Page 62 of Prescription for Sin

“Everett Moreland,” she said slowly. “Did you steal from the Royal College for me?”

“Technically, I borrowed records I had every right to access.” His eyes held a wicked gleam. “Though perhaps not for this particular purpose.”

She studied the medical charts, the careful correlations, the way he’d integrated her research with official data. “You’ve been conducting your own investigation this whole time.”

“Following your lead.” He moved behind her, his chest brushing her back as he reached around her waist. “Your work on water quality testing gave me the framework. Rather revolutionary, I’d say.”

She turned to face him. “When did you have time to do all this?”

“A physician must have his hobbies…while harbouring a broken heart.”

Their eyes met over the scattered papers, and Emma felt something shift between them, a sense of partnership. About two minds working in tandem toward truth.

“We could expand the testing protocol,” she said thoughtfully. “Your access to Royal College resources, combined with my field observations…”

“Which will make you a target. We’ll need to be creative.” He pulled out a chair for her.

She sat, already reaching for a fresh sheet of paper. “How familiar are you with statistical analysis?”

His answering grin made her heart skip. “I did rather well in mathematics at Cambridge.”

They spent the next hours bent over the desk together, their heads nearly touching as they combined their research, creating something stronger than either could have achieved alone.

“Your father won’t expect this approach,” she said finally, surveying their work. “He’s watching for medical evidence, not mathematical proof.”

“Numbers don’t lie.” Everett’s hand covered hers where it rested on their compiled data. “Even the Royal College can’t argue with statistical significance.”

Emma threaded their fingers together, feeling the strength in his grip. He pressed a kiss to her temple. “Perhaps we should seal this alliance properly?”

“We are with a special licence, are we not?” she said, feigning innocence.

“I was thinking more immediately.” His lips found hers, and Emma smiled against his mouth.

The research could wait. For now.

As the fire crackled and spat sparkles in all directions, Everett held Emma against his chest. Her warmth and weight settled something restless inside him. His fingers traced idle patterns on her arm as the flames cast dancing shadows across the room.

“Did I ever tell you about my childhood cat?” Emma asked, her voice soft with remembrance. “The one who was terrified of fire?”

“No, do tell.” He smiled into her hair, breathing in the familiar scent of lavender.

“Poor thing would arch his back and walk sideways past the fireplace, even in the dead of winter. One day, he got so startled by a spark that he leaped straight into Father’s lap, while Father was holding a full cup of tea.”

Everett chuckled, feeling Emma’s answering laugh vibrate against his chest. “That reminds me of Mary-Anne’s cat. The beast used to sleep so close to the fire, we worried he’d singe his whiskers. One morning, we found him with a completely scorched tail.”

Emma twisted to look up at him, her eyes bright with amusement. “What did Mary-Anne do?”

“Dressed his tail in a tiny bandage and called him Sir Stumpy for the rest of his days.” His smile softened at the memory. “She had such a gentle heart.”

Emma’s hand came up to touch his face, and the tenderness in her gesture undid him. He lowered his head to kiss her, meaning it to be gentle, but the warmth of her response turned his blood to liquid fire. Before he quite realised what he was doing, he had pulled her onto his lap, one hand tangling in her hair while the other traced the elegant line of her spine.

Emma made a small sound against his mouth that drove him half-mad with wanting her. He deepened the kiss, drowning in the taste of her, the soft curves pressing against him, the way she seemed to melt into his touch.

“Everett,” she breathed, pulling back slightly. “We should wait. Just one more day.”

He groaned, dropping his forehead to her shoulder. “You’re trying to kill me.”

“Think of it as building anticipation,” she said with a chuckle, though her breathlessness suggested she wasn’t entirely unmoved.