Chapter Two

“Father, I refuse to be treated like a child,” she said, marching into his study.

“And who is doing such a thing,” he muttered, not lifting his head from his book.

“You are, and well you know it.” She sat opposite him, attempting to calm her raging emotions from the altercation she’d had with Dr. Kensington.

He chuckled, his gray brows lifting as he peered over his glasses. “I’ve brought your face to such a shade of pink? Why, I’ve been sitting here quite happily reading since you arrived this morning.”

“Oh, don’t attempt to play the innocent with me. You know very well of what I speak.”

“So Kensington wouldn’t budge, eh? Good for him. I knew he was a man of high principals when I met him,” he said with a decisive nod, his balding head catching the afternoon light.

She took a steadying breath and reached across the space between the chairs and clasped his arm. “Please, Father. Tell me what illness you have, what is the prognosis, what can I do to help you get well?”

He patted her hand with a wink. “Your being here is all I need. Now, why don’t you go outside and cut some flowers. It’s much too nice a day for you to stay inside with an ornery old man.”

She shook her head with a faint grin. “You are the most stubborn man.”

“And so is Dr. Kensington. Therefore, I suggest you leave the man to his work, or else you might stay that unusual shade of pink,” he teased.

With a smile and a shake of her head, she rose and left him to his reading. At least he seemed in better spirits since the doctor arrived. Any improvement was a good sign, even if it meant she had to endure that infuriating close-mouthed scientist.

She pulled the study door closed then turned toward the kitchen to speak with Mrs. Cox about dinner, when she bumped into Dr. Kensington. He dropped his book and reached out to steady her.

“I’m terribly sorry. Are you all right? I’m afraid I was paying more attention to my book than to where I was going,” he said, holding her against his chest.

“I’m quite fine, thank you,” she said curtly, and pulled from the awkward embrace. She didn’t dare contemplate why her skin felt prickly all over. It wasn’t from his touch. That would be ridiculous. She’d been held by men before and never felt anything at all except fatigued from all the empty compliments.

“Um, yes. Well, that’s good then,” he muttered.

Miss Wilton’s delicate brows lifted, as she attempted to glare down her nose at him, but the affect was completely ruined. She was nearly a foot shorter than he, for one, and far too lovely. Or he was a besotted fool already, which was more than likely the case considering that he’d already memorized every feature of her face, the slope of her neck, the color of her eyes, even her scent. Why couldn’t she have been a priggish spinster instead of young and beautiful?

Horace shook his head at himself to try and clear it, and bent to retrieve his book from the floor. The feel of her against him for those meager seconds had flooded his mind with farfetched ideas, but she would never want him. Even if she did, his financial situation would never meet her or her father’s expectations. And at the present time, she was more than a bit put out by him.

“If you were looking for your partner in crime, he is in his study,” she said with a nod toward the door beside him.

“Your father, yes. I was looking for him.” He held up the book with an awkward chuckle. “I have a reference he might like to see.”

Her stance relaxed, as her eyes went from heated glare to soft and pleading. The image had him imaging other ways she might look at him.

“Is it about his illness? Have you found something that might help him?” Her head tilted to the side as she tried to read the spine of the book he held, breaking the trance she’d put him under.

“Um, no, not exactly. It’s more about diet and how to properly maintain one’s inner organs.”

“Oh, I see,” she said with a disappointed sigh.

“I take it he did not disclose any other information to you, then.”

She shook her head, the soft look gone from her eyes. “No. But make no mistake, Doctor, and I intend to win this battle of wills.”

With that she spun away and disappeared down the hall, leaving him staring after her wondering if the truth would destroy her as her father said it would.

He entered Mr. Wilton’s study and presented him with the book. They talked for some time on the topic of his digestion before he broached the subject of Miss Wilton.

“Mr. Wilton, I am still not sure that withholding the status of your condition from your daughter is wise,” Horace said.

“Giving you fits, is she?” he asked with a chuckle. “Just hold your ground, young man. I know my daughter can be quite stubborn as well as strong, but in this instance it would do her harm to know the truth of it.”

“Very well,” he conceded. It was his health—his life, after all.

The old man gave him an odd look. “What do you think of Selena? Other than her stubbornness in this matter?”

“Well, I—uh.”

“Out with it, boy. What do you think of her?”

“She’s beautiful, of course, but I think she is also quite intelligent. Which is why I feel she would do well to know the facts in your case, sir.”

He waved his hand at the added remark and gazed out the window to the late afternoon sun shining through the trees. “Most men put her on a pedestal, worship her, dote over her like some fragile bit of crystal.” He turned his keen gaze to Horace. “But you don’t see her that way,” he said matter-of-factly. “That is very wise of you, Kensington. There is quite a bit more to her than what is on the surface. Quite a bit more.”

The old man turned back to the window, lost in his own thoughts.

“Yes, sir,” Horace replied softly, and slipped from the room. Miss Wilton was not the only trial for him in this household. Her father would be a difficult case, he hadn’t cared for the change in his diet, thus the reason for the book regarding digestion to prove his point, but it was necessary. Horace could only extend his life for a time as there was no cure for the disease.

He rubbed his pained brow as he made his way back to the library and his work. If only he could discuss his condition with his daughter, there he was certain to have an ally in maintaining his diet, much to the man’s dislike.

As he approached the library, two things struck him, the door was closed, which he had not done, and a basket of freshly cut flowers sat upon the hall table beside it.

With a grim frown, he turned the handle and silently entered his designated workroom to find the lovely Miss Wilton perusing his notes. He watched her for several minutes, admiring her beauty and her determination even more.

“You did warn me of your intentions, so I cannot blame anyone but myself for leaving my latest notes unguarded,” he said, and crossed to stand beside her. “However, I doubt they are of any use to you, Miss Wilton. My handwriting is quite atrocious.”

She slowly lifted her head, and he was struck hard by the tears standing in her eyes.

“He has Diabetes, doesn’t he?” she asked, her voice a faint pain-filled whisper.

“How did you—” He sighed and nodded. “Yes, I’m afraid so.”

She rose from her place at his worktable, her hands shaking. Horace reached for her, wanting to give her comfort, hoping she would allow him. His fingers brushed the sleeve of her dress and she stilled, then lifted her watery gaze to him. He gently closed his fingers about her arm and pulled her toward him.

Selena fell against the doctor’s chest, her face pressed to his coat, as a silent barrage of tears cascaded down her cheeks. He smelled of peppermint and chemicals. Odd that she would note his scent at such a moment, or the warm secure feeling his arms about her granted. His hand stroked her back as the other cupped the back of her head, keeping her pressed to his body.

“I will do all that I can for him. I am certain with a proper diet I can lengthen his life considerably,” he said, his deep voice vibrating through her.

She eased from his comforting embrace before she grew too accustomed to it. He handed her his handkerchief.

“Will you aid me in keeping him to his diet, Miss Wilton?”

Forcing a small smile to her lips, she nodded. “Yes, of course,” she said with a sniffle. “He will be very stubborn.”

He grinned at her. “Not unlike his daughter.”

“Yes, I am afraid so.” She smiled a bit brighter, her state somewhat improved for the moment, but knew she would cry most heartedly once she reached her room. “Well, I shall leave you to your work.” She turned and made her way to the door on unsteady legs, then paused. “Thank you, Doctor.”

He granted her a small bow and another smile as she left him to his work. It didn’t strike her until she reached the stairs that he had requested her aid, where the other doctors had all dismissed her as if she were no more than a child. This man was not only different in age and looks, but how he treated her. Almost as an equal, and not as some goddess to be admired. She decided in that moment that she would not only aid him in his treatment of her father, but in his research as well.

“Tomorrow,” she whispered. Tomorrow she would speak to him once she’d calmed herself and could discuss the disease, her father, and the doctor’s work without crying.

***

Horace stood for several moments, his heart still racing. It was as he feared, love was but a few steps away. The feel of her in his arms, the way in which her body fit so perfectly against his, left him with little doubt that he was bound to leave Primrose House with a broken heart.

Shaking away the dismal thought, he focused his mind on straightening his notes and work area. Thankfully, once he’d completed the mundane task, he was able to concentrate on learning more about the disease. At one point, while he was peering into his microscope, someone had brought him a dinner tray. He discovered it around ten in the evening, and although cold, he ate what he could before returning to his work.

Hours later, fatigue bore a heavy weight upon his shoulders, and he heard the hall clock chime the hour.

“Midnight,” he muttered.

Scowling at his lack of progress, he set the room to rights and made for bed, although he knew sleep would not come willingly. Between his puzzling work and the fair Miss Wilton, his mind was a torrent of contemplations.

The following morning, having slept as poorly as he feared, he felt a surge of energy at the sight of Miss Wilton sitting at breakfast. She was an absolute vision, save for the telltale sign of fatigue beneath her eyes. She’d not slept well either, and under the circumstances it was expected, but she still looked as lovely as ever.

She lifted her head from a letter she held in her hand and smiled. “Good morning, Doctor.”

“Good morning.” He filled his plate from the sideboard and took a seat beside her.

She reached for the pot of tea on the table and poured him a cup. “I hope you slept well.”

“Um, yes. Fine.”

She smiled with a shake of her head. “You are a terrible liar, Doctor. You worked quite late last night, and I suspect the puzzles are still milling about in your head.”

He grinned at her succinct observations. “You are very perceptive, Miss Wilton.”

She reached for the sugar and cream, an unspoken question in her gaze.

He shook his head at the offered flavorings. “I have always had difficulty sleeping when there are unanswered questions.”

“Would it help to talk about them?”

He chuckled. “I’m afraid the discussion would be painfully dull for you.”

She sat back in her chair and took a sip of her tea. “You’d be surprised what I find interesting.”

His smile fell. “Oh, I didn’t mean to suggest that you—that is to say, I think you’re one of the most intelligent women I’ve ever met, as well as beautiful.” He despised the heat surging up his throat.

She grinned over her tea cup. “Thank you. But I didn’t mean to suggest that you were insulting me.” Setting the cup down, she tilted her head and cast him a direct gaze. “I was actually attempting to lead our discussion into a particular direction.”

Forcing his embarrassment aside, he returned her regard. “And what direction would that be?”

“I wish to offer you my services as an assistant.”

“You wish to—” He sat back in his chair as a breath he’d not realized he held rushed from his lungs. Whatever he thought she wanted to discuss this most definitely was not it.

“I have assisted my father for some years in his correspondence and other dealings. I admit they were more of a social nature, but the skills are the same. I can take notes, transcribe your handwriting, and manage your office. I realize you don’t have any other clients, save my father, but you receive various periodicals, books, and equipment that all must be handled in an orderly fashion.”

She paused barely long enough to take a breath, but long enough for him to interrupt her by placing his hand atop hers where it lay upon the table. He had no right to touch her in such an intimate fashion, regardless of the day before when he’d comforted her, but it seemed the most prudent way. Or so he reasoned with himself.

“I’d be honored to have you assist me,” he said, knowing it was likely the worst idea ever conceived. He would be in her presence for hours on end, want her more with each passing moment, and yet with her near most of the day, the fascination could wither.

“You would?” She asked, her eyes wide, her voice barely a whisper.

“Absolutely. I think with your help, I may make some progress, and you will gain more knowledge that can be used to—let us say—keep your father on the right path.”

She turned her hand over and added the other, clasping him tightly. “Exactly! Oh, I cannot thank you enough, Doctor.”

“It is I who must thank you. As you have noticed, my handwriting leaves much to be desired.”

Sadly, she slipped her hands from his. “You write as quickly as you think, I believe,” she said with a giggle.

His brows rose at that. “I hadn’t thought of it like that, but I suppose you’re correct. I do try to get my thoughts down as quickly as possible, but I always thought it more of a rush to get back to my work.”

She waved her hand then reached for her tea. “Oh, that goes without saying.” She took a quick sip, then rose from her seat. “I’ll let you finish your breakfast in peace while I go and change into something more appropriate for a secretary.” She crossed to the door, and without pausing in her stride, she called over her shoulder, “I’ll meet you in the library shortly.”

Selena could barely contain her excitement. She hurried up the stairs to change into something less alluring. She’d feared she’d have to use a bit of female ammunition to convince the doctor of her idea, but to find him so open to her suggestion was beyond anything. Rushing through her bedroom door, already tugging at her clothes, she let loose with a laugh. To have a man actually see her as something other than a goddess made her giddy with pleasure.

She paused as her skirts fell to her feet. Was it his acceptance of her idea or his hand upon hers that had her heart hammering in her breast? The question refused to be ignored and had a rather sobering effect. She sank to the cushion in front of her dressing table and glanced over her shoulder at the woman in the mirror. Her cheeks flushed, her eyes bright, what had truly caused such a reaction?

Slowly, she rose and went about changing her gown, her mind tumbling over the conundrum.

“I suppose,” she murmured to herself, “that I could perform a few experiments of my own.” Yes, data was required to determine the cause. And working by his side for hours would give her ample opportunity to gather that data.

A secretive smile stole over her lips as she left her room.