Page 52 of Again, Scoundrel

“Why?” she asked, eating her roll quickly.

She needed to get back to work—the patients had not stopped coming since they’d opened the doors that morning to an already massive crowd. But she couldn’t bring herself to leave until she knew why he’d ignored her this week. She’d missed him and was angry with herself because she knew better and still missed him.

Alistair’s brow furrowed. “Would you rather I not be here?”

“No,” Violet said. “Stay. I want you to stay. But—”

She watched as he removed his overcoat and rolled up the sleeves of his linen shirt, revealing two bronzed forearms.

“But what?” he asked. “I’m here to help, Violet.”

Violet looked down, embarrassed. Alistair reached out with his hand and tilted her chin up. “Look at me,” he said. “But what?”

“Where were you this week?” she blurted out with less finesse than she might have hoped.

“You missed me.” He grinned his wolfish grin before his face became more serious. “I was working, Violet. I need you to understand that I—”

“Hey, Doc,” somebody called from the ever-growing line of patients. “You going to work today or what?”

“I have to go,” Violet said, turning from him.

She knew her cheeks were still flushed from the heat of her embarrassment. Or from the overwarm room packed with ailing bodies. Or from whatever it was that Alistair Crawford did to her senses.

“I’ll stay, Violet,” he called after her. “If you’ll have me.”

Violet only nodded and pointed to the lye wash. “Wash your hands,” she said and went back to work.

The minutes and hours flew past, with Alistair right by her side. They fell into an easy rhythm, seeing as many of Covent Garden’s sick and destitute as possible while the hours wound their way toward evening.

Violet called for bandages, scissors, iodine, salve, and Alistair handed her whatever she needed. As nighttime drew closer, he could almost read her mind, holding out the linen for a bandage before she’d even uttered a word.

“Send a note to Catherine,” she said at some point to Esmee, “and tell her I’ll not be home for dinner.”

She presumed it was done but didn’t verify because she could see now, for the first time all day, the patient standing quietly at the end of the line. She would get to him before she retired for the evening, no matter how long she had to work or how tired she became. She’d see every last one of them.

Her hands were trembling with fatigue when she reached the last man, who had upon inspection a rotten tooth that needed to be pulled.

“Would you oblige?” she asked Alistair, and he did, using a piece of string and his formidable bicep to yank the infected tooth out of the man’s mouth in one swift pull.

And then she slumped into the nearest booth and, for the first time that day, she looked around her. Esmee was there, her red hair neatly braided down her back. She’d been the one who’d separated the patients according to Violet’s instructions and, Violet realized, the one who had been slipping the food Alistair had brought into her hands all day so that she wouldn’t have to quit working to feed herself.

McGann was there, of course. He’d set the bones as she’d instructed and performed other duties where brawn was needed.

And Alistair, who had worked by her side with quiet, compassionate diligence. He’d been near to her all day, providing extra light or supplies, carrying those who could not walk to and fro, and keeping order in the various sick bays if Violet’s would-be patients felt they had been waiting too long.

It felt so natural, the way their bodies shared space and the way they’d worked hand in hand. Today, he’d reminded her in so many ways of her brother, James, and the long days they’d spent in each other’s company, riding and shooting and quietly exploring Manhattan together.

She looked around at the trio of faces surrounding her and was so overwhelmed by gratitude on top of her hunger and exhaustion that she was at a loss for words.

It was Esmee who spoke first. “Our kitchen’s a mess for tonight,” she said. “I’ll just go wrangle something for supper while you two get your bearings and rest. Andrew, come with me.”

“Aye, mistress,” McGann said with a grin and a tip of his cap to Alistair and Violet.

Violet still said nothing while the siblings exited, one red-headed and one with jet black hair. And then it was just she and Alistair left alone in the tavern.

“You were magnificent today,” he said.

“What were you going to tell me?” she asked. “Before. When I asked you where you’d been all week.”