Diary of an Accidental Wallflower

by Jennifer McQuiston

  Her frown grew troubled. She crossed her arms on her chest, as if remembering the flimsiness of her wrapper. “What sort of an example would I be setting for my tenants if I took her in?”

  He seized on her own argument—and her cross-stitched sampler—and turned both against her. “Surely a Christian one.” He gifted her with a slow slide of a smile, the one that never failed to make women melt, though he scarcely thought it a defensible response. What man couldn’t smile, should the situation call for it? It scarcely declared a man a fit partner.

  For example, Alban had smiled while he sat on Clare’s couch.

  Too damned much.

  “Surely a bit of charity could only be a positive example for us all,” he cajoled, all too ready to dump Handsome Meg on the stoop if it meant he could regain feeling in his arms. “Perhaps you might even convince her of the error of her ways. And I would be more than happy to check in on her—and you—in the morning. For breakfast.”

  “Morning?” Mrs. Calbert’s hand crept up to smooth her hair. “With me?” Her smile returned. “Well, I suppose I might permit her to sleep on the hearth. Just for tonight, though. I wouldn’t want to make a habit of it.”

  “You’re a paragon of virtue, Mrs. Calbert. The rock of the neighborhood.”

  She blushed like a schoolgirl who’d been complimented on her catechism, then turned and beckoned for him to follow. Daniel staggered into the warm, bread-scented house, eager to relieve himself of the prostitute and seek the solace of his own room. He laid Meg down on the hearth and rolled her on her side to ensure any vomit that might make an appearance during the night would not asphyxiate her. Then he thanked Mrs. Calbert again and turned to leave.

  “Wait.”

  Daniel turned back, his shoulders tense.

  Mrs. Calbert reached toward the front of her dressing gown. Daniel braced himself against the horror, then exhaled in relief when she did no more than pull out a letter from its filmy depths. “I’ve not yet delivered your note,” she exclaimed. She handed it to him, the paper still warm from being held against her skin. “From the hospital. I can only presume it is urgent, if they delivered it here so late at night.”

  Daniel accepted it, grimly wishing it had been lodged in a pocket instead. Or better still, shoved in a drawer. Not that there was anything all that objectionable about Mrs. Calbert, or her dressing gown, for that matter. She was perfectly nice. Perfectly available, albeit a decade too old and good deal less hygienic than he preferred. He’d availed himself of offers from occasional youngish widows in the past, when his biologic urges became too great and he had the patience to deliver a bit of pleasure to someone else as well.

  But lately any needs, any urges, seemed focused far too squarely on an inappropriate and presumably virginal Society miss, one with chestnut hair and snapping hazel eyes and the most delectable smile known to man. She’d been inexperienced in the kiss he had stolen. That alone should have been an effective means of dissuading the direction of his thoughts, a dash of cold water against the heat of lust.

  Instead, it had honed his interest until desire was as sharp as the blade of a scalpel.

  No matter how impossible the scenario, he’d fallen under Clare Westmore’s spell long before the kiss. He’d been caught in her web from the moment she’d called him a fishmonger.

  “You didn’t have to wait up to deliver it to me.” He forced a smile in Mrs. Calbert’s direction, distracted by his intruding thoughts. “I hate to think you’ve been put out on my account.”

  “Oh, ’tis no trouble. As you can see, I was just readying myself for bed.” She smiled, almost shyly, though she placed an unnatural emphasis on the word “bed.” “I’m glad I shouldn’t have to turn you out after all, Dr. Merial. And I look forward to seeing you in the morning.”

  Daniel waited in the dim gaslight on her stoop to hear that she had turned the key in the lock. Only when he was sure both women were locked inside did he trudge wearily to his own room, several doors down.

  He inserted the key into the lock and shoved the door open, hard. Bloody hell. Mrs. Calbert was becoming a problem he didn’t know how to manage. He’d chosen this boarding house with care, presuming his flat’s separate entrance onto the street would ensure some measure of privacy. But he’d not counted on having a landlady who waited up for him every night with her ear to her door.

  He struck a match and lit his single lamp. The crickets chirped a welcome at the intrusion of light, but the frogs leaped for the safety of their water dishes, splashing their objections.

  A bloody cold welcome for a man, all things considered.

  Daniel sat down at his desk, scrubbed a hand across his face, and—with a good deal of suspicion—regarded the letter Mrs. Calbert had been so keen to deliver. While this note may have come via hospital messenger, it had not originated from within the walls of St. Bart’s. For one, it was addressed to him at the hospital. It was not from Lady Austerley, that much he knew. Her staff knew by now to deliver a summons directly to his door—bypassing his prying landlady in the process. Besides, he had just come from Lady Austerley’s house and knew all was fine there.

  He turned the letter over in his hand. There was no stamp, suggesting it had been delivered to St. Bart’s by courier, rather than penny post.

  But far more telling, and far more hopeful, the paper was fine, the handwriting feminine.

  And the weight of it smacked of Mayfair.

  May 18, 1848

  Dear Dr. Merial,

  Circumstances being what they are, I am sure you will agree it is not a good idea to continue our association any longer than is necessary. Still, I may have been hasty in executing your abrupt dismissal. These regrets do not stem from any concern over my ankle, you understand, which is healing quite satisfactorily without further interference on your part. Nor do they spring from any measure of misplaced trust. I am now quite morbidly aware of your shortcomings, and will keep a suitable ten foot distance between us at all times.

  But in the matter of my brother and sister’s behavior, you may have made more of a positive impact than I previously understood. A slower disassociation might benefit their continued progress. If you are free and would accept this request, you might stop by our home tomorrow morning. Geoffrey and Lucy would enjoy seeing you, and I suspect their future disappointment will be tempered by paying you a proper good-bye.

  Yrs truly,

  Miss Clare Westmore

  P.S. Lucy claims you owe her an outing of some sort. I am sure you can agree that it is most impossible, she being an unmarried young woman and you being of dubious moral character.

  Yrs again,

  Miss Westmore

  Chapter 15

  Daniel had never been a man plagued by unsteady nerves. In fact, he could count on three fingers the things that made uncertainty flutter in his stomach. Editors from prestigious medical journals. Mrs. Calbert’s midnight inquiries. Failure. Such stoicism lent him a strong hand during autopsies, and gave him the ability to stand before an amphitheater of bored medical students and command at least a negligible amount of respect.

  But as he stepped into the Cardwells’ drawing room at ten o’clock the next morning, he was surprised to realize he might need to add a fourth finger to that small list. His stomach churned in anticipation of seeing Clare again, and his collar was damp with the sort of perspiration that had nothing to do with the day’s mild warmth, and everything to do with the pressure in his chest.

  How to apologize for a kiss he couldn’t regret?

  And how to say good-bye to a woman he didn’t want to forget?

  Clare was standing by the window, her back to the door, staring out at the sunshine. He had expected to see Geoffrey and Lucy, their blond heads bent over a chessboard, but the room was otherwise empty, save a mob-capped maid who was dusting the Oriental vases and other useless curiosities on the mantel. As he stepped into the room, the servant looked up from her duties and promptly dropped her feather duster.

/>   Daniel tried to ignore the invitation the girl’s flash of a smile offered, as well as the generous backside she displayed as she bent over to retrieve the item she’d dropped. Without a doubt, a pretty, fresh-cheeked maid was a suitable candidate for courtship for a man like him, someone who might never—if the editors at the Lancet had their say—progress to be anything more influential than a provincial doctor. And the maid certainly appeared interested, if her dimpled smile was interpreted of a fashion.

  But Daniel’s stubborn eyes insisted on pulling back to the rigid, chestnut-haired siren at the window. “Good morning, Clare.” It was startling to discover his voice still worked.

  She turned her head. “Dr. Merial. I see you received my letter.” She made no move toward him. Ten feet, her letter had said.

  It might as well have been ten miles.

  “I am here to offer an apology.” He hesitated, wishing it wasn’t so hot in the room. But stripping down to his jacket and necktie would send a poor message, all things considered. The attraction that simmered between Clare and himself could go nowhere. But knowing it and facing it were two different things, and today could not end without some final agreement on that point. “And a good-bye, as you requested,” he added softly.

  She stared at him an inscrutable second, then turned in the maid’s direction. “Maggie, would you please tell Geoffrey and Lucy about Dr. Merial’s arrival? They will want to see him.”

  “Yes, miss.” The servant tucked her duster under one arm and tossed one last, inviting smile in Daniel’s direction as she quit the room.

  The door to the hallway remained very properly open, but they were alone. Clare began to move through the room—never closer than ten feet—and trailed a finger over the recently dusted items on the mantel. Her gait was quite steady—no sign of a limp now—but her chest rose and fell too rapidly for the pace she set.

  Apparently he wasn’t the only one who was nervous.

  The realization cheered him more than it ought.

  “I expected Geoffrey and Lucy would be here to greet me,” he said, “given your letter implied that was the express purpose of my visit.”

  A furrow appeared between her brows. “I didn’t tell them about the invitation because I didn’t want to buoy their hopes. In truth, I wasn’t sure you would come.”

  “And ignore such a delightful summons?”

  She rounded to face him. “You must admit, I have reason to be less than delightful where you are concerned.”

  “Clare.” He said her name gently, ignoring, for the moment, how she stiffened at his use of it. She’d set the stage by calling him Dr. Merial instead of Daniel this morning. But she’d once afforded him permission to use her given name, and despite all else that had passed between them, she’d not retracted her offer. He spread his hands in supplication, wanting to somehow return her association to someone he could tease, if not touch. “Permit me to say that I am sorry.”

  “You may tell Geoffrey and Lucy when they arrive.”

  “No, I am apologizing. To you. It was not my intention to cause you any distress, and I regret having done so.”

  “I am not distressed.” She lifted a hand to her lips, though Daniel doubted if she realized she did it. “I just think it would be best if we forget it happened.” She nodded, as if to convince herself. “And ensure it doesn’t happen again.”

  Daniel had come prepared to apologize, and he had. But forget was rather a strong word. Given that the woman herself was forbidden to him, he had at least ensured a heated memory to warm him during the cold, coming months.

  And when she married her future duke, well then, he had at least given her something to think about during her passionless marriage, hadn’t he?

  She began to move again, walking more gracefully than he would have thought possible given her recent injury. “Your ankle has healed well,” he remarked, seeking a safer topic to settle on than the kiss she was insisting he forget.

  “And in only two weeks,” she offered, a hint of smugness in her voice. “I believe I originally predicted as much, that night in Lady Austerley’s library. Perhaps I should go to medical school.”

  Daniel grinned in spite of himself. “Perhaps you should. You are more clever than most of the students I currently lecture.” He cocked his head as she looked down, clearly discomfited by his praise. Time to lighten the conversation. “Although, it seems as though the daily lectures would be an inconvenience for your social calendar. And in my own defense, four weeks was not an imprudent guess when I wasn’t sure whether any bones had been broken. You’ll find that in clinical matters, I prefer to err on the side of caution.”

  He caught the hesitant flash of her smile. “No wonder Lady Austerley doesn’t listen to you either.”

  “Lady Austerley listens well enough,” he chuckled. “She simply does whatever she wants, regardless of my recommendation.”

  She pivoted on her heel at the edge of the room and began to move in the opposite direction. “Lady Austerley sounds like an intelligent woman.”

  “I suspect she would say the same of you.” Satisfied that Clare’s ankle was no longer a pressing medical concern, and relieved that her animosity toward him seemed to be weakening, Daniel let his gaze drift to where it wanted.

  It wanted her.

  Today she was wearing a walking gown of vivid moss green, accented with a delicate gold braid trim. As he enjoyed what he presumed would be this last, aching sight of her, he realized that today, of all days, she had elected to not wear a corset. His body responded to the lack of it—and the soft, natural flare of her hips—with predictable enthusiasm.

  Christ. That’s all he needed, a raging erection to convince her he’d come in peace.

  He shifted uncomfortably. He’d thought he could do this, could come and apologize and escape without further insult or injury. He’d imagined he could behave. But he’d held her in his arms, and knew what her body felt like beneath those scant layers of silk and cotton.

  He was not a gentleman prone to envy, but God above, he envied the gentleman whose privilege it would be to eventually kiss her without repudiation.

  “Your . . . er . . . gown is lovely,” he offered, lifting his eyes to the ceiling and wishing the younger Westmores would emerge from the depths of the house a bit more apace.

  Because at this rate he’d have their sister ravished in a heartbeat.

  THOUGH SHE STILL felt restless, his words pulled Clare to a stop.

  She eyed Daniel warily across the ten feet she’d threatened to keep between them. She’d called him Dr. Merial, and quite pointedly, too, but her mind—opinionated thing that it was—refused to revert to the required formality. She suspected he would always be Daniel now in her head, no matter how she tried to school her thoughts otherwise.

  And no matter her hopes to pretend the kiss had never happened, her own body was proving an unruly partner in the ruse. Every time she looked at him, her eyes flew straight to his mouth, remembering the feel and the taste of him.

  “That, sir, only proves you have no sense of fashion.” She gestured to her gown. “I am wearing a dress that is at least two years old, as I find I can no longer fit into my current wardrobe, thanks to a mysterious bit of marzipan that keeps finding its way to my lips. I would die if Mr. Alban or my friends saw me in this.”

  “Surely not literally.” His lips twitched. “Unless it possesses the magical ability to burst into flames?”

  Clare felt her own face stretch in response. This was a return to comfortable banter, the same easiness they had once shared before that messy business with the kiss. Perhaps she was overanalyzing the significance of Tuesday’s mistake. He’d apologized, she’d accepted, and Geoffrey and Lucy would be here any moment to save her.

  She stepped toward him, and was startled to realize it felt as though she were finally moving in the right direction. She risked another step, and then another. “If you brought more marzipan,” she warned, “you should be prepared to receive it b
ack, shoved in a most uncomfortable place.”

  His chuckle smoothed over her like warm brandy. “You’ve been enjoying it, then?”

  “I wouldn’t say ‘enjoying’ it, precisely.” Clare forced herself to stop two feet away, but the distance proved too meager for safety in the end. Her nose filled with the heated, sharp scent of him, soap and medicine and things that made her stomach stir pleasantly.

  Blast it all, but it was hard to ignore the energy that simmered between them.

  She’d danced with plenty of handsome men over the course of her one-and-a-half Seasons, including Mr. Alban, whose broad shoulders and pleasant features made more than one woman’s heart trip faster. But she was beginning to realize that what she felt when dancing with Mr. Alban was something far less exhilarating.

  Apparently, interest and attraction were entirely different reflexes.

  And unfortunately, this man’s smile engendered a powerful dose of both.

  “If I were pressed for a medical opinion,” he said, “I would say the candy has lingered in all the right places.” He lifted a hand, his fingers reaching toward her cheek but hovering too far away to pose any danger. Yet her skin burned, as if she could feel the scorching warmth of his touch. “Your face has begun to lose that hollowed appearance you had when I first met you,” he added. “I think it does you better credit.”

  Clare blinked. If Sophie or Rose had said such a thing, she’d have taken offense in a heartbeat. Odd, how such an insult made her heart twist in an eager direction, merely because it came from him. Was it the smooth tenor of the voice, delivering the words in such a way that she shivered in anticipation rather than anger?

  Or was it the man himself, his gaze warmly appreciative on her skin?

  “I thank you for your generosity,” she said softly. “I know the price of the candy must have been dear.”