Page 8 of Prescription for Sin

Her relationship with Michael had been educational in its way, but ultimately unsatisfying. He had approached intimacy with the same efficiency he applied to surgery, technically correct but lacking something essential.

But Mr Hughes… Just the way he looked at her was enough to heat her skin. As a man who allegedly earned his living bringing ecstasy…

“Pure research,” she told herself firmly. “For the benefit of my patients.”

Even as she tried to frame it academically, Emma knew there was more to it. At thirty, her prospects for a love match were grim.

“This may be my only opportunity.” Not just to satisfy curiosity, but to understand why her sister turned to pudding whenever Arthur entered a room while other ladies spoke of marital duties with all the enthusiasm of taking cod liver oil.

She began her list, determined to approach this methodically.

Why This Research Is Entirely Sensible and Not at All Scandalous:

Thirty years old and increasingly unlikely to inspire poetry

Current romantic prospects limited to elderly widowers and Michael

Another naked gentleman appearing in cemetery—unlikely

Remember, he’s a specimen, not a suitor

Seven days only

Summary: Absolutely no chance of emotional entanglement.

Emma stared at her list, recognising the attempt to rationalise what her body had already decided. The way she responded to Hughes’s presence defied clinical explanation. Perhaps that was precisely what she needed to study: how pleasure transcended mere physical reaction. If she were being honest with herself, this was also about understanding the hunger that woke her in the night, about experiencing what romance novels tried to capture in flowery prose.

“One week to gather data, then we part ways,” she decided, reaching for fresh paper. She would approach it like any other medical study, with clear objectives, careful observation, and professional detachment.

As she rehearsed her proposal, trying to frame it in the most clinical terms possible, Emma couldn’t quite suppress a shiver of anticipation that had nothing to do with science at all.

As always, Helen’s reply arrived at the hospital just when she needed it.

6 December 1840

Dearest Emma,

Finally! At last, something more exciting than your usual letters about infected wounds and fascinating diseases (though I do treasure those missives, gruesome details and all).

A mysterious gentleman with secrets, education, and, if I read between your carefully proper lines correctly, a rather spectacular physique. My darling friend, this is far more interesting than your usual ancient farmers and their equally ancient wives.

I cannot stop laughing at the image of you, the unflappable Dr Brown, blushing over a man’s thigh! Though I suppose for someone inexperienced, the difference between diagrams in medical texts and a living specimen is…enormous. Well, is he? A few inches higher up while cleaning his wound, and you’ll easily discover if you need a pair of forceps to dig for his manhood.

You ask me to be sensible. Well, I refuse. You are an intelligent, kind, and vibrant spinster. If you don’t wish to scrape dust off your delicate regions or abandon medicine to become a gentleman’s companion, then seize this opportunity.

Emma, dearest, when was the last time you allowed yourself to feel anything beyond professional satisfaction? You’ve spent so long building walls around your heart, perhaps it’s time to conduct an experiment in letting them down. Some of the most important medical discoveries came from taking risks. Though I doubt any of those are documented in quite the way you tend to!

Do try to document everything in detail for my vicarious enjoyment. And if you need me to come rescue you from this dangerous specimen, I shall be there in a heartbeat. This shall be the evidence of our true friendship.

With great anticipation for your next letter,

Your devoted friend Helen

P.S. Is his face as pleasing as his thighs? These are the vital details a friend requires!

Chapter four

Confessions Over Candlelight