Page 30 of Prescription for Sin

The scratch of chairs being moved. Silence. What were they doing in that heavy quiet? Wincing at his still-healing leg, Everett walked away before he did something foolish. He grumbled to himself at another shared laugh. More silence. Unable to help himself, he approached the study door again.

“…getting late,” Michael’s voice emerged. “We should...”

“…a few more…close to…a pattern…”

Their voices dropped again, followed by the rustle of papers. Everett pressed closer to the door, holding his breath.

“You can’t keep pushing yourself like this,” Michael said firmly. A pause. “Emma…”

Everett’s shoulders grew rigid at the tenderness in his tone. He could picture them standing close, Michael’s golden good looks bent toward Emma’s upturned face. Had they moved from medical discussions to more intimate memories?

“We agreed...” came Emma’s sharp voice.

“Did we? It was…”

More silence. Was Michael touching her?

“It’s late…” Her voice was softer now.

“I could stay...” Michael’s suggestion hung in the air. “…try again…”

Everett retreated before he could hear Emma’s response, not trusting himself to remain silent. In his room, he paced like a caged animal, remembering how Emma’s eyes sparkled when discussing medicine with Michael, how their shared knowledge created an intimacy that excluded him completely.

But beneath his jealousy lurked deeper questions. What patterns were they seeking that warranted such secrecy?

Sleep proved elusive. Every creak of floorboards, every murmur of voices from below sparked new torment. Were they still working? Had Michael’s suggestion of “old times” proved too tempting to resist?

When silence finally fell, Everett found himself straining to track footsteps. The front door opened and closed, followed by one set moving toward Emma’s chamber. He exhaled with relief.

Questions plagued him until dawn. Not just about Emma’s relationship with Michael, but about her connections to London medical circles. What game was she playing? And why did he care more about her than his duty?

When Emma entered his room the next morning, Everett was already sitting up, watching her with stormy intensity that made her fingers tremble as she set down her medical bag.

"Your evening's research must have been fascinating." His voice carried an edge she'd never heard before. "To keep you and Dr Kincaid occupied until such late hours."

"Lie back," she commanded, ignoring the bite in his tone.

As she reached for his bandage, his hand caught her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. "Tell me, do you often entertain gentlemen in your study after midnight?"

Heat flooded her cheeks as anger sparked within her. "That's hardly your concern, Mr Hughes. Or shall we discuss your own encounters?"

"My past encounters mean nothing." His grip softened, thumb tracing her jawline. "They never have."

Her pulse skittered traitorously at his words. "No matter. Seven lessons. That's all we promised each other. Then you return to your patrons and I to my patients."

Instead of answering, he released her and lay back, the movement causing his shirt to ride up his thigh. Emma's mouth went dry at the sight of his arousal, unmistakable beneath his trousers.

"Your gaze is rather...ardent," he murmured, his voice hoarse.

"You are delirious." She turned away sharply, hearing the rustle of fabric as he adjusted his clothing. When she faced him again, his shirt had been strategically arranged. She began unwrapping his bandage with deliberate precision, though every brush of her fingers against his warm skin felt like playing with fire.

"Am I?" His muscles tensed beneath her touch. "Is that why the thought of you alone with Kincaid makes me want to—" He cut himself off abruptly.

"Want to what?" The words emerged hesitantly. She was uncertain if she wanted to know.

"Nothing." But his voice had dropped to a tone that made her skin prickle with awareness.

"Interesting symptoms," she mocked. "Memory loss, inability to complete sentences. Are you experiencing any other...effects?"