Page 51 of Prescription for Sin

Emma watched as Michael's path toward her took him past Lady Amy. The way his steps slowed, how his expression brightened at her welcoming smile, it was everything she'd once hoped to feel for him herself. Michael was perfect on paper: kind, brilliant, honest in a way Everett might never manage to be. Yet her traitorous heart still leaped at the memory of dark eyes and surgeon's hands, of kisses that tasted of danger.

"They suit each other perfectly," she said softly. "Nothing about Everett and me has ever been perfect," she admitted. "But perhaps that's not what I need after all."

As Michael approached with a determined expression, Arthur gave Emma’s hand a gentle squeeze. “Do try not to overthrow any more companies tonight, dear sister. It’s frightfully bad form at a ball.”

With a wink, he released her and made his way to Alexi, leaving Emma to face Michael’s earnest attention while her mind spun with possibilities. Trust Arthur to treat potential scandal and corruption as if it were merely an amusing diversion. Yet somehow his lightness made even the gravest situations seem manageable.

“So, my lord,” Emma said with exaggerated deference, “shall we discuss how you could live with deceiving your humble colleague?”

Michael’s eyes crinkled. “Would you believe me if I said I feared your sharp tongue would become even sharper if you knew of my title?”

“I would, since that’s true.” She glanced around at the cluster of young ladies watching him hopefully. “It seems your title has made you quite the catch this evening.”

“Please,” he groaned. “If one more mama tries to tell me about her daughter’s accomplishments in watercolours…”

“No interest in artistic pursuits?” Her lips twitched. “Though I notice you’ve paid particular attention to Lady Amy.”

A faint blush coloured his cheeks. “She’s…different. Performs the duties of a steward at her family estate. Asked intelligent questions about progressive medicine.”

“She’s quite pretty.”

“There is that.” He smiled sheepishly. “You approve?”

“Without a doubt. She’ll keep you on your toes without bruising your pride.”

“Unlike another lady I know.”

Helen appeared at that moment, linking her arm through Emma’s. “Michael, darling, you simply must excuse us. Emma and I have urgent matters to discuss involving…” She paused dramatically. “Feminine complaints.”

Michael backed away immediately, hands raised in mock surrender. “Say no more, Lady Helen. I know better than to interfere with your consultations.”

Helen practically dragged Emma to the blue parlour, closing the door firmly behind them. “Now then,” she said, pouring them each a generous glass of port, “tell me everything. And don’t you dare leave out a single detail about what happened with our devilish Dr Moreland.”

Emma sank into a chair, her cheeks burning. “Helen, I… I allowed myself…allowed him…liberties.”

“Brilliant.” Helen settled beside her. “You took your pleasure where you found it. Now, exactly how much pleasure are we talking about?”

“Helen!” Emma couldn’t help but laugh, even as her blush deepened. “We… There were lessons. Taste lessons, supposedly. But they became…more.”

“More?” Helen’s eyebrows rose with delighted interest. “Do elaborate.”

Emma buried her face in her hands. “He felt so… the way he looked at me… It doesn’t matter. This cannot last. Either Arthur will destroy his family or his father will destroy my career. How could I be so foolish and get carried away?”

“Well,” Helen said firmly, “he thought to use passion to cloud your judgment, and you used him for your own pleasure instead.” She grinned wickedly. “After all, a woman has needs, and from what I can see of him preening about the ballroom, he was at least physically qualified to meet them.”

Emma sighed dreamily. “He was.”

“Wonderful!” Helen gripped her hand. “I do hope you left him wanting more.”

Emma couldn’t help but smile, remembering certain moments. “I…may have.”

“Excellent!” Helen raised her glass. “Your first act of revenge—using him for pleasure while leaving him wanting. Now, shall we return and watch Lady Winona drape herself over your doctor like an ill-fitted curtain?”

Back in the ballroom, Emma spotted Everett amidst his admirers, Lady Winona clutching his arm and tittering at his words. The sight of his practised charm ignited both a hollow ache and simmering rage in her chest.

"You know," Helen murmured, studying the scene, "Lady Winona is terribly allergic to lavender. One small sprig in her reticule, and she'll be sneezing all over your dear doctor's coat. Such a pity. I hear sneezing is quite unfashionable this season."

Despite herself, Emma laughed. “You’re wicked.”