Secret of the Wolf (30 page)

the details." He sipped his wine. "You said that you have four patients, I believe?”

"Five, now—I have a new case as of two weeks ago. And one of the original four is

really not a patient in the strictest sense of the word. He, like the others, had few

choices about where to go.”

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"But you and your father took all of them in.”

"We have benefited as much as they have.”

Feodor leaned toward her. "You are too modest, Johanna. These people are not merely

medical subjects to you.”

She couldn't argue with him in that. She wondered how well she would do in any

argument with such a man
.

And yet she wasn't disturbed at the idea of having met her equal, a male doctor who

neither condescended to her nor betrayed resentment at her accomplishments
.

He captured her gaze, drawing her out as surely as the summer sun brought the

Valley's grapes to ripeness. "Who is your most intriguing patient, Johanna?”

"Quentin Forster," she answered, without thinking. She'd meant to discuss her cases in

general terms before revealing names, and then only if she felt comfortable in doing so
.

"Is he your newest one?" he asked
.

Now that the subject was broached, her feelings were decidedly mixed. She was

inclined to trust Bolkonsky, and he definitely had the necessary skills and approach to

treat someone like Quentin. But to speak candidly about Quentin was going to be more

difficult than she had imagined
.

"Yes," she said. "A case of dipsomania, complicated by

delusions of lycanthropy.”

"Fascinating." Feodor stroked his lower lip. "Was he brought to you by family

members?”

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"No. He found us.”

"And have you had success in treating his condition?”

"I am

presently considering my options.”

"Tell me about him," Bolkonsky said. "Perhaps you can benefit by a second opinion.”

She took another quick sip of wine. "I was not being accurate when I said that Quentin

was my most intriguing patient. Irene DuBois is also a considerable challenge—”

"Irene DuBois? The actress? I saw her once on Broadway. Very

interesting.”

Surprised, Johanna glanced at his face and caught a faint shift in expression, as if he'd

blurted out something he hadn't intended to say
.

"My apologies for interrupting," he said, recovering smoothly. "You were speaking of

Quentin Forster—?”

"Actually, my greatest progress has been with a former soldier in the War, who has

suffered intermittent mania and long periods of catalepsy and melancholy. Let me tell

you a bit about him, instead.”

Feodor listened, but she could have sworn that a flash of displeasure darkened his ice-

blue eyes. That, she decided, must be the work of her overly sensitized imagination
.

Soon enough dinner arrived to rescue her, and they ate in relative silence. The food

was delicious, exquisitely prepared, and nothing like Mrs. Daugherty's plain but

nutritious cooking. Johanna enjoyed it less than she'd expected. She deliberately

avoided finishing her wine, even when Feodor offered more
.

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But after-dinner conversation returned to easier channels. She rose to leave, several

hours later, in good charity with Feodor Bolkonsky and somewhat bemused by her

earlier disquiet
.

"Thank you so much for the dinner, and the excellent company," she said
.

"You will come back tomorrow?" Feodor asked as he escorted her to the stable, where

they waited for the stable boy to harness Daisy. "I realize that you have your own

business to attend to, but I should very much like to continue our discussion of this

intriguing patient of yours.”

"Harper?”

"Quentin Forster. A lycanthrope is something I've never encountered before. And it's

precisely the kind of case I feel is best suited to my particular skills.”

How could she continue to demur, when Bolkonsky was so eager to help? She couldn't

have been given a more advantageous opportunity
.

"I look forward to it." She gave the well-fed horse a pat on the withers and accepted

Feodor's help into the buggy. "Is two o'clock satisfactory?”

He took her hand and kissed the air above it. "More than satisfactory.”

"Until tomorrow, then. Auf Wiedersehen.”

"Auf Wedersehen, my dear doctor.”

Johanna hurried Daisy into a trot, following the path by the last light of day. Something

like elation hummed through her body and filled her mind with a hundred new ideas.

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How much she'd missed, living here in the country! But surely there were few like Dr.

Bolkonsky, who could understand and match the flow of her thoughts so perfectly
.

Mrs. Daugherty was waiting up for her, concern evident in the set of her mouth.

"Thought you'd never get back," she said. "My girl's gone home.”

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have stayed away so long." She had a powerful urge to hug Mrs.

Daugherty, which would doubtless startle the old woman into believing she had run mad

herself
.

"I take it yer meetin' went well?”

"Very well, thank you." She caught the smells of leftover dinner in the kitchen.

"Everyone has retired?”

"Far as I know. Since you weren't here, they all went to bed early. I checked up on your

pa, but young Quentin has been takin' right good care of him.”

"Yes." Her heart did a somersault at the thought of seeing him again. She felt so much

hope
.

And a very strong need for a long, hot soak. "I know it's late, Bridget, but could you help

me prepare a bath?”

"I always keep water heatin' on the stove." The older woman squinted at Johanna and

slowly smiled. "Well, well. You're in the mood for luxuriatin', I can see that. He is a

handsome sort, your doctor.”

Johanna pretended not to hear the innuendo. "If you're sure you don't mind—”

"Not at all. You just go to your room and I'll take care of the rest.”

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Tripping lightly down the hall, Johanna paused to listen, hearing only the quiet of a

settled household. Papa was asleep. She went to her room and threw open the

windows to the evening breeze
.

Her bathtub, separate from the hip bath used by the others in the pantry off the kitchen,

was set in a corner of her room behind a screen. It was a small, personal indulgence

she wasn't able to use nearly often enough
.

She hummed under her breath as she undressed. Mrs. Daugherty came in with a

bucket of steaming water and emptied it into the tub, then brought in two more buckets

of cool water to mix in. It made for a very shallow and lukewarm bath, but Johanna

wasn't about to complain. She stepped behind the screen and shed the rest of her

clothing
.

"Will you take my dress for cleaning and brushing, Mrs. Daugherty? I may need it again

soon.”

"I will indeed.”

"Also, can you bring your girl tomorrow? I may have another appointment in town.”

The older woman chuckled. "Will you, now. Well, I s'pose my daughter can spare me an

extra day or two this week. Good night, Doc Jo.”

"And you." She waited until Mrs. Daugherty had closed the door, and sank into the tub.

If only she had that wine now

"Johanna.”

She sat bolt upright in the tub, sending water splashing over the edge
.

Quentin
.

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She was quite naked. Quentin knew that, had known before he walked through the

door. The scent of her skin had carried into the hallway, a perfume of bare flesh tinged

with the minerals in the water and a trace of perspiration that carried the unmistakable

signature of arousal
.

Not blatantly sexual, perhaps. But arousal just the same. And it had drawn Quentin to

her with the force of a deadly compulsion
.

He stopped at the sound of her indrawn breath. He'd given her warning. She was safe

behind the screen. But he wasn't safe. He wasn't safe at all
.

All day long he'd chopped at the fallen tree, trying to sweat her out of his system. It

hadn't worked. Harper's words rang in his head with each blow of the axe, and he'd

paced and listened and smelled the air for the first hint of her return to the Haven
.

Now she was here, and he couldn't wait any longer
.

"Quentin?" Her usually steady voice carried a quiver. "This is not a good time. I will

speak with you in the morning—”

"You were gone all day." His words sounded harsh even to his own ears
.

"Please leave," she said. He heard the splashing of water, imagined her covering her

full breasts with her arms in an instinctively protective gesture. He wet his lips
.

"I won't hurt you." An absurd statement. Of course he wouldn't hurt her, wouldn't rush

around the screen and scoop her from the water and lay her on the bed and ravish

her

"I would appreciate some privacy," she said
.

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So would I. With you. He struggled to rein in his unruly imagination. His mind was

spinning wanton images of him and Johanna cavorting in her bed, of her uninhibited

cries as he entered and rode her, of her skin flushed with passion
.

He could see far more than just her face if he stepped around the screen. He wildly

considered going back out to the yard, amid the stacks of newmade firewood, and

resuming his attack on the fallen oak he had yet to defeat
.

It wouldn't help. Nothing helped
.

"Mrs. Daugherty told me you went to meet a doctor," he said. A male doctor
.

"That is not your concern," she said sharply. Johanna was seldom angry
.

Her indignation did nothing to quell his own helpless arousal. Nor did the heavy scent of

a man's expensive cologne on her clothing, in the room—and underlying it, too faint to

identify, the smell of a strange male
.

He moved to her bed, where she'd laid out her undergarments. They smelled only of

her. The chemise was of material too coarse to be of the best quality, but he stroked it

against his face as if it were made of the finest silk. He inhaled her
.

"What are you doing?" she demanded. "This is not appropriate behavior. Leave at

once.”

She spoke as if to a child. Or a madman. He laughed hoarsely. "What are you afraid of,

Johanna? I just came in to say good-night.”

Do what she asks, he told himself. Leave
.

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Why should you? another part answered. Harper said she wants you. Make her admit it
.

He sat down on the edge of Johanna's bed, trapped between two conflicting forces. His

mind was the battleground. He couldn't get a grip on his thoughts, let alone make them

obey his will
.

"Quentin?”

He didn't trust himself to answer. The ugly, lustful propensity within him ruled his voice.

Another Quentin spoke in his mind, a second self, mocking his restraint—twisting in his

brain until the agony made him reach for a bottle that wasn't there
.

"I know you're still here, Quentin," Johanna said. Her voice had calmed, becoming that

of the impersonal physician once more. Quentin nearly hated her for that self-

possession
.

He was consumed by darker compulsions
.

Obsessed
.

"I am getting out now," she said
.

He could almost see her rising naked from the water. Lifting one long leg and then the

other, water streaming over her soft, fair skin. Breasts glistening, each erect nipple

crowned by clinging drops. Belly slightly rounded, full hips made to cradle a man's body,

strong thighs with a secret thatch of brown curls between
.

Quentin thrust his fingers into the bedcover, grabbing fistfuls of quilted cloth
.

Johanna walked out from behind the screen. She didn't cower or try to cover herself,

though she must have seen at once that he hadn't averted his gaze. She stood tall and

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defiant, her arms at her sides, only the rapid rise and fall of her breasts revealing her