Chapter Seven

Dr. McCullom towered over Juliette, his accent becoming thick as treacle—something she hadn’t heard before from him. It seemed he dampened it here in England to make his English patients more comfortable.

She quite liked it.

It made her uncomfortable in a delicious way.

Juliette tilted her head defiantly, meeting his dilated eyes with hers, hoping he wouldn’t notice the birdlike frenetic pulse in her throat. “I’ll have to trust your comportment as a gentleman.”

His mouth tilted in the most wicked of smiles. “Has anyone told you, lass, that Scotsmen aren’t gentlemen, but savages?” His mouth immediately covered hers in a bruising kiss of possession. If she’d enjoyed their kiss the prior night, it was nothing compared to what this entirely new version made her feel. Gone was the tentative touch, the unsure reception…in its place was a strength and desire unlike any other.

His tongue swept against the seam of her lips; his teeth nibbled the fullness of her bottom lip. She parted her lips with a sigh, granting him access. He changed the angle and their teeth clicked, their lips met and parted, his tongue dove in to duel with her inexperienced one. She had to grip the edge of the desk behind her to keep her knees from buckling. She’d never thought…never imagined it could be like this. He set an unfamiliar fire beneath her skin until every inch of her burned to be closer to him, to have his hands exploring and teasing the rest of her just as his mouth was. She longed to arch her body and press her tingling breasts to the broad, hard wall of his chest. She wanted to feel more.

More.

More.

When he finally tore his mouth away, he pressed his forehead to hers, his broad shoulders heaving with every panting breath. He whispered in a voice as rough as granite, “You clearly have no idea of the dangerous game you are playing, and in which you are asking me to take part.” Juliette’s mind moved sluggishly and, by the time it had caught up to his words, he’d already retreated several paces to adjust his hair and his jacket. And he stepped from the room.

Still, on weakened legs, Juliette followed him back into the exam room to find him, head hanging, bracing his palms atop his apothecary table with its many nooks and crannies. His broad back was to her and it undulated with his every heavy breath.

The silence stretched on. She was about to ask him if he was unwell, but he straightened and began plucking items from the shelves. He deftly prepared a packet with practiced hands for her and held it out.

She stared dumbly at it until he spoke.

“It is the pain powder you claimed to be visiting me to retrieve,” he explained flatly, still not quite meeting her eyes. “It wouldn’t do to return without it.”

Pulling her lower lip between her teeth, Juliette nodded and accepted the packet, shoving it into her reticule. She wasn’t prepared for him to close the gap between them so he could tuck a loose curl behind her ear with his large, surprisingly dextrous hand. His finger lingering upon her cheek loosed a shiver throughout her body and her eyelids fluttered with her breath.

“Do not misunderstand me this time. I am declining not because I don’t find your proposition bloody appealing, but because you are not for me.”

Juliette cocked a brow. “Don’t be such a martyr under the guise of righteousness.” His eyes widened. Honestly, she was just as surprised that such bold words snuck past her lips. “I may be inexperienced, but I am not stupid. I know you want to say yes. And only an idiot would turn down a no-strings-attached offer of something he desired. You don’t strike me as a fool or an idiot, Dr. McCullom.” Shock gave way to something in his features Juliette could not name, but that quickly morphed into something she did understand: frustration.

“Are you insinuating that I am an idiot if I do not accept your proposal?” he ground out, barely quiet enough that her maid and his housekeeper wouldn’t overhear. The barely-banked fire in his eyes made Juliette second-guess her word choice, but there was no turning back now. For better or for worse, the gauntlet had been thrown. She swallowed hard.

“I am merely stating that to deny what is freely offered—especially when it is something you so clearly desire—is unbelievably irrational for a rational man such as yourself.”

He huffed a gruff sigh and ran a hand through his hair, yanking some of the burnished chestnut locks free of their queue. He stared out the street-level window and the passing shadows beyond for several tense minutes before his eyes flew to hers once again.

“Fine,” he snapped and his eyes widened as if he couldn’t believe the capitulation had come from his mouth. “But let me make this painfully clear: Nothing can come of this. We get out of it what we desire, but you’d best not harbor notions about a more permanent arrangement. There is no room for girlish fantasies.” Juliette injected steel into her spine in response.

“I am a spinster of six and twenty, not a debutante. Any fantasies I may have once had died long ago. I merely want to experience a taste of the world within my books while I still can.” She delicately cleared the emotion from her throat. “You are my chance, Dr. McCullom. You have met my brother, so you’ve some idea what I am up against. Teach me.”

He eyed her for several more heartbeats, weighing her words, reading the double meaning they held, before he nodded once and gestured toward the door. “And call me Ian,” he said in a low tone as she passed by him. Her steps halted and she looked up into his handsome face.

“And, to you, I am Juliette.” Her lips tilted into a hesitant smile before she led the way from the exam room and he quickly repaired his hair.

“Continue the dosage as prescribed and send word if you find it does not help.” Ian held the door for her as he spoke loudly enough to catch the attention of his housekeeper and her maid. Fanny stood immediately. “Would you please see that the carriage is brought straight to the door for Lady Juliette? She should rest her ankle and not strain herself with any unnecessary travel.”

The maid nodded and ducked out as Juliette shot him a glare from beneath her lashes. His statement within earshot of her maid just assured her of a quiet weekend without any activities. The blasted man seemed to know this and enjoy it, given the cocky tilt of his brow.

It was a matter of minutes until he saw her safely into her carriage and she was whisked away back to Hopesend House.

But it wasn’t for several hours more before the gravity of what Juliette had accomplished truly set in. She was utterly stunned by her own boldness—she’d never been so daring in her life! Thinking back on it as she sat comfortably in the family sitting room, the entire situation felt like one long fevered dream. A strange, vivid daydream where she could still feel the echo of Ian’s kiss upon her lips and taste him on her tongue.

As she halfheartedly worked her piece of embroidery, she wondered at her sheer lack of planning. At the time, she’d believed herself to be cunning and worldly…yet she hadn’t even thought of how she and Ian were going to be able to meet again. She silently berated her rash behavior, stabbing her needle through her stitching and piercing her thumb with its sharp point. She yelped, causing Ethan to look up from where he was reading his book in a nearby armchair.

“Are you well?”

“I’m fine,” she snapped before sticking her thumb in her mouth, tasting the metallic tang of blood. The puncture continued to bleed, so she wrapped a handkerchief around it and applied pressure. She supposed she deserved that for wielding a needle with little care or thought.

Ethan set aside his book, propping it open on the arm of the chair, and eyed her closely. “You’ve been uncommonly testy as of late, Jules.”

“I know, I’m sorry for that.” She sighed and her shoulders slumped. “I don’t quite know what’s gotten into me.” His piercing eyes continued to bore into her. He recognized there was more to it than that. Her twin knew her better than anyone; he’d always been able to tell when something was troubling her, no matter how well she hid it. It had been a connection they’d shared from birth—their mother had called it their “gift.”

“You seem restless,” Ethan commented. “The Season is nearly over. Perhaps it’s time for a change of scenery and some fresh air. We don’t have any pressing invitations at the moment, and any of my remaining business can be handled from the country. Perhaps we can retire from London early this year?”

Juliette gave a noncommittal tilt of her head. While it sounded lovely and she loved their family’s country home, it meant she would have to miss a couple of their Reading Society meetings…not to mention her plans with Ian would well and truly be over before they’d even begun.

But maybe that was for the best.

Hadn’t she just been pondering how clumsy and ill-conceived her plan was? The chance was slim that her brother would approve of her receiving Gaelic lessons from Dr. McCullom, even less that he would allow them to be alone enough for Juliette to achieve the other half of her goal…

Her heart sank a little lower in her breast.

“If you’d like, maybe you can throw together a small house party? I know how you enjoy organizing such things.”

The task was usually reserved for the wives of lords, but Ethan was as yet unmarried and, as far as she and anyone else saw, had no hint of an inclination to do so anytime soon. Juliette had happily filled in for this part of the social role of countess ever since it was clear she was not going to be snatched up on the Marriage Mart. She was fully aware that Ethan used it as a way to distract and entertain her since she was usually kept under lock and key. She would be allowed to organize and host such events on his behalf as the pseudo-lady of the household.

And he usually gave her fairly free reign to do as she wished with her plans.

Juliette perked up.

Perhaps this was the answer she needed.

“That sounds like a lovely idea,” she replied evenly, keeping her excitement in check. She would spend the next several days plotting away, and, thanks to Dr. McCullom’s proclamation that she take additional rest, she had nothing but time.

∞∞∞

For his part, Ian lay awake late that evening wondering how in the hell he’d been goaded into agreeing to this farce. Juliette may be young and sheltered, but she was far from stupid. It was at once terrifying and exciting.

∞∞∞

It was three weeks before Ian heard from Juliette again; he’d actually begun to allow himself to believe she’d come to her senses and abandoned her foolish aim. He should have been pleased that the chit had stopped pursuing him, but there was no denying the pang of disappointment he experienced as day after day passed and it became more of a possibility.

In the meantime, Ian dove back into his work and tried to clear Juliette’s eager lips and heady nectar from his memory.

At night, when sleep eluded him, he would work on his passion project—something near and dear to his heart; a goal that he hoped was not too far off. As long as his practice continued to flourish as it already was, with any luck, he’d soon have to consider scouring medical schools for an apprentice. He needed someone with the right schooling, but still malleable enough where he could shape them to his methods and proven practices.

It was late in the evening and Ian was rifling through his files for a particular one when he accidentally knocked over the stack of post Mrs. Brown had left for him. He stooped to pick up the scattered mess and, within the bunch, there was an innocuous-seeming envelope of thick cream paper with elegant, swooping script. Intrigued, he stood and retrieved his penknife to slice it open. Though he recognized the impression in the midnight black seal, he didn’t allow his mind to jump to conclusions until his eyes scanned the writing once, twice.

Juliette, on behalf of her brother, the Earl of Hopesend, invited him to a house party in the country. And it was to be a week in duration.

Beneath his thumb at the bottom of the page was a slightly smudged, hasty postscript. There was no doubt as to its author.

Juliette had issued him a challenge: Tha an duais as motha a’ leantainn a’ chunnart as motha.

That little minx.

The greatest reward follows the greatest risk.

Ian shook his head. My, but she’d been a busy little nymph.