The Miss Education of Dr. Exeter (24 page)

With a great swish of her tail, Mia sat on her haunches beside Exeter.
We were all mesmerized.

Nodding to Mia, Ping reached inside his robe. It was no surprise the jinni would be receptive to her thoughts. He removed a familiar Noggy device—the portable portal—from an inside pocket. “Best I return this unit to Oakley’s storage facility, posthaste.”

Exeter held up a finger. “One more thing—you wouldn’t happen to know what happened to Tim and Jersey?”

“They’re back at the hotel, with Phaeton and America. And of course, baby Luna.” Ping’s eyes sparkled just speaking her name. “I have heard her—she has healthy lungs.”

The cat looked up at Ping.
She is special, isn’t she?

The jinni tucked the black cylinder under his arm. “Luna is a daughter of the moon and stars—she will become a great healer and peacemaker. It is her destiny.” Ping pressed a button and was gone.

“I
NEVER THOUGHT
I’
D LIVE TO SEE
Phaeton Black pushing a perambulator about in the park,” Exeter goaded. With the panther by his side, he and Mia ambled along with Phaeton and America.

“I cannot believe it myself.” Phaeton leaned over the baby carriage and cooed. “Pay your godfather no mind, Luna.” The beaming papa looked up at Exeter. “She’s got her mother’s almond-shaped eyes—did you see them?”

America smiled. “Her father’s grin, as well—I saw a hint of it just this morning. And there was mischief in her eyes.”

“Let us hope some good comes of it.” Exeter teased, giving a nod to the two Nightshades behind them.

Jersey Blood and Valentine Smith strolled arm in arm, some distance away. Until they had Prospero safely locked away, precautions were to be taken with regards to Luna, in particular. No one knew exactly what this child born of the moon and stars meant, as yet, but they weren’t taking any chances.

Since they had returned to London, there had been several troublesome episodes at Oakley headquarters in the Outremer. The larger rooms designed to house the wizard had proved less than stable. Oakley had called Exeter over to consult on ways to incarcerate the dangerous, wily Prospero.

“We’ll meet in St. George’s Churchyard.” Phaeton snapped him out of his troubled thoughts. The Blacks and entourage split off at a fork in the pathway heading for Shaftesbury Avenue.

“Bright and early, then!” America called to both of them.

Exeter answered Mia’s wave. “At the stroke of ten, Thursday morning.” He turned them north, toward Piccadilly, where they came upon a new neighbor, a Mrs. Agnes Lassiter. She was heiress to a merchant fleet, and her personal worth was reported to be in the millions. Exeter greeted the woman as she made her way over to get a closer look at the large black cat walking beside him.

“Is he a
Panthera parda
or
onca?
” Wide eyes stared at the exotic animal. “I’m somewhat of a philofelist—cat-lover.”

“
She
is a
parda,
from the southern region of Africa.”

The fascinated woman nodded. “Look, in just the right light you can see the spots hidden by the excess black pigment—melanin—the effect is similar to that of printed silk, is it not?” Leaning closer the woman hesitated. “Might I touch her?”

“She is quite tame, but I do not advise petting.” Exeter smiled.

The woman straightened with a sigh. “Such a beautiful pussy.”

“That she is, Mrs. Lassiter.” Exeter tipped his hat.

 

“The pheasant is delightful—very succulent.” Mia chewed quietly. She managed to suppress a growl, but not the glare that shot across the dinner table. It had been exactly twelve days, three hours, and forty-nine minutes since their return to London. She knew this because it had been exactly that long since Exeter had visited her bedchamber or touched her intimately. She had brought up his indifference during the soup course, and he had positioned his lack of affection as a necessary disengagement.

“Paris was lovely, Mia, but—”

“I’d rather not listen to any more buts.”

“You deserve to experience the world, meet people, fall in love.”

“Have my heart broken.” She barely choked down whatever tasteless morsel was on her fork.

“If that is what it takes to make you realize you have your whole life in front of you.” Exeter spoke quietly, but forcefully. “I only want for you what every young woman should have. Especially one as bold and beautiful as you are.” Exeter paused to pour them each another glass of claret. “Now, we need to see if you can go it alone. See if you can manage your shifts by using all the techniques I have taught you.”

She took a sip of claret and then another. “What sort of skills do you mean—exactly?”

Exeter sliced a bit of leg meat off the bone. “We shall continue this discussion after dinner. In my study.”

Mia exhaled an exasperated sigh before changing the subject. “Just think, in a few more days, Phaeton and America are finally to marry. And baby Luna will be christened—all in an afternoon.” She smiled. “Even though it galls me to say it, well done, Exeter.”

Since they were to be godparents, Exeter had gamely contrived to meet with the vicar, an amiable man by the name of Wicklow, to make arrangements. “A small wedding after the christening—what could be simpler? As long as Phaeton and America were in the chapel, I thought it expedient to add a ceremony.” Exeter chewed. “Mr. Wicklow agreed.”

He made merry eyes across the table. There was no doubt he felt the tension between them, and was trying to cajole her. “How are the reception plans coming along? Sorry for springing all this on you and then dashing off to Cambridge.”

“Invitations are printed and mailed. Champagne is ordered. We are to have a light supper around seven—with any luck we’ll have the whole motley crew out the door by midnight.”

Exeter tilted his head, curious. “You invited Mrs. Parker and the girls?”

“Of course. They are Phaeton and America’s friends—yours, as well.” She rested her fork and knife on the edge of her plate. “When I used the expression motley crew, I was referring to those unruly Nightshades, including Gaspar, who should be restored enough to attend.” Mia couldn’t help a devilish grin. “Though I suspect a few of Esmeralda Parker’s girls can be just as unruly.”

“I don’t believe our guest list has ever been this interesting,” Exeter sipped his claret. “I hand-delivered invitations to Oakley and Victor. They said they’d try to make it.”

Her brows elevated, then crashed together. “After everything Phaeton has gone through—what he has done for them?” Phaeton’s first act of Moonstone business was to restore Gaspar, as well as their world. “I should think they could do better than try.” A frown did not quite do justice to how she felt at the moment. “You’ve made several unplanned trips to the Outremer of late. Something has gone wrong, hasn’t it?”

“In a manner of speaking.” Exeter hesitated. She knew that look. He was holding back, in a protective way. Finally, he met her gaze. “The Moonstone has turned out to be—temperamental. It’s not just about Phaeton asking politely for powers with an open heart. Apparently . . .” He exhaled. “There are extenuating circumstances.”

Absently, she twirled her wineglass about by the stem. “More than once, Prospero made references to Oakley and Victor—he claimed they had painted him the villain.”

Exeter set his napkin beside his plate. “What else would you expect the man to say?”

“Just—be wary.” She met his gaze. “Things may not be what they seem.”

“I will keep that in mind, if it eases yours.”

She lifted her chin and plastered a smile on her face. “It does.”

Exeter studied her false grin, then changed the subject. “I understand you received an overseas cable today. Anything you’d care to discuss?”

She removed the telegraph wire from a pocket in her gown. “You might read it, first.”

She inhaled a quick breath as he opened the message. When Exeter had cooled toward her, she had felt confused, abandoned. She had also suffered a bad patch of tears and anger—until this wire arrived.

Exeter looked up from the missive. “You’ve been accepted to the Boston University School of Medicine.”

Mia knew without a doubt that she was beaming. “A women’s medical college in Boston. The first school in the world to formally educate female physicians.”

Exeter continued to stare, openmouthed. “Are you sure about this?”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. I wish to practice medicine. Perhaps forge a specialty in women’s health. Seeing you with America, in the hotel—being your eyes and hands for Luna’s birth . . .” Since his shocked expression hadn’t changed, she continued to state her case. “How perfectly women are made to procreate, to nurture a child in our womb, bear the pain and the joy of childbirth.” Mia jumped up and leaned across the table. “It is my calling, Exeter—be happy for me.”

“I am over the moon, Mia. The world needs more physicians with such passion and dedication, but . . .”

Her eyes flicked upward. “Yes, of course, you are over the moon,
but
. . .”

She watched him temper a sharp intake of air into a quiet exhale. “Boston is rather far away. I know we could find something closer. I am acquainted with the Dean of the London School of Medicine for Women, an Elizabeth Anderson. I could speak with her.”

Mia was stunned at his sudden turn of heart. He had avoided her at every turn, making two trips to the Outremer and one to Cambridge, for a lecture. He had stayed overnight, chumming about with colleagues and friends, and yet now he wished to keep her close.

Mia angled her bustle as she returned to her seat. The tea tray arrived, along with a decanter of Exeter’s favorite port. A lemon curd tart appeared in front of her. Without much enthusiasm, she added a dollop of clotted cream while Exeter continued. “There is also a new school of medicine for women in Edinburgh—”

“I am beyond fortunate to have received this offer.” Mia cut in. “London has a waiting list, and Edinburgh’s program is still very small. I wired the Dean of Boston University School of Medicine on the off chance they might allow a midyear enrollee. They will hold a slot open until the tenth of January. All I need is the tuition.” Mia scraped a spoon over her tart, nervously.

Exeter appeared to have no appetite for dessert, preferring to sip on his port. “It’s not the money, it’s . . . I’m sure you don’t want another repeat of Oxford.” Exeter was unfairly referencing the start of her women’s studies this past fall. She had been found naked in the forest, wandering and incoherent. The incident had marked the beginning of her change.

“I am well past those days.” She must have appeared stricken because he softened his argument.

“Indeed, you are. You’ve made wonderful progress with your feline counterpart.” Exeter smiled a simple closed-lipped smile, the kind that brought that long dimple to one side of his mouth. She loved that dimple.

He settled back into his chair. “I arrived home early yesterday afternoon. Mr. Tandi placed a finger to his lips and bade me follow him into the garden. Four-legged Mia was catnapping in a tree branch.”

Her favorite shade tree in all the world, the old oak took up nearly the entire garden space, except for a small patch of sunlight that grew roses. The panther loved to snooze on a low-hanging limb, almost every afternoon.

“Did Mr. Tandi happen to mention that while dozing off one day, she slipped off the branch and was quite rudely awakened by hard ground?”

A blush of warmth rose on her cheeks when he barked a laugh. Exeter hardly ever laughed. “I take it she survived the fall.”

“She’s a hardy pussycat.” Mia returned his grin.

His rather charming, wistful gaze turned a bit edgy. A gulp finished his port and he set the glass down. “Shall we retire to my study?”

E
XETER OPENED THE DOOR
and Mia swept past him in a stunning gown—one of the new evening dresses that had just arrived from Paris. Layers of diaphanous blue silk covered in a swirl of dragonflies. The embroidered silver fairies flitted their way up the bodice of the dress to a décolleté that was stunning. He had watched the curves of her breasts rise and fall throughout most of dinner this evening. Most distracting.

“The dress is lovely on you.”

She smiled. “I think it might be my favorite, thus far. A Madame Mateau, here in London, is doing the few nips and tucks.” She took her usual chair, while he poured them each a brandy. “The rest of the gowns should arrive by week’s end.”

He braced himself against the edge of his secretary and swirled two glasses of Armagnac, one in each hand. “Those pretty ball gowns won’t get much wear in medical school.”

Mia placed her hands in her lap, steepling her fingers. “Medical school in Boston or London?”

She perturbed him more than ever, now that he knew what it was like to lay with her. Her sensuous body, how wonderfully open and responsive she had been with her lovemaking—something he hadn’t foreseen. Now that they were home, just being with her had become a torture. He wanted her morning, noon, and night. Just the way she sat in the wing chair, posture perfect, and yet there was an ease about her, the picture of elegance. His gaze flicked down her neckline to the delicate material that barely covered—nay, even hinted at—those rosy tips.

A surge of arousal raged through him as he considered clearing the top of his desk and tossing up her skirts. He resisted the urge to act like a randy schoolboy and caught himself before he slipped deeper into reverie. “It seems you are set on Boston, no matter what I advise.”

She thrust her chin out. “Why do you want me to stay . . . so much?”

A very good question. If she was such a torture, why not encourage her to go? If only it were that simple. He returned her stare. “Why do you want to leave . . . so much?”

Mia growled a harrumph. “I believe you asked me here for another reason?” She met his gaze with an arched brow and an air of defiance. Good God. She had no idea how gorgeous she was when angered. Her rich brown eyes smoldered like dark embers, and the way she tilted her chin—as regal as a princess. He marveled at how often she left him close to breathless. The days they had spent together in Paris had been—
ne plus ultra
—the ultimate in romance, danger—and those sensuous, erotic nights. He drew in a breath.

Even before they left Paris for London, he began to pull away. He had acted shamelessly at the Contessa’s soiree, baring her breasts, acting the debauched husband. Mia had borne it all with admirable flair, style, panache, confidence, dash, éclat—all of that and more. She had stunned him with her unabashed sensuality.

He leaned forward and passed her a brandy. “You have heard the term
auto-gratification
and understand its connotations?”

“It is the term the French use for sexual self-stimulation.” He suspected she was not uncomfortable with the language as much as she was unhappy with what it implied.

“Mia, you need to work on this, especially if you’re going to study in Boston. If you continue on—do your residency there you will spend years away from”—he stopped short of saying
me
—“you will be years away from home.”

Her soft brown eyes grew wider. “You could come with me. You can do your research anywhere, America or London, what does it matter?”

“I also have commitments to Gaspar—to seeing that things are properly restored in both worlds. As you surmised earlier, there have been difficulties.”

“What kind of difficulties?”

He sighed. “It’s important we not change the subject. For now, I would like you to begin to touch yourself.”

Mia nearly dribbled a sip of brandy. “Here, now?” She caught the drop of liquid with a finger and licked.

A trace of moisture on her bottom lip captured him momentarily. “Raise your skirt.” His gaze eventually met hers.

She lifted layers of silk up long, shapely limbs—she wore pale stockings with delicate blue pinstripes. “Higher.”

She uncovered pretty kneecaps and smooth thighs. He swallowed a gulp of brandy. The matching blue garters, with embroidered cornflowers, forced a quick adjustment to his trousers. “Place a limb over the arm of the chair and open your legs.”

When she complied, there was a peek at her French pantalettes—the very brief ones with a saucy little bow closure at the slit. Exeter scratched the stubble along his jaw. Perhaps this wasn’t such a good idea.

“Would you like me to untie the bow?” Holding her skirts up around her waist, she patiently awaited further instructions. Good God, what had he gotten himself into?

“Well, this is damned awkward.” The very thing he had been trying to avoid—an erection was on near full display beneath his trousers.

Her gazed dropped to his rather prominent problem. “I see.”

Exeter snorted softly and shook his head. “This exercise was supposed to be for you.”

She dropped her skirts and stood up. “I shall retire to my room and undress. I will get into bed, pull the covers up to my chin—so there won’t be any visual distraction. You will have another brandy, and then you come to my bedchamber and show me exactly what do with my hands.”

She placed her open palm on his crotch and stroked. “If your hand is over the covers and mine is under—”

He grabbed hold mid-stroke and stopped her. “Let’s give it a go.”

She nearly collided with Mr. Tandi as she backed out the door. The dark-skinned servant held the door as Mia whisked past him. “Will you be needing anything else this evening, sir?”

“I don’t believe so, we are both ready to retire.” On the brink of dismissing his manservant, Exeter hesitated. “If you have a moment, Mr. Tandi? A few questions have popped up . . . about Mia.”

Mr. Tandi closed the door and entered the room softly. Every gesture of this man was measured, gentle, every thought expressed, considerate. Exeter had never once heard Mr. Tandi raise his voice, though he had once taken a broom to an unruly scullery maid.

When Mia was very young, if she was badly behaved, a typical Mr. Tandi punishment consisted of a lengthy stint in the corner of the nursery, or the withholding of hot chocolate at teatime.

“Has Mia shared anything about her calling to medicine?”

“She will be an excellent healer. The Sky Father is pleased.”

“It seems an American medical school has a slot open midyear. I know you’re not keen on the country, but slavery is long past—by some twenty-five years. And the university is in Boston—duly civilized since the Tea Party.”

Tandi clasped his hands behind his back, and many long strands of beads rustled from the movement. “It would be my honor to serve Miss Anatolia.”

“Excellent. I worry about her.

“I have known Miss Anatolia since her birth. I gave the child her first bath, changed her wet nappies. I was there when she spoke her first word, took her first step. The month we were separated, I missed her as if she was my own child.”

“You’re saying . . .” Exeter switched his question mid sentence. “You never told me you were separated.”

“Mia was taken to a hospital in Pretoria. She had contracted a fever. There were many small bites—insects, they said.”

Exeter stared. “You say differently?”

“There is an old Zulu tale, one my people tell. About the evening panther—the black cat who is part human being. A creature with sharp, needle-like teeth, who travels in a dark mist. This being enters a hut during the night and shares his blood with another using a thousand bites.”

Exeter fought to control his temper. “You might have said something earlier . . . Mia obviously survived.”

Tandi’s gaze was far away. “I stole away in the night, with a shaman’s medicine. When I arrived at the hospital, Mrs. Chadwick was frantic. White doctors were of little use in the matter. The medicine I brought with me was potent—she could not hold it down, so we made a tea, and administered the brew over several days. On the fourth day, the child was better—in another week they sent us all home.”

More than curious, Exeter pressed on. “Any arcane tribal wisdom you might share about her current condition?”

“A shaman might know more.” His manservant met his gaze momentarily, as an equal. Tandi put his hands together in prayer. “What is done, is done.”

“And we are far from the horn of Africa.” Exeter frowned. This discussion felt like two men trying to sort through the care of a most cherished young woman, whom they both dearly loved. He found this new Mr. Tandi refreshing—as if the docile, reserved man was finally peeling off a few austere layers.

“Doubtful there would be anything in the library of secrets. Still, it’s a lead of sorts, should we chance to run into a Zulu shaman.” Exeter absently twisted a bottom lip. “Mia’s beginning to fully integrate her cat side. She’s making wonderful progress, but there is also another matter, and I’m dashed unhappy about it.”

“You are unhappy, Om Asa, because you love her as a child.” Tandi’s piercing black eyes hardly blinked.

“Of course I love her.” Exeter returned his stare. “Very much.”

“And yet you would choose to let her go.”

Tandi’s flagrant impertinence was so unexpected, Exeter actually sputtered. He could not quite believe his ears. The amount of cheek from his manservant was unprecedented. “Why would you say such a thing?” Exeter protested.

“Because you do not face the truth in your heart.”