Chapter Ten

"C hromius! No!"

Nick quickly looked left and right before he sprinted across the street, trying to catch the lead of his runaway dog.

Nick's heart pounded in his chest as Chromius, his normally well-behaved terrier mutt, bolted towards the hustle of the carriages and clip-clopping of horses along the street. The cobblestone streets of Marylebone, lit by the still-low-hanging sun diffused by the morning fog, pulsated with the energy of London waking up—a dangerous place for a little mutt.

The clattering of carriage wheels and the murmurs of conversation from passersby must have scared him—though it never had before. Perhaps he saw a cat or a squirrel; that would be more in character for the busy little hunter. And fast one, besides. Nick barely looked left and right before sprinting after his four-legged friend. Across the street, a young lady had just alighted from a glossy, deep blue landau, her crinoline skirt rustling like whispers in the gaslit glow. Chromius, evidently smitten for some unknown reason, made a beeline for her. Nick's breath caught in his throat as he watched his wayward dog dart across the carriage-filled street, his usually glossy coat now mottled with flecks of London's cobblestone grime.

Chromius's tail, a little white banner, whipped back and forth in joyous abandon, as he approached the young lady across the street.

Nick stopped hard when a carriage nearly ran over his foot and the split second it took to wait for it pass him by, the young woman's laughter rang out across the street, a melodic harmony that drifted towards Nick like a lilting tune. His heart lurched; he'd heard that laughter before, soft, lovely, imbued with warmth and amusement.

As Chromius jumped around her, her laughter only grew louder, the sound weaving an enchanting spell in the cool London morning.

Still a few feet away, Nick watched. "Chromius!"

But the dog ignored him, and his cries were lost among the bustle of Harley Street.

He watched Pippa as she delicately removed her glove, revealing her slender hand. She extended it towards Chromius. The dog sniffed at her fingers, his tail wagging in delight, and she lovingly patted his head with a touch that Nick knew was as light as a feather.

Even from his vantage point, Nick could see the elegant sophistication with which she carried herself, the refined grace that marked her as a lady. Yet, there was an unmistakable warmth in her gesture, a raw and genuine kindness that shone through as she lavished attention on what could possibly be a stray dog as far she was concerned. Yet, there was no reservation in her affectionate welcome of the creature.

By the time Nick reached the other side of the street, out of breath, the lady was squatting and had picked Chromius up. It was a sight that tugged at his heart, a poignant moment that faded in comparison to the jolt that ran through Nick's veins as soon as he saw her face.

She was just as breathtaking as she was in his memories. And her kindness—he hadn't imagined it. It shone through her, in the way she cuddled his dog, and in the smile on her face.

His heart pounded.

"Pippa!" Nick croaked, taking in the picture of the beauty who was jerking her face back and crinkling her nose adorably while Chromius licked her chin.

She giggled with the sound that Nick imagined his mother had meant when she told him how it sounded when an angel grew its wings in the old fairy tales.

Chromius wouldn't stop trying to lick her face—the smart dog's actions were completely understandable—and yet it was prudent to show a little more restraint, even though she was an exceptional vision of beauty. Nick reached for his dog and set him gently back down, holding tightly to his lead this time.

When Nick straightened his back and Chromius finally sat by his foot, she just stood there, beaming at him.

And the sun rose on the gloomy London fog. Pippa's face was alight with the power of her pearly smile and her cheeks were slightly red. It was cold and her breath dissipated in an elegantly swirling mist that diffused the light. Her blond curls emerged from her large woolen hood like spirals of spun gold sparkling in the light. So beautiful.

Nick's heart almost hurt when he looked at her, and he wanted to fall to his knees before the beautiful woman.

Suddenly, a shadow sucked the light out of the moment as if a giant were blocking the sun. And then it thundered. The heavens opened and without a moment's warning, they stood in the rain.

Chromius yapped, and Pippa huddled into her hood.

"I just sent my driver away." She peeked out from under the gray wool and batted her eyelashes. She was so sweet that Nick could feel the motion in his bones.

"Come with me." He took her hand, prepared to hesitate, but she didn't. She let him grab her hand firmly and she followed him across the street. Chromius's walk had to wait—or it would have, if Chromius hadn't stopped at the opposite curb to take care of his needs.

Nick led her up the stairs and to the door of 87 Harley Street. "This is my office. Well, it's the foyer of my…this is where I work." Nick opened the door for her. She walked past him and left a delicious scent in her wake. He didn't have time to analyze what she smelled like, as his body reacted, and he found himself eager to sit down at his exam table to hide the evidence of his arousal. Now, he bent to undo Chromius's leash. The dog shook the rainwater off and then tick-ticked across the floor toward the kitchen, tail wagging. It was time for breakfast. For him, anyway.

"I'm sorry he jumped you… ahem…" Nick rubbed the back of his neck as words failed him. But then he saw that Pippa was struggling to remove her soaking wet, wool pelisse, and reached to help her. His hands were shaking—not a thing a surgeon like him was used to. But he'd jump her like Chromius if he didn't have so many scruples.

"Is he a fox terrier?"

"He is indeed. Do you know much about dogs?" Nick was pleased that she liked his furry companion so much, although he couldn't quite explain why it was important to him.

"I think most animals have far better traits than humans." She bit her lip and a flush of pink spread quickly over her cheeks. "Present company excluded, of course."

"Of course." Nick broke into a smile. He liked her more and more, including the clumsy truths she let slip. She made his heart light up.

"I must say that I have never been to an oculist's office before, Dr. Folsham." She walked right into Nick's office without waiting for him to invite her; the door was open, but she'd probably seen his name on the door. Curiously, she took a stroll through his exam room as if it were Almack's and she was taking a turn about the room. Instead of a ball gown, she wore a dress that was cut rather plain. Instead of an elegant coiffe, her hair was tied loosely in a sort of braid and tied up with a plain white ribbon. And she wore sensible walking shoes with sturdy soles instead of dancing slippers. And yet, her posture was straight and her gaze so intelligent that he couldn't look away. There was something far more elegant and charming about her than Nick had ever seen in other aristocratic ladies.

"I did invite you here to confirm my diagnosis." Drat! A beautiful woman came to his office, and he went into automatic doctor mode. Stupid.

She met his gaze. "Oh, I hadn't made up my mind yet—"

"But you're already here." Please, don't go away. He'd be so angry at himself if he scared her away. He wasn't used to talking to women, unless they were patients. He didn't go to balls. He wasn't invited. He was of the wrong class of person, after all.

"Very well." Her voice was quiet and her words hesitant. Was she feeling insecure, too? About him ?

At least he had an excuse for her to stay. He wanted nothing more than to spend a little more time with her. If he focused on what he knew best—medicine—perhaps things would fall into place. At the very least, he wouldn't appear to be the bumbling boy that he currently felt like.

He would treat her like any other patient. That would work. He cleared his throat and straightened his shoulders. "Feel free to explore, milady. I shall set up the exam over here." Nick moved to rinse his hands in the wash basin by the wall cabinet. When he looked up, Pippa stood before the window, backlit with the gloomy light from the rainy morning. Yet, even in such a drab gray light, she was aglow.

He turned away to pull out a series of lenses from where they were kept, and when he turned back, she was attempting to peruse the shelf of books behind Nick's writing desk, although with her condition he doubted she was successful in reading any of them. The thought occurred to him that because of his skills, this beautiful vison would have beautiful vision. A fanciful thought, but Pippa inspired fancy, he thought.

When she turned to face him, she looked almost rosy with the golden curls cascading down her neck. Her complexion was even and clear, and Nick thought of a poem he'd read once about alabaster skin. What had seemed silly at the time was apt in this moment. Atop her head, the loosely braided bit of her hair had come loose, and a strand of silky blond hair spiraled down, barely touching her collarbone. Nick swallowed hard for it was a gorgeous view of her modestly covered neck. Unbidden, a fantasy of placing a slow and gentle kiss just at the nape of her neck rose in his mind.

He shook his head to dislodge the image. "You may take a seat here, please." He gestured to the chair meant for patients.

"Is anything the matter, Dr. Folsham?" Pippa asked as she took the seat across from him.

"Not at all, milady. Shall we begin?"

"I'm a bit nervous," she said as she surveyed the lenses. "What are these for?"

"I will use the lenses to determine the degree of your farsightedness. But first, I need to determine the general health of your eyes."

"Do you suspect anything wrong besides the lens…what is it called again?"

"I do not, but it is my job to ensure all is well. Shall we proceed?" Nick propped his elbow on the table and turned his palm upward. She instinctively knew what to do—most patients did—and stretched her neck until her chin rested on his fingertips. Nick tensed again and wished he could stop the erection under the table, but he was grateful that the table was made of solid wood and hiding his crotch. And, he supposed, he was grateful—at least, in this instance—for her farsightedness, though that was daring of him.

"Would you please tell me what you are doing?" She blinked. "I'm a little anxious."

"Certainly, milady." That was easy, for he'd worked with plenty of students and nervous patients before and was quite used to talking through the steps of an ophthalmic exam. Though sitting across such a gorgeous woman with such a bone-deep effect on him was a first. "I shall, in succession, glance at the eyebrows and orbital margins,"

"Why?"

"To rule out inflammation or look for excessive lachrymation, which might distort my subjective exam." She frowned and appeared somewhat alarmed, and Nick realized he'd used medical terminology instead of speaking a language more familiar to people who weren't doctors. "That is to say, an excessive secretion of tears due to disease or other systemic issues."

"Oh." She pursed her lips and blinked at him with her wide, round eyes. Her lashes were darker than the sun-kissed curls on her head, the irises bright green with clear strands of blue the shade of lapis lazuli. "I guess that's all right, then."

Nick smiled and moved closer. She kept her beautiful eyes wide open and blinked with a girl's innocence but the allure of a minx. She didn't seem to know how just beautiful she was. Or how she affected him. Even now, Nick shuddered because it was so difficult to control his arousal. Even when tending to his work and her condition, his heart and libido had other ideas. He cleared his throat and drew his brows down low over the bridge of his nose in an attempt to get himself to focus. "Next, I'm watching the movements of your eyes, and the surrounding areas. The eyelids, the borders of the lids, and the state of your lashes—"

She withdrew her head slightly and blinked "My eyelashes, Dr. Folsham, they're quite exactly like my mother's."

"Perfection," he whispered. It was inappropriate. Scandalous to compliment a patient. But he didn't want her as a patient, and he didn't care, for it was the truth. He'd hardly ever seen eyes more beautiful and expressive than hers. "The form and appearance of the eyeballs generally seems healthy, milady. Follow my finger."

Why couldn't he be more like Alfie sometimes and tell a woman that she has beautiful eyes instead of commenting on the clarity of her eyeballs? What would he do next, compliment the symmetry of her sclera?

At least that was safe, and familiar. And pathetic. Better that than to behave and feel inappropriately. A woman like her was not—and never could be—for the likes of him. Even if he was a doctor, and a successful one at that. They were from two different worlds, he reminded himself for what felt like the thousandth time. He had no right to think any other way.

"Please, milady. Follow your finger with your eyes only. Do not move your head." With that, he brought his other hand up and pointed his idle finger up, then down, then to the left and the right. She followed without any trouble. "The size and degree of the prominence of your eye is fine and the directions correspond to the axis."

He continued the visual field test and her eyes looked straight into Nick's.

Her focus was fine. His, however, was split between his throbbing cock and thundering heart and finally, he realized, there was no way to stop either from its normal reaction to a beautiful woman. For some reason, this thought calmed him somewhat. A bit. He moved two fingers in each direction. "Tell me when my fingers disappear." He brought his hand to her side, about an arm's length away.

"Gone!"

He wiggled his fingers to define the visual field. She giggled and quirked a brow.

His heart seemed to swell in his chest until he was full of a giddy, elated feeling. She was so absolutely stunning.

"What does this mean?" she asked.

"Nothing at all. Your eyes are healthy. Your visual field is a perfect 120 degrees."

"But you said they are…" Pippa paused before she whispered, "deficient."

He shook his head. "Not your eyes. I suspect that it is only the lens which requires aid. The color of the white of the eye is bright, and the cornea appears fine." Nick picked up a large lens from his workstation. Holding it between his thumb and index finger, he squinted through it. "You have very beautiful eyes, milady." There! Was that so hard?

Her pupils widened, and her gaze softened when he said it. He should have kicked himself, for it was not part of an eye exam to compliment the patient.

"I assume you have no pain, no itching, excessive tearing, burning, or sensation of a foreign body in your eyes?" She drew her brows close and shook her head. "Floaters?" She frowned. He'd used medical jargon again, instead of something commonly used by nonspecialists. He redefined his meaning for her. "Floaters are dots that move in your visual field."

She shook her head again and blinked. Nick knew that she was now searching her field of vision for floaters, just in case she'd never noticed them before. Everyone did it, once he'd made them aware of the phenomenon, but only now, as Pippa did it, did he find the action something to smile about. He turned in his chair to open the wooden drawer under the top of his desk and retrieved the small blue flask he'd next require. "This is belladonna tincture. I shall place a drop or two in each eye and allow for dilation of your pupils."

She sat back on the stool, her posture ramrod, and her shoulders raised in tension. "Is that necessary? Will it hurt? How long will it affect my eyes?"

"It doesn't hurt, the effect will only last for a few hours, and it's necessary, merely to ensure that there is no opaque appearance behind the pupil. It lets me know that the crystalline body is healthy." He held his palm to her, and she brought her face closer to him. However, he couldn't manage to put a drop without the pipette in her eye, for she blinked incessantly. Why was it that everything she did made him want to kiss her? "The world might seem a bit brighter than usual, as your eyes are letting in more light," he told her. "You're lucky it's cloudy, milady. You came to see me on a good day." She seemed to ruminate about this as he expertly and gently pulled her lower lid down with the tip of his thumb, then placed two drops in with the pipette in his other hand. He quickly repeated the process with her other eye. She pulled her head back and blinked as her eyes teared.

"I'm sorry, Doctor," she mumbled as she reached to rub at her eyes.

He reached out to stop her with a touch at her wrist. "Don't rub." Nick grabbed a cloth from his tray of tools. He dabbed the tears from her cheek, not aware it was what he was going to do until it was too late to stop himself. It was unprofessional, to be sure, something he'd never do with any other patient. But this was Pippa, and everything about her was unique. As his hand cupped her cheek, her gaze met his, and the tip of her pink tongue swept out to wet her lips. She leaned toward him, and Nick started to lean closer to her as well as the impulse to kiss her propelled him forward.

If he hadn't banged his knee against his tool tray, he may have very well pressed his lips to hers, but the clatter and clank of his familiar oculist implements reminded him of where—and what he was. And who and what she was. He stopped himself from moving closer to her, with reluctance, and then dropped his hand to press the soft cloth into one of her palms. "Dab with this," he told her with a voice hardly above a whisper, because it appeared he couldn't catch his breath. "And don't apologize. Tearing is normal, milady. In about ten or fifteen minutes, your pupils will be dilated, and I can examine them." He sat as far back as he could and finally drew in a full breath.

Pippa stared at him. Her alabaster cheeks were rosy with an adorable flush, one he suspected that he'd put there. Was it possible—could it be possible?—that she desired him as much as he did her? It seemed that could be the case. Nick shivered at the thought.

"What do we do now? Wait?" She tilted her head in a way that spoke of mischief. Perhaps. Curiosity? Inquisitiveness, to be sure.

He swallowed hard. He had a million ideas but didn't dare act on them. Or would he?