Ecstasy Wears Emeralds

by Renee Bernard

  “Because until this moment when it served your purposes, you never argued directly against it. When I threatened blackmail, not even knowing the details, you never fought it. You never denied anything. And when I first told you my aunt’s name, I swear your face became pale. If there is nothing to it and you are innocent, then why in the world did such a ridiculous threat work?” She crossed her arms. “If you were innocent, then why would you have confessed?”

  It was the closest he’d ever come to striking a woman. He could explain nothing to her or offer a single defense without unraveling every promise he’d ever made to Charlotte’s memory, but the injustice of having his choices thrown in his face was more of a slap than he’d anticipated. Everything in the world crystallized into a moment of pure frozen fury, and it was all he could do to simply turn his back on her and walk out.

  Chapter 5

  “I’ve taken on an assistant.”

  “Thank God!” Ashe’s reaction was not ambivalent. “You need three!”

  “One is enough.” He raked a hand through his hair and settled without ceremony onto the nearest sofa. “Your recent insanity is contagious, Ashe. It seems I’ve decided to forgo convention and destroy my own peace of mind by actually hiring a woman.”

  “Really?” Ashe’s astonishment was genuine, and he sat down next to his friend, staring at him as if he’d just spontaneously sprouted a unicorn horn. “You? How is that even remotely possible?”

  “I’m not even sure. One minute I’m nursing a headache and so tired I can’t feel my tongue anymore, and the next . . . I’m losing arguments with the devil’s own daughter. Miss Gayle Renshaw is a force to be reckoned with.”

  “I like her already!”

  “No, you don’t. You aren’t allowed to like her, Ashe.”

  “Why can’t I like her? I love a good argument, and if she’s providing you with a nice debate or two, what’s not to enjoy? So, you’ve hired a nurse to help with patients. Is that what you’ve done?”

  “She wants to be a physician! Can you imagine such a thing? I have a female apprentice.” Rowan relaxed his grip on a pillow and tried to sit back. “I’m in real trouble, Ashe.”

  “Ha! Where’s the trouble? Every man in England would probably happily volunteer to see a doctor if he had the choice of a woman over one of the dour old men you tend to stand about with! Hell, that’s probably why you’ve kept women out of the profession!” Ashe leaned in with a mischievous grin. “Can’t stand a bit of pretty competition?”

  “Who the hell said she was pretty?” Rowan snapped back.

  “You certainly didn’t, but there’s no denying it now after the face you just made! Damn, Rowan! Did you hire her because she’s beautiful? Has my saintly friend fallen prey to his desires?”

  “You, sir, are an idiot—and should be extremely grateful to have friends who will tolerate you.” Rowan abandoned his seat to pace in fury. “I happen to loathe Miss Renshaw.”

  “You don’t have it in you, West. I’ve seen you spare a kind word to the worst sort of people. Hell, even in that dungeon I don’t remember you ever say—”

  “I hate this woman!”

  “Careful.” Ashe smiled. “That’s a trap any man can lose his heart in.” He poured himself a generous brandy from the small cabinet under his writing desk. “If you were indifferent, I wouldn’t worry, but you sound like you’re a bit too emotionally involved, Rowan.”

  “That’s nonsense! You never hated Caroline!”

  “Have you forgotten my fantasies of murdering her in her sleep?” Ashe jested, reminding Rowan of his own lost battle to guard his heart from the woman who was now his unconventional American bride. “I was besotted and didn’t even know it.”

  “This is completely different!” Rowan had to keep his hands clenched behind his back so that Ashe wouldn’t see the fists that itched to punch his friend’s handsome face for hinting at the impossible. “Trust me. This. She. Never.”

  “Well, if she’s gotten you so spitting mad that you’re making incoherent social calls, I’m not going to complain. Usually we’re the ones invading your home and putting up our feet on your desk—and since I am now a devoted husband, my wife has informed me that the practice may have been quite rude. What a revelation!”

  “It wasn’t an invasion. Carter misses you dreadfully, though he’d hang himself before he said it. And you know the Jaded have never to ask. My home is open to all of you. You’re family.”

  “You’re growing maudlin these days, Rowan. Are you sure your lovely apprentice hasn’t tied your tail in a knot?”

  “She’ll be gone in a week. Medicine can seem a romantic art until she’s scorched her hands in the lab a few times and caught a glimpse of the pile of reference books I’m going to insist she memorize before next Sunday. She’ll quit or she’ll die of exhaustion. Either way, I’ll have the harpy out of my hair in a matter of days.”

  “Hmm. That doesn’t sound very Hippocratic of you. Didn’t you swear to never do harm in that oath?”

  “Surprisingly, no. Not specifically, although there is a bit about refraining from giving people poison.”

  “Well, that’s something.” Ashe gave him a wry smile. “I think I like you better surly and a bit menacing like this, Dr. West. Caroline will be astonished when I tell her you stopped by to growl over a woman.”

  “I did not—” Rowan caught himself before he took the bait completely. “Are you in Town for the winter?”

  “No, we’ll go to Bellewood and see my grandfather again just after Michaelmas. Caroline has insisted on it, and for once, I think I’m going to enjoy spending time in the country. If only to watch the old monster melt and fawn all over my darling girl. To this day, I don’t think she realizes what pawns we were in that old man’s game, but I have no complaints.”

  “He was quite the matchmaker.”

  Ashe nodded. “Too bad you don’t need his services. I could have asked him to make arrangements for you, but since you’re well on your way to bliss, we wouldn’t want to interfere.”

  “Damn it, Ashe! You’re worse than a housebound widow with this nonsense! I’ll have Miss Renshaw off my hands in a week, and you, sir, will owe me an apology!” Rowan left the room, grabbing his coat out of Godwin’s waiting hands in the foyer, anger making it a bit more energetic of a departure than he would have liked.

  He’d wrenched open the front door only to surprise the lady of the house on the other side. Caroline stood on the doorstep with her ladies’ maid, Daisy, both of them flushed and happy from their outing to the shops.

  “Is everything all right with Ashe?” Caroline asked quickly.

  “I was here for purely social reasons, Mrs. Blackwell.”

  “Then why do you look like a man with a porcupine in his pocket?” she asked, setting her boxes aside.

  Rowan smiled. Ashe’s American wife had a refreshing candor that made him glad for his friend. Life would never be boring for Ashe Blackwell with a woman like Caroline to contend with. “Madam, you do have a unique way with words. I just had . . . news to share with your husband.”

  “Good news, I hope.”

  “I’ve taken on an assistant.” It came out clipped, and he almost winced at his confessionlike tone, but her cheerful reply made him groan aloud.

  “Thank heavens! You need three!”

  Misery.

  She’d been an absolute harridan to the man, and after he’d stormed out, she’d wasted an hour facedown sobbing on her bed. What was it about him that made her want to spit and claw like a cat? He’d said nothing to counter her horrible accusations, and once again, she was left with the paradox of those sad, beautiful eyes looking back at her, his rugged countenance sober and furious at the sting of the charges she’d thrown in his face. He looked like a man offended and not like a man indifferent to his sins.

  He’s like that handsome Iago in Othello, with all the appearance of a gentleman and trusted man, but if I forget what I know to be true, I’m lost.

/>   I’m tired and already, every time I see him, it’s a struggle to remember any of it. Standish Crossing is a million miles away and none of it feels real.

  What had Aunt Jane said? It was clearly spoken and I wasn’t imagining it! She said that Charlotte would be alive today if she hadn’t met Dr. Rowan West and fallen under his spell. She’d said that he was as responsible for the death of her daughter as if he’d been there to strangle her. And that he’d confessed as much and then turned his back on her and never returned to Standish Crossing.

  And now I’ve called him a villain and a liar—in return for everything he’s done for me. He opened his home and practice, and taught me, even if I have forced him to it; he’s been gracious enough, hasn’t he?

  Peter James was barely an acquaintance, but she’d felt comfortable with him. He’d smiled and seemed encouraging when she’d hinted at her ambitions where Rowan had called them absurd and done everything he could in their first conversations to dissuade her. I tell Rowan nothing of myself, not because I’m afraid of him, but because it’s all too easy to like him.

  Perhaps I already do like him too much. Am I in danger, like Charlotte, of falling under his spell? But what danger could he represent? Haven’t I already lost my reputation and perhaps my place in society? There’s no going back! I have to amend things and convince him to continue my apprenticeship and take me forward.

  I have to prove to him that I’m truly sorry.

  Because she was.

  Chapter 6

  It was late in the afternoon when the bell finally rang, heralding his return. Gayle glanced quickly at the mirror, a habit of vanity, smoothing one of the black braids of hair back to tuck it up out of the way and into an elegant twist. She’d deliberately selected one of her better work dresses, the periwinkle print flattering her coloring and figure. It was a feeble gesture, but she was afraid that she’d done so much damage to the strange relationship they’d enjoyed that perhaps even the smallest thing would help her cause.

  She came down the stairs so quickly that she found him still in the entryway with Carter.

  “You look tired, doctor. And”—Carter was holding out what remained of Rowan’s mangled hat—“mishap, sir?”

  “See what Mrs. Evans can do to restore the damn thing. I must have accidentally sat on it in the carriage.”

  Carter gave it a dubious look—as the crown of it hung by a single thread—before nodding. “We’ll do our best.”

  Rowan gently caught his arm as he turned away. “Wait, Carter. Don’t bother Mrs. Evans with it. I don’t think a street urchin would want it in its current condition. Why don’t you ask her to buy me a new one, instead? I have an account at that haberdashery off Drummond Street. Theo can drive her and she may even enjoy the outing.”

  Carter brightened considerably. “She’d like that a great deal, doctor. But don’t be surprised if she isn’t after you to get a new coat while you’re at it.”

  “One thing at a time, Mr. Carter. One thing at a time.”

  “Dr. West,” Gayle spoke to him as she descended the stairs, anxious to catch him before he announced that he was going to his room to rest.

  Carter’s look was disgruntled iron as he left with the doctor’s hat to find Mrs. Evans. But Rowan’s eyes were clear and his expression neutral. “Miss Renshaw.”

  “I’m . . . sorry.” She’d intended to try small talk and remark on the unseasonably warm weather for his call, but the words of regret tumbled out.

  Two steps from the bottom, she was standing nearly eye to eye with him, and for the first time, Gayle was aware that Rowan’s eyes were the color of an English forest, dark green and brown in a potent blend.

  At last, he spoke. “As am I.” He picked up his leather bag. “If you don’t mind, I’ll drop this off in my private study on our way upstairs.”

  She walked with him up the staircase, surprised at the sudden forgiveness so easily given. “Thank you. I’d expected a bit more yelling and you’ve every right to do so. I was horrible this morning.”

  They reached the landing to the first floor and he opened the doors into his private study. “Yes, you were.”

  She opened her mouth to protest, but then realized he was smiling. “To what do I owe your good humor, doctor?”

  “I made a social call on a good friend and his wife who both reminded me in their own ways that no matter what else may or may not be true—I did need an apprentice.” He sighed and managed a cheerful shrug. “Theo took me on a ride around the park, and when I found myself reliving the morning and losing my perspective . . .”

  She had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. “You murdered your hat and felt better?”

  “Amazingly refreshing and well worth it.” He smiled, nodding as he placed his bag next to the large ornate desk at the room’s center. Rowan sat on the edge of the desk to face her. “No more battles today, Miss Renshaw. Agreed?”

  She hesitated. He could have demanded that I behave from now on. He could have said, Never again. And I would have readily agreed. How can he be this kind after everything I said? “Agreed. No more battles.”

  “Today.”

  “Why not require a more lasting truce?”

  His gaze never wavered. “It’s not in your nature, Miss Renshaw, and at least if you’re openly fighting me on the battlefield, I don’t have to worry about you cutting my throat in my sleep.”

  She gasped at the imagery but held her tongue.

  “But I will request one more thing if you’re in a giving mood.”

  “And what is that?”

  “That you use that clever head of yours and make up your own mind. A scientist would hardly make a summary judgment based on the word of someone else and not trust his own experiences and observations.”

  “You want me to trust you.”

  “I want you to trust your own instincts. I want you to have proof before you start slinging libel in my direction, Miss Renshaw. Hearsay has its place, but not in this instance. Construct your own opinions and leave rumor out of it. If you decide that I am the worst of the worst, then so be it. But let a man demonstrate villainy before you call him one. Agreed?”

  “Agreed,” Gayle said, then she realized just how absorbed she’d been in their conversation and her quest for forgiveness as the library’s ambience struck her for the first time. “Oh, my!”

  Everything about the room was warm and inviting, with its floor-to-ceiling shelves of books and curios, every decoration placed almost at random until it was nearly impossible not to smile at the African masks leaning up against a statuette of the Roman goddess Ceres or the model of a Nordic ship that had decided to land next to an Arabian camel doll complete with bells.

  The chairs were all overstuffed and upholstered in leather or brocades so worn that it was hard to discern the original patterns, but every one invited a guest to linger without any regard to their posture. Even the floor was a wonderful eclectic mix of various small rugs woven in one country or another until the sight of a bearskin peeking out from behind Rowan’s desk came as no surprise.

  Where the rest of his home was orderly and elegant, the character of his private sanctuary was completely unique—and she wondered if this were a better glimpse of the man. “Your study is . . .”

  Rowan nodded. “Florence has finally forgiven me for her being the unlucky soul who has to dust in here. Mrs. Evans used to, but her arthritis isn’t improved by this particular exercise. It’s a jumble, but it’s a good jumble.”

  “Where did all these wonderful things come from?” She circled to a curio cabinet filled with glass and ceramic figures blended in with strange pipes and antique devices.

  “The men in my family for as long as anyone can remember have enjoyed traveling abroad for academic purposes. This little library was transformed into our odd trophy room and study. Other homes boast stags’ heads and lions and, well, as you see . . . Wests hunt ancient scrolls and salt shakers.”

  “A hero’s
spoils!” She stood with a smile.

  “If my grandfather’s obsession with trying to discover the medicinal powers of rare water lily species can be qualified as heroic, or my father’s fascination with the dark continent of Africa and ritual wood carving, then . . . yes. The West men are notoriously interested in all things most decidedly foreign and have historically succeeded only in the scholarly sense of the word.”

  “No fortunes made abroad?”

  “My ancestors had a complete disinterest in anything remotely resembling a commercial interest in their travels. They sought the priceless rewards of knowledge.”

  “As did you on your travels to India, am I right?”

  He nodded, a modest flush creeping across his face. “I did.”

  “And where are your trinkets and souvenirs? While your ancestors may not have had a talent for fortune hunting, they did seem to have a good eye for wonderful bits and pieces of the exotic world.”

  “My fortune is tucked away in the books in this room. Their contents should be enough for any man.” He shrugged, as if embarrassed or uncomfortable with the topic. “But enough. Let’s head to the laboratory and see if we can’t make the most of the day.”

  Our battle-free day, he means. “Yes, that sounds wise.”

  They left the study to make their way up the stairs together, and Gayle reveled in the ease she felt around him again. “I’m a terrible person when I’m tired, Dr. West.”

  “Then your patients are in for the worst of it, Miss Renshaw. Women in confinement don’t choose to wait until you’re rested to bring you out on a wintry night for a long delivery, nor sick children with a cough, nor any patient for that matter. Fevers don’t break simply because you’re tired or you’ve been at one bedside nor another for three days straight.” His tone held no reprimand but echoed with the sorrowful demands of their profession. “You’ll have to learn to sleep whenever and wherever you can—and you’ll have to practice your social graces when you’re overtaxed.”