Perry stirred and groaned, catching her attention.
Perry. She couldn’t believe it was really him.
The scandal of the Earl of Ravenscroft marrying an opera singer from the Americas and renouncing the title had filled the newspapers for weeks on end, but not a drop of ink had been spared about Perry. No newspaper had mentioned his return to London or his newly acquired title. In fact, if it hadn’t been for their correspondence, she wouldn’t know anything about him.
“Perry,” she whispered, which likely meant he couldn’t hear her since everyone around them was shouting or singing.
He fluttered his eyes open, and once again, the clear blue of his eyes struck her. Why had she thought his eyes were similar to Neville’s? They were nothing alike. Neville’s eyes had a constant, hard glint that chilled her. Perry’s eyes were warm and had a naughty twinkle that cheered her up.
“Edith.” He tried to move his head off her lap, but she stopped him.
“Don’t. You need a moment to recover. How do you feel?”
“Sore.” He opened and closed his hands slowly. “How are you?”
Cold, shocked, worried, ashamed. At least the water had got her sober.
“I’m fine. You took me out of the pool, didn’t you?” she asked.
“Yes. You were petrified.” His speech was a little hesitant, but nevertheless, it was a miracle he talked.
Goodness, she’d missed his deep voice so much. After all, she’d heard it for only a few hours during their careless stroll through the Rosherville Gardens before the incident.
He grimaced again. “I was horribly scared when I saw you sinking. Then the seizure hit me. Thank you for your help.”
She took advantage of his position to check the pulse in his neck. It beat steadily. During the seizure, it’d spiked to a frenzy.
He watched her with a solemn gaze that seemed to see right through her lies. Certainly, he had questions about her behaviour. What he knew about her was a fairy tale of her own making. A recently graduated doctor should be in a hospital, training and working with the patients, not in an infamous club.
“I’m all right. I can stand up.” He slowly propped himself up on his elbows before sitting next to her on the floor.
He didn’t say anything but stared at her. His wet eyelashes were spiked together, and his white shirt was plastered over his chest muscles.
She tugged at the jacket covering her; it had to belong to him. “I’m sorry I didn’t reply to your invitation.”
“I guessed you were busy.”
There was a note of sarcasm in his tone, or maybe she simply felt guilty.
“Goodness, you can talk.” She couldn’t stop a smile. “Hearing your voice again is wonderful. You wrote that you didn’t speak well. You were too hard on yourself.”
“I have some bad days.” He ran a hand through his wet hair. It fell nicely over his strong jaw. “I’m glad to see you despite what happened.” He waved towards the pool and between them.
“I’m glad, too.”
She was about to ask him what he was doing in a place like the Scarlet Room when a blond man stopped in front of them. He had to be one of the few gentlemen still fully clothed or dry. His brown suit was pristine. Not a crease on it.
“I say!” The man grinned from eye to eye. “A completely drenched lady, wearing your jacket, and you’re drenched as well on the floor with her. That’s the reason I took you here.”
“Excuse me?” She pulled the lapels of Perry’s jacket closer, shivering. After the scare had passed, her wet clothes chilled her.
Perry exhaled. “Dr. Edith Winkworth, may I introduce you to Dr. Oliver York? I wrote about him in my letters.”
Dr. York thrust his chest out as if proud.
Dr. Winkworth. Dash it. Edith stopped herself from correcting him. It wasn’t the right moment.
“I’m not simply a doctor,” Dr. York said, hooking his thumbs into his waistcoat. “I’m Lord Ravenscroft’s best friend, personal physician, and future alienist as soon as I finish my treatises.” He winked at Perry. “Not everyone can say that. In fact, only I can.”
