Ecstasy Wears Emeralds (2 page)

Her son was dying. And Rowan was little more than a witness to the young man's gradual demise. At sixteen, Jackson was one of his favorite patients—all fire and bravado, all adolescent manly swagger interspersed with quiet moments when he and Rowan would talk about everything and nothing without his mother's anxious presence.

Jackson had never recovered from a terrible fever he'd suffered at twelve, and his heart and lungs had failed to work as they should ever since. Each winter took its toll, and now it was a matter of days or weeks before the widowed Mrs. Blythe lost the love of her only child and draped her house in black crepe.

“I will,” she replied, the vow making her eyes darken with emotion. “Any hour, and I will send for you. Bless y—”

“Please, Mrs. Blythe. Save your blessings for yourself and your beautiful boy. I am . . . in your service. If I could do more . . .”
Damn.
His professional façade was crumbling fast, and it was all he could do to retreat out her front door and down the steps to his waiting carriage.
What kind of physician waters up like a fool?

I'm tired. Too many long nights and my emotions are too frayed to fend off a woman like Mrs. Blythe.
She'd wanted him to lie, and he knew the game. He was supposed to reassure her that Jackson looked better, that this rest would do him a world of good, and that she should see about some new books for him to read while he recovered so that he would be prepared for the university exams in the spring.

How hard was it to lie?

“Home, Theo.” He climbed into the carriage unassisted, throwing his leather physician's bag unceremoniously onto the seat next to him. He slammed the door behind him and leaned back, a man without the energy for sighs or selfpity, and stretched out his long legs to rest them on the upholstered seat across from him.

The carriage pulled away and his loyal driver skillfully navigated the fog-choked streets to make their way to Rowan's brownstone in fashionable West London. The dark streets of London echoed with eerie noises of horses and the few brave souls with business afoot at that ungodly hour. Dulled sounds of a city in restless slumber, like a play heard through a wall, serenaded him as he ran his hands through his hair, mussing his dark auburn curls.

I am bone tired and soul weary, as my father used to say.
He was still a relatively young man, having just turned thirty-three, but Rowan felt a hundred and thirty-three tonight. He was useless in the face of Jackson's illness and dreaded his inevitable failure to save the boy's life.

The trip went quickly, as Theo was able to drive smoothly through the emptier streets. Most of the wealthier London residents had retreated to their country estates at the end of the summer season to enjoy the hunt and the fresh brisk air of autumn. Rumor held that the city was notorious for breeding disease in the damp and cold of the wintry months, and it was easy to understand how anyone with means would flee the soot-covered streets and gloom.

But this was when Dr. Rowan West was needed most, and everything in him balked at the idea of putting his feet up by the fire in some quiet country cottage when he had so many patients in need. As for rumors and wives' tales, he also knew that the irony was that the warmer months were far deadlier in the city, though no one in his profession yet agreed why.

His head pounded in rhythm with the horse's hooves on the cobbled lane, and Rowan shut his eyes for a few minutes to try to keep the sensation of gray sand filling his skull at bay.
Fatigue. It's just fatigue, but I swear if I look, there will be grit on my coat from this ground glass that's leaking out of my ears.

The carriage slowed to a halt, and Rowan opened his eyes in relief. “Home, at last.”

Once again, he didn't wait for Theo, but simply climbed out with his doctor's bag as was his custom. His stubborn independence was a long-standing joke amidst the Jaded—the name given to his closest circle of friends—but it was a point of pride for Rowan. Those in the Jaded who had grown up with wealth, and even his friends who hadn't, marveled at his reluctance to be waited on. Rowan had never seen a good cause not to treat all men as his equals, and in his imprisonment in India during the Troubles it didn't seem very revolutionary to accept that brotherhood could transcend bloodlines.

The small society known as the Jaded had taken root in the worst of circumstances, but Rowan was sure the experience had made them all better men.

He resolutely failed to see why a gentleman couldn't take care of himself whenever it was warranted. Not that he could imagine his life without his dear staff, but they were more like family than employees, and their care eased the demands of his profession.

He frowned as he entered the foyer, instantly concerned by the lit tapers and by Carter's presence. The older man should have been in bed hours ago, but he was at the ready as if he'd been waiting for Rowan's return.

“Carter? A bout of insomnia or did I miss something?”

“We've a guest, Dr. West.” Carter gestured toward the receiving room off the foyer on the other side of the main staircase.

“At this hour? What kind of guest?” Rowan dropped his bag on the table by the door. The men of the Jaded often called at strange hours, but they'd have just gone to his library and made themselves at home—and Carter had long given up paying them any attention. But from the older man's stance, Rowan knew that this was a situation that defied protocol and had poor Carter rattled.

“It's a woman. Or rather, a lady, Dr. West. Came alone in a hired carriage and insisted on waiting for you.” Carter looked sufficiently miserable at the admission, as if all his usual starch had been drained away. “I . . . I thought it best to put her in the salon.”

“How long has she been waiting?”

“Since eight,” Carter supplied. “I've checked on her regularly and she is . . . unchanged.”

“Did she give her name?” he asked.

Carter shook his head. “Refused to do so, but insisted that her business with you was critical and highly personal. I had no idea when she first appeared that it would become such a strange siege.”

“No worries, Carter. I'll see her and have this matter squared away as quickly as possible.” He started for the receiving room, then hesitated. “Wait here, if you can, Carter, in case something is required?”

“Yes, of course!” Carter's relief was palpable and Rowan took another deep breath to try to banish the grinding pain behind his eyes before he opened the door. He wasn't sure what to expect from his butler's expression. But a lady on his doorstep at such a late hour, alone and unexpected, didn't bode well. Even so, he knew she wasn't a bawd, or Carter would never have allowed her in the house.
It might simply be that the lady was too embarrassed to make an appointment. Although—

His speculation ground to a halt as he found the female in question. She was like an exotic young bird perched on one of the carved wooden chairs in a beautifully tailored traveling dress that only added to his impression of a swan. Her dark hair was pulled back into a sleek little nest of curls that trailed down to accent the graceful lines of her face and neck. She was an aristocratic creature with balanced and symmetrical features, and the look she cast in his direction was one of mild impatience and cold calm. She stood as he came through the door, a porcelain cameo brought to life, and Rowan had to remind himself to breathe as eyes the color of violets came to bear upon him.

“May I help you? Miss?” His nerves were jangling as the small details that weren't meshing began to press into his awareness.
She's still wearing her gloves. And—are those pieces of baggage?

“Dr. West! I am pleased to, at last, make your acquaintance. It's Renshaw. Gayle Renshaw.”

Except she didn't look pleased.

From Rowan's vantage, she looked as if she wasn't entirely sure that she was in the right house or that he was the right Dr. West. She was openly assessing him, and he couldn't help but feel that he was falling short in her measurements.

He nodded but didn't drop his gaze. God help him, he didn't think he could stop staring at her under the very threat of death.
I think I'll just cling to what protocol I can, since I'm not sure what one says to women who come calling with luggage.
“While I'm always pleased at new referrals, I find I'm at a bit of a loss. It's late for a call, but if there was some emergency—”

She shook her head, her brow furrowing a bit as if his words frustrated her.

Rowan took a deep breath and tried again. “I apologize if I've misunderstood, but Carter was sure you needed assistance in some way, and I assumed . . .”

“No need to apologize, Dr. West. I've come without a word of warning, but when I received your favorable response to my letter, I decided that there was no time like the present to commence.”

“Your letter?”
Renshaw. No, it wasn't possible!
“I responded after I'd received a letter from a Mr. G. L. Renshaw but—”

“No, you received a letter from me inquiring about an apprenticeship.” She put one gloved hand into the deep pocket of her skirts and pulled out the folded vellum of his response. “You were very candid in your need for an extra pair of hands.”

“I may have been, but I was under the impression that you were . . . male.”

Her spine stiffened and the color in her cheeks changed to betray that the lady may not be as coolly disconnected as she'd pretended. “An intentional deception I'm not proud of, but an unimportant detail for a man of your character. You set a price and I've come with my apprentice's fee in hand.”

Rowan was sure he'd misheard her. “I beg your pardon? You confess to fraud, yet expect me to happily ignore it and enter into some kind of insane contract?”

“You do take apprentices, do you not?”

Ah, here's a moment of surreal departures in conversation. . . .
“I have in the past, but—”

“I mean to become a physician, Dr. West, and I have come with the sole purpose of securing an apprenticeship with you. I have heard much of you, and while I realize that this arrangement is somewhat unconventional, I was sure you'd agree.”

He shook his head slowly, the dreamlike elements of the encounter getting the better of him. “Did you just say you'd heard much of me? How is it that I am famous enough to warrant this absurd petition?”

“There is nothing absurd about seeking to be a physician!”

Rowan put a hand over his eyes, pressing gently against his eyelids to ease the ache. “I'm sure I never said there was, but meant to describe this particular instance. It's late, Miss Renshaw.”

“If I'd meant to commit fraud, I'd have completed the negotiations by letter and sent payment in advance of my arrival, Dr. West. But I'd convinced myself that you were open-minded enough to respect a more direct approach.” She put his letter back into her pocket, as if to prevent him from taking it from her.

“You are nothing if not direct, Miss Renshaw.” He walked over to the side bar and poured himself a muchneeded drink. “Let's try again.”

“Yes, once more.” She sat back down as calmly as if he'd asked her to tea. “Once I've completed a successful apprenticeship, I am hopeful that a university will have difficulty arguing against my qualifications. Naturally, an apprenticeship with a country doctor would be easier to obtain, but just as easy to disregard. But as you are a London man, certified by the Royal Academy and a graduate of Oxford, they may take my training and dedication more seriously, and since I have no intention of allowing them to dismiss me simply because I'm a woman—it seemed a good plan.”

A part of his brain was actually in agreement, chiming in that if you ignored reality and the horrible power of entrenched old men and traditional thinking, the lovely bird might have a chance. But reason intervened as the throb behind his eyes began to keep pace with an ache in his neck.
Damn it, what was it she was saying before?
“Miss Renshaw, what exactly have you heard that would convince you of my
open-mindedness
?”

“I came from Standish Crossing.”

There's a cold wind from my past. Damn! A single winter spent in Standish Crossing and I'll be an old man before I'm allowed to forget it.
“And there's talk in the village, is there, of my secret desire to take on a female apprentice?”

“I don't think you'd enjoy hearing any of it repeated, Dr. West. Suffice it to say, I understood you weren't afraid to break the rules.”

He took a long sip of brandy before he answered her. “Really? I can't imagine being described in those terms. You misunderstood the gossips, Miss Renshaw, and have traveled a long way for nothing.”