Under the Pear Tree: A Victorian Christmas Story
Page 3
Dipping his head to hide his face, he rearranged his expression and pulled out his stethoscope. It was one of the new binaural models, and he’d been yearning to use it ever since he’d purchased it earlier in the week. If the bones of the foot couldn’t keep his mind off the proximity of Miss Porter, perhaps a new toy would.
She stepped aside as he approached Miss Norton, leaving only the trail of her clean soap smell behind. Norton’s Soap, naturally.
“Now, Miss Norton, perhaps you can tell me what’s the matter,” he said as he knelt down.
“I feel so ill,” the girl sobbed before dry heaving over the side of the bed. If there had been anything left in her stomach, it would’ve been all over his lap by now.
“I can see that,” he said with a smile. “When did it start?”
“After Miss Porter put me to bed.” Her eyes shot up to her governess before quickly adding, “But I started to feel sick just after supper.”
He looked to Miss Porter for clarity.
“Bedtime was around nine o’clock. Supper ended at seven,” she said, pushing a stray strand of hair off her face. “I felt her forehead before we sent Jeremy to fetch you. It wasn’t alarmingly warm, but she was bathed in sweat.”
“And when did Miss Cassandra wake you?” he asked.
“What time is it now?”
“Half past two.”
She closed her eyes a moment. “Perhaps a half hour ago? No more than forty-five minutes, surely.”
Dry heaving after forty-five minutes. A sweat but no alarmingly high temperature. He must be cautious when facing a potential fever because infections could ravage a patient’s body and mind, but with this particular patient he had his suspicions that something else was afoot.
“Do you feel feverish now, Miss Norton?” he asked.
Her eyes shifted around the room, landing everywhere but on him. “I do.”
He sat back on his haunches. He would bet five pounds that this was a case of psychology rather than physiology, for the little girl was telling bald-faced, unashamed lies.
“Miss Porter, a word, please.”
She nodded, and he followed her out of the room and into the dimly lit nursery, closing the children’s door behind him slightly.
“What do you think, Doctor? Is there any real danger?” she asked, pulling the edges of her dressing gown up around her throat. He wondered if she only now realized the impropriety of the situation he’d been very aware of since he’d entered the room.
She was hardly dressed, and he was in a full coat and collar. The thought sent blood rushing to his cock, and he shifted as it stiffened against his trouser leg. He prayed that the low light hid his growing arousal.
“I think the only danger is that neither of us shall get much sleep tonight,” he said.
Her eyes widened and cheeks flushed as he realized the accidental innuendo in his words. “That is to say— What I meant was—”
“That both of us were called away from our beds for no good reason. Yes, I understand, Dr. Fellows.”
He nearly sighed in relief. It didn’t matter that some people looked askance at governesses; to him she was a gentlewoman through and through. He would never dream of propositioning her in such a disrespectful manner. Miss Porter was what he wanted, but she wasn’t what he needed.
He needed to figure out a way to stop her nightly invasion of his dreams, wicked with her black hair hanging loose around her face and her olive skin temping him to taste. All he could hope was that putting an ocean between them might stop the little voice that kept urging him to one day reach out and haul her to him.
“You believe that Miss Norton is faking illness again,” she said, breaking into his thoughts, “but I assure you that my ruined slippers believe it to be very real.”
He watched as an idea dawned across her face. “Unless . . .”
He clasped his hands behind his back and bounced forward on his toes. “Does the household keep any syrup of ipecac on hand?”
“I really couldn’t say.”
“Well, shall we go see?”
“I wouldn’t want to keep you here any longer. I’m sure you must be wishing for your bed.”
This was his excuse to bow out and head home. An excuse he should take. He should absolutely not, under any circumstances, accept an offer to spend time rooting around cabinets in the dark with the woman he desired.
“I think that two sets of eyes will be better than one. Don’t you, Miss Porter?”
Buy The Governess Was Wicked to fall in love with the rest of Elizabeth and Edward’s love story.
About Julia Kelly
Julia Kelly is the award-winning author of sexy historical romances about smart women and the men who love them. She also writes fast-paced contemporary sports romance as Julia Blake. She picked up her first romance novel and the bad habit of reading well past her bedtime when she was thirteen. Years later, she decided to try writing books of her own and never looked back.
An Emmy-nominated TV producer and recovering journalist, Julia has called Los Angeles, Iowa, New York, and England home. She never met a pair of stilettos she didn’t love and still stays up too late reading.
The Matchmaker of Edinburgh Series
The Look of Love
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The Governesses Series
The Governess was Wicked
The Governess was Wanton
The Governess was Wild
One Week in Love Series
Seduction in the Snow
The Wedding Week
One Week in December
The Game Changer Series
(Writing as Julia Blake)
Changing the Play