He drew a woman’s eyes with his effortless good looks; his russet hair was longer in the back than fashion dictated, but it gave him a wild edge that made her heart beat faster. For all his intellectual pursuits, he held himself like a warrior. Even exhausted, there was a latent energy in the way he moved—as if ready to leap at the next call for help.
At last, he came down to join her, hat in hand, and they left to find Theo at the ready outside. Without a word, Rowan tossed in his bag and then helped her up before climbing inside the carriage to settle back with a ragged sigh.
“What a night!” He stretched his long, lean legs out but carefully kept them off her skirts. “I think I aged ten years. Hell with that! I’m sure of it.”
“Who would poison Mrs. Blackwell? Why?”
“They’ll be found and made to pay—whoever they are.”
There is more to the story than he’s saying. He and Mr. Blackwell didn’t look completely surprised, and what was that nonsense about knowing it was Sunday? They knew there was danger. Rowan said as much, but has it passed or is the murderer going to try again?
“He truly loves her.” Gayle’s whisper was quiet but captured his attention completely in the dim confines of the carriage. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen that kind of love before. Not until tonight. Not until—” She stopped herself, horrified to think she’d almost said you.
“Gayle, I—”
“Please don’t say anything, Rowan. Just kiss me and make me forget everything.” She left her seat, shifting over into his arms. Her knees were already trembling from exhaustion, but no lack of rest could inhibit her need for him at that moment. Her fingers framed his face, and she kissed him without waiting for his reply. His cheeks were rough underneath the palms of her hands, the differences between them all the sweeter as they gave her the friction she craved.
As the kiss deepened, there was an emotional edge to it that made her wonder if she’d lost her mind.
Madness. I want him to the point of madness.
She sought a touch that would heal, but demanded no tenderness, drawing his tongue into her mouth and suckling him, as if he alone could give her the sustenance she needed to survive. Bruising kisses flowed into a frantic dance that brought tears to her eyes.
There was not enough time in the ride home to lose any clothing—not enough room to maneuver—and it made every second more potent and strange. She was so tired that her own body felt like an alien machine to be directed but not necessarily controlled.
“Don’t be gentle. I need to feel, Rowan.”
She wanted to be grounded, tethered to the land of the living and shaken out of the icy lethargy that gripped her heart. Grief and death had dulled her senses. She didn’t want to remain in a fog of loss and melancholy.
The heat of his lips to hers was a hint of the purifying fire that Rowan offered.
His hands moved to frame her face, trying to push her tenderly back and slow down the onslaught, but she fought him, biting the sensitive juncture behind his ear, and he stiffened beneath her.
Game on.
It was a rush. This was like a battle of wills, but Rowan wasn’t sure where the lines had been drawn. He knew only that Gayle was desperately in need and his own body had thickened without bothering to debate the why or the right or wrong of it. There wasn’t time to argue as her fingers slipped under his coat and began digging at his shirt to free it from his pants.
Damn it! Slow, woman, slow!
For Rowan, it was bittersweet. This was the woman he was destined to lose.
The lace attached to the collar of her dress gave way easily, and he was able to tug down on her corset just enough to free the jutting peaks of her breasts. It was the distraction he needed to wrest control away from her. She threw her head back, arching into the attentions of his mouth as he suckled her, circling her nipple with his tongue and laving her in fast tight circles that made her shiver and buck against him.
With his free hand, he lifted her petticoats and found her underneath her skirts, sliding his hand over her already wet flesh. He pushed a finger into the soft silk that coated his touch and dipped it just inside her body to toy with her entrance as his thumb moved across her clit. Faster and faster, he lightly moved over the swollen nub, then waited as the muscles of her body clenched around his finger—only to add another finger and stretch out the sensation.
“Yes! Rowan, yes!”
The speed of his touch increased even more, coaxing her clit until she was bucking against his hand and he had to use all his strength to keep her from falling off his lap.
And then he slowly inserted a third finger, pressing her open as her muscles spasmed to accept the invasion of his touch. Only then did he begin to move his fingers, in and out, a slow counterpoint to the hummingbird-fast touch of his thumb. He was frigging her with his hand and she was helpless to stop him. She began writhing, as if to fight the climax building inside of her, but her thighs widened to give him all the permission he needed.
“I need . . . you . . . inside of me.”
“I am inside of you, Gayle.” His answer came through gritted teeth as he increased the speed of his fingers, determined to propel her into coming.
“No. You. This. Please.” Her hand found his cock through the cloth of his pants, giving it a wicked squeeze as she stroked the outline of his erection. “Rowan, please!”
He shook his head, then teased her throat and nipped at the sensitive juncture of her neck and shoulder. “No, Gayle. I have no protection with me. We cannot.”
Rowan was doing anything he could to pleasure her, to taste her and be gratified vicariously by the release she would have—but there was no way under God’s vast heaven he was going to put her at risk. His own past experiences provided an icy wall of suffering that left no room for compromise.
This time, my apprentice is going to have to learn to do without.
“Please, Rowan—I want nothing between us. I need to feel you inside of me.”
“Come, woman. Just come.”
It was a strange declaration of war.
“No.” Her voice was like a soft growl in the dark of the carriage, but her breath came faster and faster as the pressure of his fingers lightened and changed—softer, harder, more, less, slower, faster—until there was nothing in the world but the feeling of his hand there, of her breasts pushed up into the chilled air of the night and his mouth suckling her.
“Oh! Oh, Rowan . . .” And then he was there, at the pace and pressure exactly where she needed him to be, and she knew there was no denying the ecstasy that began to flood her spine and arc over skin.
She kicked out with her legs, a frustrated cry escaping her lips, but even as she tried to deny him what he wanted, wave after wave of orgasm ripped through her frame, and she came in a glorious rush that left her tearful and quiet with exhaustion.
The carriage slowed to a stop at the brownstone, and for once, Rowan wasn’t quick to open the door and leap out. He waited while she finished adjusting the lace collar of her dress, her eyes averted and her cheeks still stained from the exertion of their coupling.
“Take your time. Theo won’t—”
“I’m fine.” She opened the door herself and alighted without waiting for him.
Rowan followed, bag in hand, unsure if he could just let her stalk off, but he knew better than to humiliate her in front of Theo by revealing too much.
Carter met them at the door. “Mrs. Evans has a late supper hot and ready for you both.”
“That sounds perfect, Carter. We’ll—”
“I’ll take a tray in my room, if you don’t mind,” Gayle interrupted him, her demeanor quiet and withdrawn. “I’m a bit too tired to make a good dinner companion.”
Rowan was surprised, but he couldn’t argue with Carter there. “As you wish. It was a difficult call. I can check with you later if you’d like to go over any notes for—”
“I’ll retire early tonight and transcribe everything in the morning,
Dr. West.” She excused herself, nodding to Carter. “Good night, Carter.”
“Was Mrs. Blackwell terribly injured, doctor?” Carter asked anxiously, and Rowan was obliged to reassure him and give what report he could of the ominous event. He omitted the Blackwells’ private tragedy but decided that an alerted household was a safer household.
“Poison, you say?” Carter was horrified.
“Be sure to tell Cook that any deliveries she takes, she should take only from a trusted source and face-to-face, if possible. If it shows up on the doorstep, and no one is sure where it came from, I want it out. Now is not the time to assume that a grateful patient has dropped off biscuits!”
Carter shook his head. “Poor Barnaby!”
“Why is Barnaby in a position of sympathy?” Rowan asked, but he could feel the answer coming and began to smile.
“Those women are going to have him tasting everything in there, like some poor medieval page boy, testing for poison. And while he may think it grand at first, I predict you’ll have the complaint of a stomach ache before the end of the week, doctor, if she makes him go through the entire larder!”
Rowan laughed, harder than he had in weeks, grateful for the release. But even as he wiped his eyes, he glanced up at the staircase where she’d gone and wished that Gayle had lingered awhile longer to share in the levity.
You need more laughter in your life, Miss Renshaw.
It was too much. Gayle felt bruised and so uncertain as she made her way to her room. They’d saved Caroline Blackwell’s life, but the bittersweet loss of the unborn child weighed heavily on her. But it was about more than grief or sympathy for her new friends that slowed her steps and made her want to crawl into her bed and hug her knees.
What pressed against her hardest was jealousy.
To see the pair of them, so strong and caring of each other, and so united even when they were vulnerable to such random violence—it had been inspiring to watch.
Whenever my mother had so much as a head cold, my father would move into the hunting lodge or come up with some business to take him to Town. For Emily, he stayed, but never for anything or anyone after that.
Gayle shut the laboratory door behind her and leaned against it, as if a horde of angry demons was clamoring on the other side. Can you hunger for a thing and not starve? Is it just a matter of self-control? Can I set these daydreams and new desires aside or have I gone too far? Is it my soul that will be consumed instead?
Rowan’s touch in the carriage had promised so much more than carnal release or temporary pleasure. In the impossibly tight confines of a carriage where it shouldn’t have been anything but raw, he’d conveyed a regard for her and made her feel cherished somehow. It was as if he took nothing for granted.
I was like a woman possessed. I . . . I was more than wanton. I was wild.
She’d begged him to use her. She’d wanted nothing more than to throw caution to the winds and surrender the battle of wills that was threatening to tear her apart. Instead, he’d kept his promises, almost maddening her with his resolve.
He has more integrity than I do. I’m crumbling in on myself because I want more than I can have and because Rowan deserves so much more. She walked through the lab, trailing her fingers over the tables and glass. He deserves what Ashe has.
She knew that Rowan deserved to be loved like that. He deserved that kind of devotion. Because it was obvious that he would give love and devotion in return, without any thought to equal measures. Every fiber in her being recognized that this was no ordinary man to disappoint her or retreat. He made her feel like there was nothing in the world that she couldn’t have or accomplish.
But what if Caroline has it wrong? What if you can’t preserve your independence and have that kind of love? I’ve spent a lifetime convincing myself that I didn’t need a man to be happy and that once I became a doctor, I wouldn’t have any regrets.
There was a soft knock at her door, and she could hear Rowan’s muffled voice on the other side. “Gayle? Gayle, are you all right?”
She stood, walked over, and deliberately threw the dead bolt into place. The sound of the metal latch catching was like a cannon going off, and she waited several long seconds before she could hear his footsteps retreating through the laboratory and returning downstairs.
For now, she was awash in regret.
I’m drowning in regret, and if I didn’t know better, I’d think I might die of it, Rowan.
Chapter 23
The next morning broke with a thin gray light that subtly invaded her sleep and finally woke her when the sound of a morning drizzle against her windows announced the day’s arrival. She sat up abruptly, shocked to discover she’d slept so soundly.
Gayle had anticipated a restless night when she’d fallen asleep in tears, but her body had ignored the troubles of her conscience and seized the sleep it needed to heal. She checked the small clock on her nightstand and was amazed at the hour. It was nearly ten, and she leapt out of bed in a flurry, determined to prove to Rowan that her reliability wasn’t in question.
I’ll bet he was at breakfast before Mrs. Evans rang the bell and already working on planning his week’s appointments and treatments. Rats! Every time I sleep like this, I make it easier for him to think that I’m not strong enough for the work!
With an eye on the gloomy weather outside her window, Gayle chose the dark green cotton wool dress edged in black ribbon. It was one of her more chic work dresses, but she loved the warm mandarin sleeves. She dressed as quickly as she could, her fingers trembling a little as she worked the front tabs of her corset and the ribbons to secure her petticoats. But at last, she was able to hurry out and head downstairs to the library to try to find Rowan and face the day.
But it was Mrs. Evans she met on the stairs. “He’s out, Miss Renshaw. He’s gone to check on Mrs. Blackwell, and he left strict orders that we were not to bother your rest.”
“Oh.” Gayle tried not to let her disappointment show. “I was hoping to see Mrs. Blackwell again myself.”
“Dr. West said you were an angel through it all! We meant to let you have the morning to recover undisturbed.” Mrs. Evans looked at her with a new sincere pride shining in her eyes, as if Gayle were one of the chicks from her nest. “I know I haven’t been as understanding . . . but after what happened with Florence, and watching you all this time . . . well, I know you’ll do well. I’m still not sure if I want you in there on Wednesdays with those rough river men, but . . .”
“Thank you, Mrs. Evans. I’ve still a long way to go until—I shall try not to disappoint you.”
“Pish! Now, let me send up a tray since I know for absolute fact that you didn’t have a bite for dinner and you must be famished!” Mrs. Evans turned without waiting for her reply, cheerfully heading back down the stairs to secure a hearty brunch from Mrs. Wilson.
With a sigh, Gayle returned to the laboratory, wishing she could muster more enthusiasm for the change in plans. There was definitely work to be done, as always, but she truly had hoped to see Caroline again. To reassure herself that she’d continued to improve, but also for the new friendship that she’d begun.
She lit more lamps to improve the light and then began to pull everything she could on gastric conditions and their treatments. It was a daunting bit of research, but Gayle found comfort in the direction of her work and took a copious amount of notes to ensure that she didn’t miss anything that might help Mrs. Blackwell to regain her health.
When her brunch tray magically materialized next to her, Gayle smiled and knew that she’d once again managed to happily lose herself in the maze of her studies. She propped up a book with its spine and ate her meal as she continued reading, dismissing the ghostlike voice of her mother saying something about ill-bred women reading at the table.
“Digestive Diseases and Their Origins?” Peter James’s voice broke in from the doorway as he surveyed the title of her textbook. “I’m not sure that would go with any stew, no matter how deliciou
s!”
Her cheeks grew hot with embarrassment, and she set aside her tray. “I . . . I agree it’s not everyone’s idea of entertaining reading with egg custard and sausages.”
“Not anyone’s idea, but if I’d caught you reading poetry or a book on fashion, I might have thought to ring for the doctor!” He approached her, his manner as casual as ever. “I apologize for interrupting. It seems that’s all I do!”
“No, please don’t.” It was the first time she’d seen him since he’d sent the note, but she was glad that it wasn’t awkward between them. “I’m the one who should apologize. My reply to your offer may have seemed a bit abrupt, but I was—”
“No worries! No worries! You’ve a right to your days, and I know how few and far between they can be when you’re in the employ of someone who has a profession that keeps all hours.” He stopped at the medicine cabinet and began his tallies while they spoke. “I don’t think I had a day to myself the first year I worked for Mr. Fitzroy.”
“That’s dreadful!” she said.
He shrugged. “He is one of the best chemists in London and a fierce businessman. There’s ten men around every corner that would be happy to take my place.”
“I suppose that’s true.” She closed her book. “But I’m sure Mr. Fitzroy would be quick to say how none of those ten might have your skills or enthusiasm.”
“You’re too kind!” He wrote down a count and then turned back to her. “Miss Renshaw, I know it’s even harder for you. A female assistant. Dr. West doesn’t want to see you out on a day off. He’s thinking of his reputation—and maybe protecting yours, a bit. I’d a respectable day in mind, but if it’s a rule that you’re not to step out with any gentleman . . .” He trailed off as if hoping she’d correct his misperception and take back her earlier refusal.
Gayle chose the cowardly way out. “Dr. West is very firm about these matters. I’m so glad you understand. You’ve been such a good friend to me, I’d hate to think that we couldn’t be civil to each other.”
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