I wish you every happiness and success in your future endeavors.”

“You have every right to be angry. I shouldn't have—”

“It's over. But I'm a man of my word. I'll find another physician with credentials far weightier than mine willing to take you on and see to it that your education continues without interruption—even if it means shipping you off to Paris or New York. Naturally, I'll return every pound you paid for this adventure, Miss Renshaw. You deserve to be challenged and taught so that that keen mind of yours can flourish. But more important, you deserve to be safe and happy.”

“W-what? But I thought . . .”

“First of all, whoever made that threat against my circle and poisoned Caroline Blackwell is still out there, and I'm not willing to put your life at risk. I've fallen in love with you, Miss Renshaw, and that makes a cavalier inclusion in my apparently dangerous existence impossible.”

For the first time in her life, words failed her, which unfortunately may have looked like acceptance of his statement as he went on, “Secondly, I cannot be the man who continually makes the same mistakes. I cannot once again be more in love with a woman than she is with me. I cannot sacrifice my livelihood or my honor or live my life in half measures for the joy of another. I had foolish daydreams about how you would come to value me, Gayle. About how you would come to see me as a partner and understand that the passion between us was just a symptom of a greater happiness within our reach. But you don't want me.”

He opened his bag and began to make a quick inventory of his tools and supplies, as efficiently and coldly as if he were leaving her with instructions for their next experiment upstairs. “You want your credentials and to be respected. I can't argue against either one of those desires. I'd hoped that they weren't things that would exclude me or eliminate my chances, but . . . You also want your independence. I finally realized that that at least is something I can give you by letting go.”

“No.”

“I told Whitfield what he wanted to hear, Gayle. But one day, you'll need to tell the truth—to your family, to your peers, and to pompous windbags just like Whitfield. And I love you too much to stand by when they tear you down and vilify you for it. But that's what you want. Someone who will step aside and let you prove yourself. But what kind of man can do that? Raise your hopes only to watch you practically burn at the stake? Another man, Gayle. Not me.”

“Rowan, I—”

“Not me, Gayle. I will never be that man.” He snapped his bag shut and walked out, the door firmly closing behind him, convinced that hell would never hold more threat of pain or torture than losing the love of his life.

Tears blinded her as the door shut, and Gayle used the heel of her hand to try to push them away and hold them back. She wasn't even sure what had happened. She'd felt so vulnerable, aware that she was losing her heart and her resolve along with it. She wasn't sure what was possible anymore. The passionate interlude in the carriage had left her shaken. His touch shattered and transformed her into a woman she didn't recognize.

And she'd avoided him like a spoiled child afterward, instead of confessing her feelings and trusting him—she'd hidden in her room behind a dead-bolted door.

Like a coward.

Again.

And when finally she'd heard the bell heralding his return and come downstairs, unwilling to wait, determined to catch him and apologize before he retired or before another night passed without his touch—she'd found herself on the other side of the library door, listening like a thief.

Only to hear him speak to that horrible man Whitfield . . .

She'd overreacted.

Again.

The bundle he'd dropped on his desk caught her eye, and with trembling hands she unwrapped the cloth only to find the anatomy book she'd admired the first morning she was there. It was the one he'd taken from her hands—a book so expensive and beautiful it made her chest ache to look at it. He'd had it rebound and retooled in green leather with her initials on the binding. She opened the book to the first page, and the inscription inside leapt off the paper.

The first words conveyed that it had been first given to him by his father.