“You really shouldn’t stand,” he gently admonished. Her hands clutched his forearms as a grimace flitted across her face.
“Thomas will be returning shortly with the carriage; I promise I shall stay off of my feet when I am home.”
Ian’s eyes ran the length of her body and hesitated at a swath of ivory fabric standing in stark contrast to her skirts. A small bell from the door indicated the footman’s arrival. Ian smoothly snagged the fabric and balled it up in his fist before the footman entered.
“The carriage has been brought ‘round, My Lady,” said the lad, eyeing their closeness.
“Thank you, Thomas.” Did Ian imagine the slight tremor in her voice?
“May I assist you—”
“That won’t be necessary,” Ian cut off the footman a moment before he swept Lady Juliette into his arms and lifted her against his chest. Her little breathless gasp of surprise teased something deep inside his soul. She wrapped her arms around his neck to steady herself and he was instantly overcome with a warm, sweet scent. It was much more delicate than anything else that was soen voguethese days…and far more alluring.
Ian indicated that the footman should lead the way; the lad hesitated only a moment before he rushed to open the doors for them. He was obviously more than a little shocked at Ian’s actions but was unsure of what to say or how to handle the situation. He settled for accepting it when his mistress did not protest.
Ian held Lady Juliette close to his chest, taking pleasure in her slight weight in his arms, as he exited his townhouse and found a black-lacquered, well-sprung carriage pulled by a team of perfectly matched horses as blue as midnight. The conveyance spoke of the undeniable wealth and power of their owner. When he’d been a boy, Ian had never thought to see such a vehicle, let alone be climbing into one to deposit an injured young woman upon the plush velvet squab.
He stepped aloft and ducked into the carriage, the springs creaking with his added weight, and he settled Lady Juliette on the overstuffed forward-facing seat. Her arms slid from his neck, though he still felt their warmth seared into the skin beneath his clothing.
“I wish you the best, Lady Juliette,” Ian murmured and then took her hand in his. He pressed what he held into her palms.
Her face burned and her eyes flew to his when she realized what he’d done.
“I didn’t think you’d want your footman to see your stocking stuck to your skirts,” he spoke in a low tone and gave her a wink. “I will call upon you in a few days to check on your progress,” he added normally.
“Thank you,” she said in a small voice as Ian ducked back out of the carriage. He stepped back down to the cobblestones and watched as Thomas latched the door before jumping onto the back of the carriage as they lurched into motion.
Ian watched them trundle down the wide alleyway and pondered what, exactly, had made him offer to call upon Lady Juliette in her home. He hadn’t lied when he’d said he personally monitored each of his patients, but he knew very well his schedule was already tightly packed. An astonishing number of peers were on a waiting list to be seen by him—something else his younger self would never have believed possible. He made a very good living by being in such high demand, but it left little time for other pursuits.
Still…something drew him to this Russian poetry-reading woman who was unlucky enough to nearly tumble headfirst into the wheels of a cart.
Chapter Two
Two days later, Ian found himself standing alone in the echoing entryway of a stunning, richly appointed Townhome in Mayfair. The newly-renovated residence took up nearly an entire block on its own and was one of the largest and most opulent on the street with its soaring columns and immaculate white-washed façade. There would once have been a time when Ian would have been intimidated by such wealth, but if his time as a physician to the elite had taught him anything, it was that even those with money were mortal and, quite often, they suffered from more weaknesses than those of a lower class—they simply possessed the money and the training to hide it better.
The earl’s butler had accepted his calling card and disappeared several minutes prior. Ian hadn’t immediately been turned away, so at least Lady Juliette was receiving callers.
As he was examining the ceiling painted to resemble a wispy summer sky, the stony-faced butler returned, took Ian’s hat and cloak, and led him down a hallway to an overtly masculine study. There, behind a desk set against a backdrop of soaring bookcases filled with a veritable rainbow of leather-bound tomes, sat a man. He was younger than Ian, but the intense flash in his icy blue eyes spoke of a keen intelligence and knowledge of his own power which spoke of a much more mature, self-assured age. The desk before him was piled high with correspondence and blank parchment, each organized in its orderly stack. His raven hair was perfectly groomed and his dark jacket and bright blue waistcoat were immaculate. Everything from the powerful tilt to his chin to the confident set of his shoulders spoke of impeccable breeding and the knowledge of his place in this world—something Ian would never possess, no matter how highly-regarded he was, how much wealth he managed to amass, or how he dressed.
Even all these years later, Ian remained keenly aware of the fact that he’d be nothing more than a Scotsman: unlanded, untitled, and viewed as lesser because of his coloring, his speech, and his birthplace. These people would clamor to have him use his knowledge to cure their ailments and they would brag about how they’d been the recipients of his knowledge and talents, but he’d never be more than an elevated servant to them. He was forever caught in an awkward position where he was not their equal, but he was more than hired help; he was often invited to attend parties as thank-yous or bribes to be moved up on his waiting list, but he was forever sullied by the sin of working for a living.
The earl behind the desk was one of those men who was so far above Ian’s station that Ian was an ant in his view. He scurried about his daily life and was not even a minor distraction in his world. They were from different worlds.
When he noticed Ian being shown into the room, the young man stood in greeting. A glance around the room told Ian that his patient, Lady Juliette, was nowhere to be found.
“Dr. McCullom,” the Earl of Hopesend greeted Ian with a pleasant enough smile. The tilt of his lips was strikingly similar to his sister’s, as was the shape of his eyes, but the appearance was far less kind on him. “It appears I have you to thank for my sister’s wellbeing. I appreciate your quick action and treatment of her.”
Ian inclined his head and responded politely. “I was merely doing my duty, My Lord.”
“Your reputation quite precedes you. I admit that I made some inquiries after Juliette returned and described your encounter.” The earl gestured to a nearby calf-leather chair, offering Ian a seat. “My sister is quite dear to me. I am eternally grateful to you for all you have done.” While the words were sincere, there was a cool formality to his tone.
“Thank you, no,” Ian declined the earl’s invitation to sit. “I have a rather busy schedule today and I must make my visit brief.”
“I understand,” he nodded, reaching for a nearby drawer and removing a book of banknotes. “I would like to reward you for your services. What do you feel is a fair sum? Our family physician, Dr. Blythe, shall take over her care from here.”
“While I appreciate your offer, My Lord, I must decline payment. And I would much rather see Lady Juliette’s care through, myself. I never leave a patient in the hands of another physician if it can be helped.” Ian watched as the younger man’s middle finger tapped against the book of banknotes, either through frustration or thoughtfulness, he wasn’t at first certain. His next words, however, provided Ian with his answer.
“I assure you,” the earl pushed back; “Dr. Blythe is more than capable of handling this situation. It is, after all, merely a turned ankle.”
