Page 41 of Prescription for Sin

"I look ridiculous. Like a strawberry ice at a Christmas feast."

"Precisely. Soft, sweet, and utterly accommodating. Exactly the impression we want to give Dr Moreland." Her sister's smile turned wicked as she tucked a white rose into Emma's hair, its petals dusted with silver to mimic frost. "Even if we both know you're more akin to surgical steel beneath."

Before Emma could retort, the first guests began arriving, shaking snow from their cloaks and stamping cold feet on the marble floors. She adopted what she privately thought of as her "physician's mask"; pleasant but reserved, though Alexi called it her "someone's about to have a limb removed" expression. The warmth from the blazing Yule log in the grand fireplace did nothing to thaw her carefully maintained composure.

“The Right Honourable Earl of Abinger and Lord Kincaid!”

Emma’s composure cracked. She stared at Michael—her Michael—resplendent in evening dress, looking every inch the nobleman he apparently was. His sheepish smile did nothing to quell her rising indignation.

“Miss Brown.” He bowed over her hand. “I believe I owe you an explanation.”

“Indeed, my lord,” she said with crisp emphasis on his title. “Why was a peer’s son playing at being a commoner?”

“I wanted to be judged on my own merits.” His eyes held a plea for understanding.

“Mr Martin Crane!”

Emma’s heart lifted at the familiar name. She turned to Michael. “We shall discuss this later if I can get through the crowd of swooning ladies. You look marvellous.”

“That sounds shockingly like a compliment, Miss Brown.” Michael smiled with one sceptical brow lifted before leaving the greeting line.

“Martin!” Emma broke protocol to embrace him warmly, ignoring Michael’s frown as he turned away to greet an older couple. His recent marriage had apparently agreed with him. He fairly glowed with contentment. They switched to German as they exchanged greetings.

“Kleine Ärztin.” He laughed, using his old nickname for her meaning “Little Doctor”. “Still fighting the good fight, I see?”

“Someone must keep Arthur in line,” she responded, grinning as they shared the private joke about Lord Salisbury’s occasional pig-headedness.

It wasn’t until she heard a throat clear behind Martin that she realised she’d missed another announcement. Her heart stopped at the sight of Everett—no, Dr Moreland—standing with his father. He looked devastating in formal dress, most traces of injury gone. His dark eyes burned into hers as he watched her interaction with Martin.

“Dr Moreland,” she said coolly, inclining her head. “How unexpected to see you here looking well despite disobeying your doctor’s orders.”

“Indeed.” His smile held an edge. “Though clearly my absence caused no distress, seeing you so…diverted.”

“Why should it?” She matched his tone precisely. “Patients come and go. One hardly notices after a while.”

His eyes narrowed at the subtle insult. “How fortunate, then, that your professional detachment remains intact. Though I wonder if all your patients receive such thorough attention.”

Heat flooded her cheeks at his implication, but she kept her voice honey sweet. “Only the truly interesting ones. Though so few prove worthy of prolonged study.”

Something dangerous flickered in his gaze. “Perhaps your research methods require refinement.”

“Or perhaps some subjects simply lack substance.”

The air between them was charged with everything they weren’t saying. Emma was acutely aware of Alexi watching them with growing interest.

“You wound me, Miss Brown.” His smile was all teeth. “And here I thought we had such stimulating intellectual discussions.”

“Did we?” She widened her eyes innocently. “How strange. I scarcely remember them.”

His soft laugh held no humour. “Then it appears they were less memorable than I had hoped.” He bowed with exquisite correctness. “I shan’t keep you from your admirers.”

Emma watched him move away, her heart hammering against her ribs. She had hoped his presence would not affect her as before, but one glance from those dark eyes still made her tremble.

“Well,” Alexi murmured beside her. “That was fascinating.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” Emma said stiffly, though her fingers trembled as she smoothed her pink skirts.

Emma was still trying to steady her nerves from her encounter with Everett when Helen swept into the room like a force of nature, her blue gown a stark contrast to Emma’s pink confection. Just the sight of her dearest friend made Emma’s shoulders relax slightly, even as Helen’s entrance drew every eye in the room.