Page 80 of Prescription for Sin

“Tricky location,” Emma murmured, studying the unconscious patient’s throat. “The swelling makes it difficult to determine the extent.”

“Indeed.” Everett leaned closer, his shoulder brushing hers as they examined the growing mass threatening to cut off their patient’s breathing. “Though your hypothesis about its origin being an infected thyroid rather than a standard goitre seems sound.”

“The increased vascularity concerns me.” She traced the air above the swollen flesh. “One wrong move…”

“And we’ll have a haemorrhage on our hands.” His lips quirked slightly. “Good thing my wife has the steadiest hands in London.”

“Steadier than yours?” Emma’s eyes sparkled with challenge.

“I’d never presume to compete with the physician who left me the prettiest scar in all of England.”

A soft laughter spread through the operating theatre. A year of working together had honed their professional rhythm to perfection. They moved around the space like dancers who had memorised their steps, anticipating each other’s needs without words.

“Scalpel,” Emma said, and Everett placed it in her hand before she finished speaking. Two strong assistants held the patient’s shoulders, ready if the laudanum’s effects began to fade.

“Starting incision at the midline,” she narrated for the medical students observing. Several were women, a change they’d fought hard to implement. “Note how I’m avoiding the major vessels while maintaining a clear surgical field.”

“Retractor,” Everett murmured, already extending it as Emma’s free hand reached for it.

The surgery proceeded with the delicate precision of a well-rehearsed duet. When blood suddenly welled up, obscuring their view, they moved in perfect synchronisation. Emma’s fingers found and clamped the vessel while Everett swabbed the field clear, neither needing to speak.

“Remarkable,” one of the students whispered. “They barely look at each other, yet they move as one.”

“That’s what happens,” Emma said without looking up from her work, “when you trust your surgical partner completely.” Her eyes met Everett’s briefly over their masks, sharing a private smile.

“And when said partner has saved your life multiple times,” Everett added dryly. “It tends to build confidence in their abilities.”

“Only multiple times? I’d lost count.” Her teasing held no trace of their past pain. They’d moved beyond those wounds to something stronger.

As Emma made the final delicate cuts to remove the infected mass, Everett supported her movements with subtle adjustments of the retractors. When she finally lifted the diseased tissue free, their eyes met in shared triumph.

“Beautiful work,” he said softly.

“I had excellent assistance.” She deposited the specimen in a waiting basin. “Though I still say your stitches are too big.”

“My stitches are precisely sized for minimal scarring,” he protested, already threading the needle. “I use my usual technique of ‘whatever works’.” His eyes crinkled with affection as smatterings of chuckles went through the room.

When the last bandage was placed, they stepped back to examine their work with shared satisfaction.

“Well done, everyone,” Emma addressed the observing students. “Remember, in cases like these…”

As she began her post-operative lecture, Everett watched his wife with unconcealed admiration. She commanded the room with easy authority, her earlier uncertainties about teaching replaced by confident expertise.

Later, as they washed their hands together, Emma bumped his shoulder playfully. “Your stitches really are too big.”

“And yet you let me close,” he observed, catching her hand under the water.

“Well,” she said with mock seriousness, “you need the practice, and I’ve learned to trust your judgment. Occasionally.”

“Occasionally?” He raised an eyebrow. “Should I remind you of this morning when you trusted my judgment rather thoroughly?”

Colour touched her cheeks even as her eyes darkened with memory. “Perhaps we should continue that particular discussion somewhere more private?”

“Lead on, Dr Brown.” He dried their joined hands with a towel.

Her answering smile held promises that made his stomach somersault. They’d come so far from those first tentative lessons in pleasure.

Back in their private chamber, Emma lit several candles, deliberately taking her time. She could feel Everett’s eyes following her movements as she removed her pins one by one, letting her hair tumble free.