Page 61 of Prescription for Sin

He shook his head wearily. “I don’t know yet. I’m considering my options.”

Everett gently pulled her reluctant form against his chest again. “There’s plenty of time to plan before we act. No need to solve all our problems in this carriage at this instant. Let us enjoy each other for the time being.” He linked his fingers with hers, his thumb caressing the back of her hand.

Emma relented despite the unanswered questions. She was learning to consider his needs. As if he could sense the truce, she felt some of the tension leave his frame. The English countryside rolled past their window, winter-bare and beautiful in the morning light, as they left behind everything familiar in search of something true.

Chapter seventeen

Worth Every Shilling

“The cottage first,” Emma insisted as they stood beside Everett’s carriage after applying for their special licence. “I need to see my research.”

His voice emerged, strangled and rough. “You still don’t trust me.”

“This isn’t about trust.” But even as she said it, Emma knew it wasn’t entirely true. “It’s about completing what I started.”

“We’ll do more damage than good if we don’t handle this carefully.” He rubbed his temple in frustration. “I thought we were past this.”

“Past what? The epidemic is far from over.” She stepped closer, lowering her voice. “This isn’t about you. It’s about wanting to see my months of work, to see the tangible evidence.” She touched his arm gently. “Please. I need to see it.”

He studied her face for a long moment before sighing in defeat. “Samuel,” he called to his driver, “change of plans. We’re going to Kent.”

Several hours later, when the “cottage” came into view, Emma sat up straighter in surprise. “That’s not a cottage,” she said, taking in the sprawling Georgian mansion with its manicured grounds. “That’s practically a palace.”

“It’s not that grand…” Everett said with a hint of embarrassment.

“No?” Emma laughed. “Good heavens, you must have been a very expensive male companion indeed.”

His startled laugh filled the carriage. “I’m worth every shilling, sweetheart.” His voice rumbled low with a wicked grin that made her heart skip a beat.

As they entered, Emma catalogued details that revealed the man behind the wealth. The entry hall held no ostentatious displays of status, but rather carefully chosen pieces that spoke of personal meaning. A worn medical text on an antique table, a delicate microscope that showed signs of regular use, detailed anatomical drawings in simple frames.

The library particularly caught her attention. Unlike the stuffy collections of wealthy men meant to impress, these shelves held well-used volumes on medicine, science, and natural philosophy. Many bore signs of frequent consultation, broken spines, dog-eared pages, margin notes in Everett’s precise hand.

“You actually read these,” she said, running her fingers along the spines.

“Is that so surprising?”

“Most men of your station collect books to display wealth, not knowledge.” She pulled out a volume on surgical techniques, noting the extensive annotations. “These notes…they’re brilliant.”

“High praise from you,” he said softly.

Emma turned to find him watching her with an intensity that made her breath catch. “I may have underestimated you.”

“In more ways than one, I suspect.” He stepped closer, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his body. “The research is in my study. But perhaps we could continue your assessment of my character first?”

The warmth in his voice made her skin tingle with awareness. “The research,” she said firmly, though her pulse had quickened. “Then we can discuss your…other qualities.”

His slow smile suggested he heard everything she wasn’t saying. “As you wish, Dr Brown. Though I warn you, my other qualities may prove quite distracting.”

Everett’s study smelled of leather and ink, medical texts lining the walls in careful organisation. Emma watched him open the false panel behind the bookcase, her attention caught not by the hidden compartment itself, but by the careful way he’d preserved her research, each page protected, ordered, annotated in his precise hand.

“You’ve been studying my work,” she said, noticing his marginal notes. Medical observations, connections she hadn’t seen, patterns emerging from data she’d thought incomplete.

“Your methodology is remarkable.” He spread the papers across his desk. “The way you tracked water sources against mortality rates. I’ve expanded on it here.” His finger traced a carefully drawn map. “See how the pattern extends beyond the East End?”

Emma leaned closer, professional curiosity overriding everything else. “You’ve added cases from Gravesend and Rochester.” Her eyes widened at a particular notation. “Wait. These mortality rates. They’re from the Royal College records?”

“Perhaps.” A ghost of a smile touched his lips.