Page 27 of Prescription for Sin

Remember, a racing pulse and flushed skin can be symptoms of either love or fever. The trick is determining which afflicts you.

Your devoted friend,

Helen

Everett lay in bed, irritation crawling under his skin as Dr Kincaid’s muffled voice drifted up from below. The man’s cultured tones grated on his nerves like sandpaper.

When Emma checked on him, her cheeks still flushed from whatever discussion she’d been having with the good doctor, she announced that Mrs Norris would stay late to tend to his needs.

The childish urge to protest seized him with startling force. But I want you, not the housekeeper! The thought emerged with such petulant clarity that he was transported back to age six, throwing a similar fit when his father had hired a stern-faced governess to replace his recently deceased mother’s gentle care.

Instead, he managed a polite, “Thank you, Miss Brown. You’re most kind.”

Mrs Norris bustled in shortly after, her round face beaming with motherly concern. Everett’s mind raced, seeking a way to despatch her without arousing suspicion.

He cleared his throat, a genuine flush creeping up his neck. “Mrs Norris, I find myself in need of… That is to say… I require some personal items. Undergarments, specifically.” He gestured vaguely at himself, mortification making his voice crack slightly. “I’d compensate you through Miss Brown, of course.”

Mrs Norris waved away his embarrassment with motherly efficiency. “Bless your heart, dear. No need to blush! Why, just last week I had to fetch my Harold new drawers after his unfortunate incident with the chamber pot. Men’s small clothes are hardly a mystery to me after forty years of marriage.”

Everett’s face burned hotter. “Perhaps… Perhaps you should consult with Miss Brown first? Regarding payment?”

“Oh! Yes. Quite right.” Mrs Norris bustled down the stairs to the study door, rapping sharply. Everett followed on his crutches, bombarding the housekeeper with questions to slow down her steps.

Through the gap as the door opened, Everett caught sight of papers spread across the desk. Charts filled with cramped notations and maps marked with mysterious symbols. Two chairs were pushed close together at the desk, with Kincaid occupying one.

Emma’s gaze, when it met his through the doorway, was sharp with suspicion and barely concealed irritation. She subtly stepped forward and blocked his view.

“Yes, Mrs Norris?” Her tone was clipped, professional. Upon Mrs Norris inquiry, Emma approved the purchase without hesitation. “Mr Hughes will also require a suit for his departure. Please do your best to secure one for him.”

Emma met his eyes pointedly once more before closing the door firmly. Mrs Norris cheerfully started on her errands.

“You’re an angel, Mrs Norris,” he said, offering his most charming smile.

The moment she left, Everett crept to the study door, pressing his ear against the wood. The words “cholera outbreak” drifted up, making his blood run cold. How and how much did they know?

“…three hundred cases already,” Michael was saying. “You can’t… into dark alleys…”

“I’m perfectly… myself,” Emma retorted.

“Emma, please.” Michael’s indignant voice drifted through the door. “At least let me…”

Then she replied, her soft voice intimate and placating, and Everett’s jaw clenched.

Hearing footsteps approach, Everett made his way to the parlour as quickly as his crutches allowed, settling onto a sofa just before the study door opened and closed. His pulse raced as he processed what he’d overheard. Cholera in Rochester? Impossible. The outbreak had been carefully contained within London’s borders…or so he’d been led to believe.

How had Emma and Dr Kincaid acquired such detailed data? His eyes narrowed as he considered the possibilities. Either they had a contact at the Royal College feeding them information, or… His thoughts turned to Lord Salisbury, but he dismissed the notion almost immediately. The man was too mindful of his political position to risk involvement in anything unlawful.

Which left him with an uncomfortable conclusion. The nurse he’d been sent to investigate wasn’t just treating patients—she was actively gathering intelligence about the outbreak. The realisation settled like lead in his stomach. Emma’s position had just shifted from concerning to threatening.

Chapter ten

Sound

Two days had passed since Michael’s visit, days filled with careful touches as Emma changed Everett’s bandages and an awareness that made even simple interactions feel charged. Each time their eyes met, Emma found herself remembering how his lips had felt against hers in that delirious kiss.

“Your wound is looking well,” she said, covering his thigh with a quilt with hands that remained admirably steady. “Though I wouldn’t advise any…strenuous activities.”

“Including lessons?” he teased.