by Jo Barrett
As he approached the library, two things struck him, the door was closed, which he had not done, and a basket of freshly cut flowers sat upon the hall table beside it.
With a grim frown, he turned the handle and silently entered his designated workroom to find the lovely Miss Wilton perusing his notes. He watched her for several minutes, admiring her beauty and her determination even more.
“You did warn me of your intentions, so I cannot blame anyone but myself for leaving my latest notes unguarded,” he said, and crossed to stand beside her. “However, I doubt they are of any use to you, Miss Wilton. My handwriting is quite atrocious.”
She slowly lifted her head, and he was struck hard by the tears standing in her eyes.
“He has Diabetes, doesn’t he?” she asked, her voice a faint pain-filled whisper.
“How did you—” He sighed and nodded. “Yes, I’m afraid so.”
She rose from her place at his worktable, her hands shaking. Horace reached for her, wanting to give her comfort, hoping she would allow him. His fingers brushed the sleeve of her dress and she stilled, then lifted her watery gaze to him. He gently closed his fingers about her arm and pulled her toward him.
Selena fell against the doctor’s chest, her face pressed to his coat, as a silent barrage of tears cascaded down her cheeks. He smelled of peppermint and chemicals. Odd that she would note his scent at such a moment, or the warm secure feeling his arms about her granted. His hand stroked her back as the other cupped the back of her head, keeping her pressed to his body.
“I will do all that I can for him. I am certain with a proper diet I can lengthen his life considerably,” he said, his deep voice vibrating through her.
She eased from his comforting embrace before she grew too accustomed to it. He handed her his handkerchief.
“Will you aid me in keeping him to his diet, Miss Wilton?”
Forcing a small smile to her lips, she nodded. “Yes, of course,” she said with a sniffle. “He will be very stubborn.”
He grinned at her. “Not unlike his daughter.”
“Yes, I am afraid so.” She smiled a bit brighter, her state somewhat improved for the moment, but knew she would cry most heartedly once she reached her room. “Well, I shall leave you to your work.” She turned and made her way to the door on unsteady legs, then paused. “Thank you, Doctor.”
He granted her a small bow and another smile as she left him to his work. It didn’t strike her until she reached the stairs that he had requested her aid, where the other doctors had all dismissed her as if she were no more than a child. This man was not only different in age and looks, but how he treated her. Almost as an equal, and not as some goddess to be admired. She decided in that moment that she would not only aid him in his treatment of her father, but in his research as well.
“Tomorrow,” she whispered. Tomorrow she would speak to him once she’d calmed herself and could discuss the disease, her father, and the doctor’s work without crying.
***
Horace stood for several moments, his heart still racing. It was as he feared, love was but a few steps away. The feel of her in his arms, the way in which her body fit so perfectly against his, left him with little doubt that he was bound to leave Primrose House with a broken heart.
Shaking away the dismal thought, he focused his mind on straightening his notes and work area. Thankfully, once he’d completed the mundane task, he was able to concentrate on learning more about the disease. At one point, while he was peering into his microscope, someone had brought him a dinner tray. He discovered it around ten in the evening, and although cold, he ate what he could before returning to his work.
Hours later, fatigue bore a heavy weight upon his shoulders, and he heard the hall clock chime the hour.
“Midnight,” he muttered.
Scowling at his lack of progress, he set the room to rights and made for bed, although he knew sleep would not come willingly. Between his puzzling work and the fair Miss Wilton, his mind was a torrent of contemplations.
The following morning, having slept as poorly as he feared, he felt a surge of energy at the sight of Miss Wilton sitting at breakfast. She was an absolute vision, save for the telltale sign of fatigue beneath her eyes. She’d not slept well either, and under the circumstances it was expected, but she still looked as lovely as ever.
She lifted her head from a letter she held in her hand and smiled. “Good morning, Doctor.”
“Good morning.” He filled his plate from the sideboard and took a seat beside her.
She reached for the pot of tea on the table and poured him a cup. “I hope you slept well.”
“Um, yes. Fine.”
She smiled with a shake of her head. “You are a terrible liar, Doctor. You worked quite late last night, and I suspect the puzzles are still milling about in your head.”
He grinned at her succinct observations. “You are very perceptive, Miss Wilton.”
She reached for the sugar and cream, an unspoken question in her gaze.
He shook his head at the offered flavorings. “I have always had difficulty sleeping when there are unanswered questions.”
“Would it help to talk about them?”
He chuckled. “I’m afraid the discussion would be painfully dull for you.”
She sat back in her chair and took a sip of her tea. “You’d be surprised what I find interesting.”
His smile fell. “Oh, I didn’t mean to suggest that you—that is to say, I think you’re one of the most intelligent women I’ve ever met, as well as beautiful.” He despised the heat surging up his throat.
She grinned over her tea cup. “Thank you. But I didn’t mean to suggest that you were insulting me.” Setting the cup down, she tilted her head and cast him a direct gaze. “I was actually attempting to lead our discussion into a particular direction.”
Forcing his embarrassment aside, he returned her regard. “And what direction would that be?”
“I wish to offer you my services as an assistant.”
“You wish to—” He sat back in his chair as a breath he’d not realized he held rushed from his lungs. Whatever he thought she wanted to discuss this most definitely was not it.
“I have assisted my father for some years in his correspondence and other dealings. I admit they were more of a social nature, but the skills are the same. I can take notes, transcribe your handwriting, and manage your office. I realize you don’t have any other clients, save my father, but you receive various periodicals, books, and equipment that all must be handled in an orderly fashion.”
She paused barely long enough to take a breath, but long enough for him to interrupt her by placing his hand atop hers where it lay upon the table. He had no right to touch her in such an intimate fashion, regardless of the day before when he’d comforted her, but it seemed the most prudent way. Or so he reasoned with himself.
“I’d be honored to have you assist me,” he said, knowing it was likely the worst idea ever conceived. He would be in her presence for hours on end, want her more with each passing moment, and yet with her near most of the day, the fascination could wither.
“You would?” She asked, her eyes wide, her voice barely a whisper.
“Absolutely. I think with your help, I may make some progress, and you will gain more knowledge that can be used to—let us say—keep your father on the right path.”
She turned her hand over and added the other, clasping him tightly. “Exactly! Oh, I cannot thank you enough, Doctor.”
“It is I who must thank you. As you have noticed, my handwriting leaves much to be desired.”
Sadly, she slipped her hands from his. “You write as quickly as you think, I believe,” she said with a giggle.
His brows rose at that. “I hadn’t thought of it like that, but I suppose you’re correct. I do try to get my thoughts down as quickly as possible, but I always thought it more of a rush to get back to my work.”
She waved her hand then reached for her
tea. “Oh, that goes without saying.” She took a quick sip, then rose from her seat. “I’ll let you finish your breakfast in peace while I go and change into something more appropriate for a secretary.” She crossed to the door, and without pausing in her stride, she called over her shoulder, “I’ll meet you in the library shortly.”
Selena could barely contain her excitement. She hurried up the stairs to change into something less alluring. She’d feared she’d have to use a bit of female ammunition to convince the doctor of her idea, but to find him so open to her suggestion was beyond anything. Rushing through her bedroom door, already tugging at her clothes, she let loose with a laugh. To have a man actually see her as something other than a goddess made her giddy with pleasure.
She paused as her skirts fell to her feet. Was it his acceptance of her idea or his hand upon hers that had her heart hammering in her breast? The question refused to be ignored and had a rather sobering effect. She sank to the cushion in front of her dressing table and glanced over her shoulder at the woman in the mirror. Her cheeks flushed, her eyes bright, what had truly caused such a reaction?
Slowly, she rose and went about changing her gown, her mind tumbling over the conundrum.
“I suppose,” she murmured to herself, “that I could perform a few experiments of my own.” Yes, data was required to determine the cause. And working by his side for hours would give her ample opportunity to gather that data.
A secretive smile stole over her lips as she left her room.
Chapter Three
Mr. Wilton was intrigued, or so it seemed, by their unusual arrangement. Horace was quite honored that the man trusted him with his daughter un-chaperoned for such long hours. Then again, he supposed by having her work with him, there would be less time for her to nag him about his eating habits.
But Miss Wilton was nobody’s fool. She’d quietly adjusted his meals through the cook and held firm that none of the staff were to give her father a single thing to eat or drink that was not on her approved list. A list they had spent many late night hours creating. Hours of smelling her sweet scent, hours of watching her glide about the room, hours of aching to touch her—taste her.
He ran a hand through his hair and rubbed his neck as he straightened from his hunched position over his microscope. When thoughts of her rambled around in his brain, there was no use but to take a much needed break from his work. He’d discovered over the last few weeks that he could concentrate for several hours at a time in her presence, somehow satisfied that she was there. But after a time, when the work would wear him down, the puzzles and questions too much for him to deal with, his mind would turn to thoughts of her for succor. There were no questions there, only perfection.
His gaze drifted to where she sat at the desk, scribbling away and transcribing his older notes. It wasn’t her beauty alone that enthralled him. She had excellent penmanship, a vast vocabulary he doubted any other lady of the ton possessed, and a way of organizing things in a most logical fashion.
She lifted her head, a puzzled frown upon her rosy lips, and he took full advantage of the opportunity to speak with her. “A difficult passage or is it my horrendous penmanship, Miss Wilton?”
Selena cast him a smile, ready for yet another of her own tests. “Neither, actually. I was just thinking.”
He moved closer to stand beside her at the desk, and just as expected as every time before, her heart sputtered in her breast and her breathing hitched. It would seem she was most decidedly attracted to the doctor.
“And what were you thinking?” he asked, holding out a tin of peppermints. She adored the fact that he had a terrible sweet tooth and carried peppermints in his pocket at all times.
She took one with a nod of thanks. “Well, I was thinking that we should be on a first name basis by now, don’t you agree?”
“I’d be honored if you called me Horace.”
“And you may call me Selena.” She glanced to the garden and the sunny afternoon and had an idea. “I think, Horace, that we should take a stroll. I could use a respite from my work.”
“I think that’s a splendid idea.”
She rose and took his arm, thrilled to have the opportunity to spend time with him outside the library. Usually, they were either caught up in their various tasks, working singularly, which made it difficult for her to gather her own much needed data, or they were dining with her father.
Together they walked the many paths through the flower garden. Most of their stroll was in silence, allowing her to soak up the sun and his presence. Never had she ever reacted to a man the way she had with him. It wasn’t just the catch in her breath or the rapid tattoo of her heart when he was near, it was the way he tilted his head when she talked, truly listening to her words, and how he responded, honestly and without any condescension. It was his kindness, his determination to help others through his profession, her father in particular. It was so many things, she couldn’t begin to name them all.
Her step faltered. Could she be falling in love with him?
“Are you all right?” he asked, startling her from her thoughts.
“What?”
“You seem concerned about something.”
“Oh, I was just thinking—about my father,” she added, but her concern was great. Would her father accept her choice in a husband? Assuming Dr. Kensington was of a mind to propose. He hadn’t made any sort of overture, nothing to even hint at marriage.
“I have noticed some improvement in him,” he said.
She absently nodded, her thoughts refusing to change direction.
“Are you sure you are all right? Perhaps we’ve walked too long in the sun and should return indoors.”
She looked at his handsome face, wondering how she might discover his feelings, not having ever had to do such a thing before. The gentlemen of her acquaintance had always been rather vocal in that regard. Strange to have the tables turned on her for a change. Perhaps she should attempt some of the more interesting tactics once tried upon her.
Horace stilled as she looked at him for several interminable seconds, an odd smile upon her rosy lips. He’d learned to read her facial expressions quite well over the last few weeks, but this was different.
“Something is troubling you, Selena, and I wish to help, if you will allow it.”
“Yes. Yes, I believe you can, Horace,” she said, then placed her hands atop his shoulders, lifted onto her toes, and pressed her lips to his.
He stood frozen in place, his eyes wide with shock, as she caressed his mouth with hers.
Why? Why had she chosen to kiss him, of all people? Not that he didn’t want her kiss, but the fact that she’d chosen to do so sent his mind reeling. He didn’t know what to do, how to react. Should he wrap his arms around her as he wanted to do? Should he return the feather like caress of her lips with something more as he ached to do?
Her hands slid from his shoulders and she opened her eyes. She eased away, taking the unexpected warmth of her body, the unexpected gift of her kiss and the pleasure it brought, leaving him wishing he’d done something other than stand there like an idiot debating with himself.
“I—I had thought perhaps—” She fisted her hands in her skirt and shook her head. “I’m sorry.” She turned and hurried toward the house.
“Wait, please!”
Selena didn’t stop at his call, and ran straight to her rooms, her heart stuck in her throat. What a fool she’d just made of herself! She couldn’t bear to face him now…if ever. She supposed it could have been worse, he could have laughed at her, or turned away in disgust. Still his coldness, the complete lack of response, had answered her question. He held no interest in her. As a matter of fact, to him, she was merely a woman, one he used as a tool in his work. She clasped a hand over her mouth, stifling the bitter laugh before it could escape. She’d gone from one extreme to the other. From Greek goddess to drudge.
Once safely in her bedroom, she threw the bolt closed then collapsed upon her bed. Hot tear
s scalded her cheeks. She would leave that very night and go to her aunt in London once she’d gathered her wits. There she could return to her pedestal where she would stay, safe from further heartache.
***
Pacing the garden, raking his fingers through his disheveled hair, Horace was beside himself with worry. He could have, should have handled the entire episode better, but she’d caught him completely unawares. He’d never dreamed she would harbor any sort of tendre for him. He was a doctor, nothing more.
His own father, although a gentleman, couldn’t begin to compete with the wealth and station of Mr. Wilton. Horace himself had little to offer her. No connections, no status, no accomplishments of note. Why would she ever deem him worthy of her kiss?
He sank to a stone bench, his hands fisted together, only to rise and pace the garden path once more. He couldn’t begin to compete with Selena’s other suitors. He’d be a laughing stock, which would do him no favors in winning clients. Clients he would need, as he would soon be moving on, having done all he could for her father.
“Her father,” he muttered, his chin falling to his chest. The man would never sanction a marriage between them, no matter how highly he thought of Horace as a doctor and scientist.
With a heavy heart, he made his way back up the path toward the house, the facts quite plain. He wasn’t worthy of Selena Wilton’s affections.
“Out for a stroll, Kensington?”
Horace swallowed hard as he glanced to the direction he’d come from and to where Mr. Wilton sat upon the terrace. The man displayed no knowledge of having witnessed the kiss, but his chair was angled in a most definite direction.
“Yes, sir. I, um, thought that with the extraordinary good weather of late, it would be nice to enjoy the gardens for a few moments.”
The old gent grinned. “And with a pretty girl on your arm it makes it all the more lovely, does it not?”
“Yes, sir, it does.” Even though it appeared as if the old gent approved of him spending time with his daughter, he held no false hopes that he would expect them to be anything more than friends. And yet, he would never know if he didn’t ask.
