Emmy scowled into the small looking glass nailed to her chamber wall, her lips a flawless shade of red, her brows arched to perfection—and a rogue curl dangling front and center on her forehead. Stifling a growl, she eased out one more hairpin from the chignon at the back, praying the silly thing wouldn’t fall down her neck, then skewered the curl and stabbed it into the puff of hair on top. Oh, to be a princess and command a lady’s maid.
“Miss Nelson?” Knuckles rapped on her door. “Are you ready?”
With a final tap on the pin and a whispered, “Behave!” she whirled from the mirror. “Coming.”
She lifted the latch, and her heart skipped a beat. Lamplight brushed over Dr. Clark in a golden glow. Did she not know him to be a man, she’d wonder at his supernatural appearance. His hair was slicked back. His jaw, clean-shaven. An indigo frock coat contrasted richly with his white shirt, all tailored to ride the long lines of his body. Her glance slid to lighter-blue trousers and Hessians that shone with a polish. She tried to catch her breath, but it eluded her, like a milkweed pod blown open, scattering seeds into a thousand directions.
“I fear I shall have my hands full tonight.” His deep voice murmured.
She angled her face to his, looking for a clue. Full of what? Had her hair fallen again?
His shiny eyes gave no hint.
“Whatever do you mean, sir?”
“Once we walk out that door, I may have to stave off an entire battalion to defend your honor, for I guarantee”—he winked—“you will turn the head of every officer.”
“La, sir!” She swatted his arm. He was a charmer, she’d give him that. “How you exaggerate.”
He laughed and retreated a step.
Then, shaking his head, his smile faded. His gaze smoldered. “You have no idea how beautiful you are, do you?”
Heat burned a trail to her belly. She swallowed, trying hard to remember Daniel’s face, but all she could see were the green eyes of the man in front of her, the strong cut of his forehead, his cheeks. Oh, she’d loved Daniel, but that was long ago, and truthfully…she searched memories, shaking them out like a laundered sheet. No, she’d never felt the kind of sweet ache that gripped her when the doctor’s gaze wrapped around her and held her in place.
She swallowed, coaxing out a voice that wouldn’t crack. “We ought be going. I’ve made us late enough as is.”
But he didn’t move. He stood there, fumbling his hand inside his dress coat. “Wait. I’ve brought you something.”
He held out a small box, nested atop his palm. A young lad offering flowers to his girl couldn’t have been more proud.
Emmy bit her lip. Why had she not thought to get him something? “I…I have no gift for you.”
He pressed the box toward her, so that she had no choice but to take it. “Ah, ah, ah. Doctor’s orders.”
It was a poor jest, nevertheless a dear one. She lifted the lid and gasped. “Oh!”
Inside, a silk flower brooch, no larger than her thumb, lay on white satin bedding. She pulled it out and examined the tiny rose, one way then another, letting the light set fire to the deep red.
“How lovely.” She peered up at him with a smile. “Thank you.”
“May I pin it on for you?”
She handed it over, and his fingers brushed against hers, gentle as a fairy’s kiss. He stepped closer, so near she inhaled his scent of sandalwood and masculinity. For a moment, she wobbled on her feet, dizzy from the heat of his body.
“There. All done.” But his stance contradicted his words, for he didn’t step back, nor did his hand lower. His fingers trailed upward from her collar, slowly, as if asking for permission, then slid across her cheek and rested just behind her ear. His eyes flashed with questions, promises…desire.
“James?” she whispered.
He dipped his head, and his lips skimmed over hers like a summer breeze. Closing her eyes, she leaned in to his embrace, his arms as strong as a beam that could carry her world. Her heart pounded hard in her ears. This—this—was where she wanted to be, wanted to live.
For always.
“Emmy.” He breathed her name against her mouth, her jaw, her neck.
She shivered—and pressed closer.
With a gasp, the doctor stumbled back a step. The world stopped. Air and life and hope hovered somewhere overhead, beyond reach. Only the rattle of the night air against her window anchored her to the real world.
He drew his hand across his mouth, and it shook—as did his voice. “I am so sorry.”
“Are you?” Despite what Aunt would have to say, a wicked half smile tingled on the very lips that had just been so finely kissed, and Emmy lifted her chin. “I am not so sure I am.”
Miss Emmaline Nelson would be the death of him. Carve it on his gravestone, killed by a woman—a beautiful bit of a woman, all fire and passion. And that is exactly what he loved most about her, the unreserved way she gave herself to that which she cared about.
Beads of perspiration lined up like little soldiers at the nape of his neck. One broke rank and trickled down his spine as he stared at her, her eyes full of the knowledge of what lay in his heart. One fingertip ran across her lower lip. Was she remembering?
Or lamenting?
Ah, yes, but such a kiss. One he wouldn’t mind repeating—and one that never should’ve happened in the first place. Working with her from now on would be awkward at best.
He exhaled a shaky breath. “You are right, Miss Nelson.”
Her brows shot up, and a delightful curl fell down to meet them. “I am?”
“Yes.” He pivoted and held out his arm, eager for a face full of cold night air. “We ought to be going.”
The short walk to the colonel’s quarters cooled his feverish skin, so much that he shook beneath his greatcoat.
She shot him a sideways glance. “You tremble as if you have the chills. Are you well?”
He kicked at some snow with the tip of his boot. “Need I remind you I am born and bred a Boston man? I am not used to such a severe climate.”
“Well, I think it suits you.”
He frowned. “Why?”
She blinked up at him. “Is your temperament not as extreme?”
The pixie! He grinned in full as he led her up the stairs to the colonel’s door. “I fear you’re coming to know me too well.”
The colonel’s wife rushed over to them as they entered the foyer. “There you are! And about time, too. We are just going in to dinner.”
Beyond her, the last blue tail of an officer’s jacket disappeared through a door.
“My apologies, Mrs. Crooks.” He spoke as he helped Emmy—Miss Nelson, out of her coat. Giving himself a mental thrashing for his lapse, he removed his coat as well, handing both off to the servant standing nearby. It would not do to think of Emmy too intimately, or her Christian name would fall unguarded from his lips.
Miss Nelson stepped nearer the colonel’s wife, mischief in the tap of her shoes. “The doctor was working overtime.”
The woman’s hands fluttered to her chest. “Nothing serious, I hope.”
“Very serious, I’m afraid.” Laughter danced a jig in Emmy’s gaze as she looked at him.
Blast the woman, and hang the effort of ever thinking of her as anything other than Emmy—his Emmy. He tugged at his collar. Gads, but it was hot in here.
“Oh, dear! It’s going to be a very long winter, I suppose.” Mrs. Crooks ushered them to the dining-room door.
Besides the empty chair reserved for the colonel’s wife at the foot of the table, only two other seats remained. A servant held out Emmy’s seat. James sat opposite, a lieutenant’s wife at his right—one very large with child—and a major to his left—one with a sizable interest in Emmy, judging by the way his gaze traveled over her.
The man leaned forward, ogling her as if she were the appetizer now being served. “Major Darnwood at your service, madam. I’ve only recently arrived. And you are?”
Emmy answered with a small smile—one that did not reach her eyes. “Miss Nelson, Dr. Clark’s assistant.”
“Oh, miss, is it?” He leaned back, elbowing James. “Your assistant, eh? Wonder if I could get her to assist me.”
Anger curled his hand into a fist, yet he flexed it and rested his palm on the man’s shoulder. “Did you know, Major, that if I apply a little pressure to your carotid artery, which is just a twitch away from my index finger, you’ll land in your soup before the next spoonful reaches your mouth?”
The man glowered and shifted in his seat, putting as much space between them as politely possible.
A smirk lifted James’s lips, but the victory didn’t last long. The lieutenant next to Emmy closed in on her, serving her a slice of roast goose and a whisper, his shoulder brushing flush against hers. Her jaw tightened, and scarlet spread across her cheeks.
James bristled. Enough was quite enough.
He pushed back his chair and stood. Throbbing pounded in his temples. The world tipped. He reached out a hand to grasp the table’s edge. Why were there suddenly two colonels sitting where there should be only one?
“My apologies, sir, for interrupting this festivity.” His voice rasped, and the duo-colonels melded into one.
No, this could not be happening. Not to him.
He quickly slugged back some wine from his goblet before continuing. “Miss Nelson and I must return to the ward.”
“Such a sorry business, Doctor.” Mrs. Crooks shook her head. “But your commitment to the men is admirable.”
“Indeed. Well then, you are excused.” The colonel and all the men stood as Emmy rose. “Happy Christmas to you both.”
Emmy’s steps clipped next to his, but she held her tongue until they cleared the foyer. “I was enjoying that dinner, despite the few rogues in attendance. You’re taking this guardianship thing too far. What is wrong with you?”
Shoring his shoulder against the wall, he shuddered. Heat poured off him in waves.
And his next words barely made it past the raw flesh in his throat. “I am ill.”