AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Braden took a hackney to the university, telling the driver to crack on. His colleague, Dr. John Blackmore, was giving a lecture on the latest developments in managing difficult pregnancies, and now he’d be lucky if he caught the tail end of it—thanks to Logan reading him the riot act.
He paid the driver and hurried upstairs to the east side of the university, a three-story building with massive columns framing the doors. Although most of his day was usually spent at the Royal Infirmary, Braden kept a small office at the college for study and meeting with his students. He also assisted John, a senior professor with specialties in midwifery and infectious diseases. John had taken Braden under his wing, and in those four years, he’d taught Braden as much as almost all his professors combined.
He’d become a damn good friend, too, and probably understood Braden better than his own family did.
He sidestepped a rush of black-gowned students coming out of the lecture hall, enthusiastically discussing the lecture they’d just heard. Then he made his way down the narrow center aisle, past rows of writing tables and chairs, to meet John.
“There you are,” his mentor said as he packed away his instruments. “I’m sorry you missed the lecture. We had quite a lively discussion afterwards.”
“My sincere regrets, but I had my own lecture and discussion at Heriot Row. And there are no short discussions in my family.”
John’s incisive gaze flickered over him. “About another late night in Old Town, I suppose, and your brother didn’t approve. You’re looking rather worn around the edges, Braden. Was it a difficult case?”
“Actually, no. It’s what happened afterwards that was tricky.”
“Ah, a mystery, then. You can tell me all about it as we walk to my office. You look like you could use a strong cup of tea—or coffee.”
“I wouldn’t say no to either.”
They headed down the long corridor toward the professors’ rooms, Braden keeping pace with the older man’s long stride. Although well into his forties, John had as much strength and energy as a man half his age. Unlike many other successful physicians, John refused togo soft, as he dismissively called it.
John’s devotion to his patients and his work was superseded only by his devotion to his wife and daughter. As a mentor, Braden couldn’t have picked a better man. As a role model—one who easily seemed to manage both his personal and professional lives—he found John a bit daunting.
Now that he thought of it, he was rather like Braden’s older brothers, who were equally successful in work and in love. It was a formula he’d never been able to crack.
“What’s wrong?” John quietly asked.
Braden dredged up a smile. “Nothing. Just a bit tired.”
“You know, it won’t do your patients any good if you fall ill from lack of rest.”
“Nonsense. I have the constitution of a sewer rat.”
His friend snorted. “I’m not sure that’s a good thing.”
“It is for a doctor who works in Old Town.”
John put out a hand to stop a passing college porter and ordered coffee. Then he unlocked his office door and waved Braden in.
As a dean and supervising physician at the Infirmary, John had one of the largest offices in the college. Sturdy bookshelves, packed with hundreds of volumes as well as glass jars containing medical specimens and botanical compounds, lined two of the walls right up to the wood-paneled ceiling. A polished oak table, piled high with books, stood in front of a tiled fireplace, and a large writing desk, cubbyholes stuffed with papers, was positioned in front of the window for maximum light.
John quickly stirred up the banked fire while Braden sank into the leather club chair in front of the desk. Foggy tendrils weaved through his brain. He straightened his spine, refusing to give into the urge to let his eyelids drift shut.
“Coffee should be up in a few minutes,” John said as he settled behind his desk. “That’ll put some life into you. I’m afraid you look rather like hell.”
“You’d look like hell, too, if you were set upon by one idiot with a machete and another idiot with a club.”
His friend jerked upright. “Good Lord. Did they actually get a hand on you?” He leaned forward over his desk. “Do I need to examine you for injuries?”
“Och, you’re as bad as my family. I escaped, and I’m fine.”
“So, it was a robbery attempt?”
Braden shook his head. “Only in part. Do you remember Naomi Parson? It was a near thing with her, as I’m sure you recall.”
“Yes, a miscarriage. It was a very distressing situation. Her husband blamed you for encouraging Naomi to go to the—”
Understanding dawned, and John’s gray gaze turned stormy. “Bloody hell. Don’t tell me the villain tracked you down for revenge?”
