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 fa?ade. 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.”

“With all due respect, your physician is not me.”

An arched brow told Ian exactly what the earl thought of the comment. To many, Ian’s words might seem more than a little conceited, but if they’d been in Ian’s shoes these last several years as he cleaned up the messes left scattered about by patients clutching onto superstitious cures and physicians unwilling to reassess antiquated practices, then they might feel the same. He’d witnessed firsthand just how wrong simple treatments could go.

The men stared one another down for several tense minutes before the earl, rather surprisingly, capitulated rather than throw Ian out on his ear.

“Very well,” he groused. “My sister is upstairs in her sitting room. You have permission for no more than ten minutes of her time; that should be more than sufficient.” It wasn’t a question. “Francis will show you the way.” A raised finger signaled the silent manifestation of the butler at Ian’s side. “He will see you out when you are finished.”

The banknotes were dropped back into the desk drawer before the earl’s attention was quickly shifted to another stack of papers atop his desk. Ian was summarily dismissed and, biting his tongue, he sketched a quick bow and followed the butler from the study.

Together, they traversed the hallway and climbed the thickly carpeted stairs to the third floor. Everything Ian saw spoke of many generations of wealth and privilege. Paintings several centuries old graced alcoves and gold-gilded fixtures were scattered throughout. This was certainly not a household that burned anything less than the finest beeswax candles; there was not so much as a hint of the acrid smoke of cheap fuel. The plush carpet runner made their movements all but entirely silent. Its rich navy and burgundy hues swirled beneath their every step, underscoring the frivolity of the class.

Ian was pondering as much when he was shown to a private sitting room. The walls were papered in delicately patterned rose-pink and ivory. Lacey curtains framed tall windows on the far wall, against which sat a delicate cherry wood writing desk.

“Dr. McCullom!”

Ian’s attention snapped to his patient where she sat in a cloud of gauzy daffodil-colored skirts, her injured leg elevated upon a pillow embroidered with greenery and rosebuds. Ian had all but convinced himself that his memories of her beauty were exaggerated, born of uncharacteristically fanciful musings, but that had been the boldest of lies. Lady Juliette with her midnight hair and unnaturally captivating eyes was stunning, indeed.

And when she smiled at him, his lungs froze in his chest.

“I wasn’t expecting you to call today.” She smiled in a warm greeting which revealed dimples in both of her smooth cheeks, and set aside her book. Despite her injury, she still appeared as composed and elegant as a queen upon her throne.

“I did say I would call upon you to review your progress.”

“So you did.” Her smile and the flash of her pearl-white teeth actually made his knees weaken. “Please! Do sit down.” She gestured to the nearby chair. “Allow me to send for some refreshments.”

“I fear I must make this visit brief,” Ian declined, though it was the last thing he wanted to do. “His Lordship made it quite clear I had only ten minutes of your time with which to perform my examination and be on my way.” He spared a glance at the porcelain-framed clock upon the mantle. “And I have only six of those minutes remaining.”

She emitted a breathy laugh through her nose in response. It was far from proper, but Ian found it immensely charming. “Ethan loses track of time when he works. He’ll hardly notice if you overstay by a few minutes.” Ian sincerely doubted that the earl would be so flippant about having another man in his house and dancing attention upon his sister, but he decided to take Lady Juliette’s word for it. He strode over to the chair to which she’d gestured and set his bag by his feet. She then requested the disapproving butler tug upon the bellpull. An intricate dance was performed in which the request for refreshments was conveyed and a suitable chaperone in the form of the housekeeper—a woman of slightly beyond middling age with a granite face and steel-gray hair beneath her cap—sat in the corner like a watchful gargoyle.

It wasn’t long before two maids returned with a full service of tea, shortbread, and small roast beef sandwiches carved into dainty triangles. It would forever escape Ian how efficient and well-prepared these households were. Could they have possibly begun their preparations as soon as he’d set foot in the door? How else could the tray have been ready with such expediency?

“Allow me,” he said when Lady Juliette leaned forward to pour for them both. A man who had been born to nothing and lived a simple life, it always made him supremely uncomfortable to be served by others. It was bad enough that the maids had scrambled to serve this repast, he couldn’t very well defer to societal norms and allow Lady Juliette to inconvenience herself and prepare their tea. His conscience wouldn’t allow it.

She seemed taken aback by the gesture but gladly accepted the cup and saucer after he’d added a splash of milk and a single cube of sugar per her instructions.

As he sat back in the impossibly dainty chair, he noticed that the book she’d been reading was, indeed, in Russian.

“ Vam nravitsya vasha kniga? ” he asked, tilting his chin toward the book on the arm of the sofa; Are you enjoying your book? She’d moved on from Bogdanovich and was—rather impressively—tackling Karamzin’s The Pantheon .

Lady Juliette’s remarkable eyes widened and her lush mouth split into a devastatingly beautiful grin. “ Da! Mne ochen' nravitsya! ” Yes! I am very much! “I have read many of the originals the author compiled and translated into his native tongue, so it has been interesting to compare the texts.” Her eyes glowed with delight. “It’s all rather elegant and flowing. Ty govorish' po-russki? ” She asked if he spoke Russian.

Ian winced and replied in English. “Passably.”

“More than passably,” Lady Juliette gushed, inordinately pleased to have found someone else who spoke the language.

“Not nearly as well as you, my lady. You must be fluent if you are reading a novel.”

The blush on her cheeks was more than becoming, it was beguiling. “Languages are a bit of a hobby of mine,” she admitted. “I’ve always had an ear for them; my parents and my brother have helped me cultivate it with tutors. I find I enjoy reading literature written as the authors intended. This one presents a particularly interesting linguistic comparison.”

A smile toyed with the corner of Ian’s mouth. “ Quelles autres langues connaissez-vous? Fran?ais? ” What other languages do you know? French? he asked, the lilting sounds rolling off his tongue.

“ Mais bien s?r! ” she replied brightly; But of course!

“ Y habla espa?ol también? ” Ian asked if she spoke Spanish as well.

“ Naturalmente! ” she answered with a grin.

“ Sicuramente non parli anche italiano? ” Having spent so much time in Italy, this last was one language with which he was quite familiar and confident in his pronunciation.

“ Non mi ingannerai, dottor McCullom . La famiglia di mia madre è italiana. ” Her bubble of laughter was like the ringing of the most sonorous of bells. You will not trick me, Dr. McCullom. My mother’s family is from Italy. This explained her dark coloring.

Ian’s eyes narrowed playfully, deciding to extend even more of a test—one close to his heart. She had responded perfectly thus far, but he wanted to see how she’d react to the next one. “ Is e boireannach sgoinneil a th’ annad, ach tha mi teagmhach gu bheil cànan mo dhaoine anns an leabharlann agad. ”

Her lips parted, but she had no answer for him. “Say it again,” she asked, more out of eagerness to hear the words than it was a command. His heart skipped a beat and he complied.

“That was lovely,” she breathed. “What language was that?”

“Scots Gaelic,” he replied, his eyes flashing over to the housekeeper-turned-gargoyle in the corner. It wasn’t all that long ago that the language was outlawed, along with so many other parts of his heritage. It was the tongue of his childhood, the native language of his mother. He’d been raised in the Highlands before fortune smiled upon him and he had attended school in Edinburgh.

“And what does it mean?” she asked, drawing his attention back to her rapt expression.

“‘You are a brilliant woman, but I doubt the language of my people is in your library.’” It was difficult to keep the grin off his face, especially when she laughed again.

“I like your humor, Dr. McCullom,” she rested her cheek on her hand and gazed across at him. Ian felt his heart trip once more. It had been decades since he’d blushed like a green lad, but he felt his cheeks heat dangerously in response.

He didn’t know what came over him, but he leaned forward and spoke low and slow, “ Tha mi a’ guidhe gun stadadh an saoghal a’ tionndadh agus mar sin cha tàinig am mionaid seo gu crìch. ”

I wish the world would stop turning so this moment never ended.

Her dark, elegantly arched brows twitched in bafflement as her mind turned the unfamiliar sounds over and over again.

“What did you say this time?”

Ian finished his cup of tea rather than translate for her. “You said you enjoyed languages, Lady Juliette; I have just given you a new challenge with which to occupy yourself while you recuperate. Now,” he added as he set the cup on the table between them and stood; “I wouldn’t want to overstay my welcome. With your permission, may I examine your injury?”

“Of course.” Lady Juliette shifted her skirts to give him access to her ankle. She was an excellent pupil and had done an admirable job of wrapping the joint. She’d rather scandalously foregone a stocking on that leg, but it made Ian’s examination far simpler. He noted the angry purple and yellow bruising and tender swelling, but they hadn’t spread. She did flinch as he palpated and tested the flexion, but she didn’t cry out.

“Are you taking the medicine I provided?” he asked, trying to ignore how soft and pale her skin was.

“Yes, but I’ve run low.”

“Then it’s a good thing I’ve brought more with me.”

“How well-prepared you are, Doctor.”

Ian gave her a small smile as he re-wrapped her injury. “You still have tenderness, but that is to be expected. I still do not suspect a break, but you will need to continue your rest.” He rifled through his leather bag and set another packet of pain powder on the table. “This has enough doses to see you through the week, but do not hesitate to send word should you require more. Many apothecaries can supply it, but I created this mixture myself and can vouch for its purity and the dosage.”?“Then I will certainly contact you should I require more. Thank you.” She averted her eyes as if thinking about her next words and then deciding to say them anyway. “I do hope Ethan wasn’t too rude to you and made you feel as if you needed to rush off.”

“Of course not,” Ian fibbed lightly. She didn’t need to know just how much her brother hadn’t wanted Ian to see her; besides, he could hold his own. It took a great deal more than a few glares and gruff words to intimidate him.

“He’s always been more than a little overprotective,” she added by way of explanation. Ian supposed he would be too if he had a treasure such as Lady Juliette to protect.

“Understandable for any brother,” Ian reassured her and bowed deeply. “It has been a pleasure, Lady Juliette. Continue your rest for this week and next. Begin your physical activity slowly and do not overdo it.”

“Yes, Doctor,” she replied cheekily. Ian had to look away from her smile. “Thank you again; for everything.”?“Think nothing of it,” he murmured and turned on his heel, knowing full well he’d likely never see this bewitching woman again. Ian recognized it was for the best; this attraction he felt could never be realized and would surely only bring trouble.