Juliette could only squeeze her friend’s hand in return. She didn’t know whether to be grateful or mortified that she had so easily guessed what had transpired on the balcony, but she had to admit that it felt rather nice to have the support. A coconspirator.
True to Lady Sommerfeld’s word, the men joined the ladies in the parlor shortly thereafter. Juliette offered Ian a shy smile as he trailed in behind her brother and Viscount Sommerfeld with his cane, but his eyes danced over her as if she was no more important than another piece of furniture.
This continued throughout the rest of the evening and the games of whist Lady Sommerfeld seemed incapable of losing. While the undercurrent of competitiveness between their hosts was amusing and entertaining, Juliette couldn’t stop her eyes from continually darting over to Dr. McCullom. He was so handsome in his dark coat and starched white cravat. Despite his impeccable manners and cultured speech, there was still something half-tamed about him; and Juliette thought she may have gotten just a taste of it out on the balcony.
“I am finished!” announced the viscount. “She’s already tripled her pin money for the month and my ego can take no further bruising.” His words were exasperated, but there was mirth in there and it was echoed back in Lady Sommerfeld’s deep blue eyes.
“You knew what you were getting into when you suggested cards, darling.” She proceeded to shuffle the cards with a finesse Juliette had never witnessed.
“Another hand or two,” Ethan interjected. “The night is young and it would appear I’ve not learned my lesson.”
“Nor I,” announced the Duchess of Morton, an impressive flare of determination in her eyes. “I cannot leave this house without having won a single hand.”
Lady Sommerfeld laughed airly and looked at her other guests. “Lady Juliette? Dr. McCullom? Shall I deal you in for this round? Or would you perhaps prefer a game of chess?” She gestured to the far corner of the room where a carved marble board had been laid out.
Juliette quickly found herself seated across from Dr. McCullom, facing him over the chessboard. She played white and he, black, though her heart was not in the game. Every time she looked up, Dr. McCullom’s eyes refused to meet hers, though, internally, she commanded him to so much as hold her gaze for even three seconds. She desperately wanted to see how he would react to her nearness in the light. Would his breathing quicken as hers did? Would he watch her lips as they formed her words? Would his desire be as raw as she’d felt on the balcony?
Alas, he seemed intent upon steering their conversation to every inane topic known to mankind. She moved a pawn and he inquired after her ankle; he moved a rook and they chatted about the weather—anything to keep clear of what had happened between them on the balcony. Not that she wanted to discuss it within earshot of her brother…she didn’t know what, exactly she wanted, but it certainly wasn’t this coolness; it was in such stark contrast to the man who’d held her and kissed her in the dark! She didn’t know what she expected, either. It was just one kiss, after all. And Dr. McCullom was a virile, handsome, intelligent man with an excellent profession. He likely kissed women all the time.
But, maybe, she’d hoped for a hint that he’d felt even a modicum of the tremors she had…that she still felt.
Juliette’s mood turned darker with every move of the pieces across the board. She played recklessly and foolishly, losing one piece after another.
“You don’t play much chess, then, I take it?” Dr. McCullom said beneath his breath as he swiped away her rook in a move a child could have seen coming.
“I play a fair bit,” she ground out as pleasantly as possible. She slid her bishop several spaces.
“Unless you are luring me into an extremely deep false sense of security—which I highly doubt at this point—I don’t see much finesse on this playing field.” His words were aggravatingly lighthearted.
She nearly growled when he claimed another of her pieces. Even at that moment, she recognized how childish her turn in moods was, but there was simply no stopping it. “A true gentleman would hardly make such a comment when playing with a lady,” she finally snapped.
Dr. McCullom sat back in his chair as if her words had been a physical strike. Indeed, she must have spoken louder than intended because even the card game had paused and the room fell silent. Juliette flinched in shame when she realized how, not only were all eyes upon her, but there was a well-masked stricken glint to Dr. McCullom’s gaze and a tautness of his well-formed mouth.
Lady Sommerfeld’s mouth was agape; Ethan eyed them with hawklike interest, his body tense as he decided whether he needed to intervene.
She fully recognized that she had no reason to be snippy with Dr. McCullom. She’d likely given the poor man whiplash from the speed with which she’d gone from boldly thanking him for her first kiss to her irritation that it didn’t appear to have meant as much to him as it did to her.
Dr. McCullom’s expression and tone remained cool, though he raised a perplexed chestnut brow.
“I—I am sor—” she began to stammer a quick apology until the doctor cut her off.
“I apologize if I have offended you in any way, Lady Juliette,” he said, low enough for her ears only. “I seem to have misjudged the situation.” He stood and knocked over his king with the knuckle of his longest finger, signaling his forfeiture of the game with a final snap of marble-on-marble. She stared at the fallen piece on the board as it rocked back and forth on its polished side. From the corner of her eye, she saw Dr. McCullom sketch her a proper bow, pivot on his heel, and heard him make his excuses to the rest of their party. He claimed he had many appointments the following morning and really should be going.
Every clipped footstep taking him further from only deepened Juliette’s terrible mortification and guilt.
Chapter Six
The next day, Ian returned to his offices for a late dinner after having spent his morning making house calls. His day had been filled with two cases of indigestion, one severe bout of gout, the laborious task of setting a lad’s broken arm after he’d been thrown by a horse, and looking in on a patient with dropsy. And he was worn out. His hollow stomach growled in agreement. Unfortunately, his schedule was not conducive to a man of his size and stature; he could have easily eaten twice as much as he normally did and still experience some hunger pangs, but he’d long ago learned to work through the discomfort. Keeping his mind and his hands occupied went a long way to that end.
Entering through the front door, he quickly descended the stairs to the lower level. The enticing scent of one of Mrs. Brown’s hearty stews grew stronger with every step. Ian’s mouth was watering by the time he popped his head into the warm kitchen and found the woman using her apron to fan the steam from a fresh loaf of crusty golden bread. The pot hanging in the hearth bubbled away merrily, calling to Ian with every pop and squeak.
“Smells divine, Mrs. Brown,” he said by way of greeting.
“Get on to your office now,” she shooed him away with a smile. “I’ll bring a bowl to you shortly; I know how busy you are and how little time you make for eating.”
Ian nodded, allowing her to fuss and grumble about his habits as he made his way down the hall, through the exam room, and to his private office. He quickly shrugged off his coat and draped it over the chair before sitting down. The tap of footsteps told him his lunch was imminent and he made quick work of clearing his papers to create room for the food. He’d learned long ago the hierarchy in Mrs. Brown’s mind:strictly food and then work. More than a few of his papers in the early days had been smudged by food being served atop them.
“What good is work if your belly growls so loud you cannot think?” she’d harrumphed at him time and time again.
