3. Incapacitated
Chapter three
Incapacitated
Everett’s eyelids felt leaden as he struggled to open them against the assailing light. His physician’s mind catalogued symptoms through the fog—dry mouth, dilated pupils, mild disorientation—clear signs of a sedative. That insufferable woman had drugged him!
He sat up with measured slowness, his trained hands automatically checking his pulse. Steady, if slightly elevated. Taking extra precaution, he made his way downstairs, only to be startled by a loud rap on the door.
“Who goes there?” he called out, his voice tinged with caution.
“Lady Salisbury. And who might you be?” came the crisp reply.
A chuckle escaped his lips. “If you’re Lady Salisbury, I am the pope!”
“Open this door at once, whoever you are!”
Shaking his head in amusement, Everett swung the door open, a broad grin splitting his face. However, his expression quickly morphed into a frown as his eyes fell upon the expensively dressed, stunning woman before him.
She stood tall, rich dark hair framing her face, keen brown eyes radiating an unmistakable air of nobility. “Who are you?” she demanded, her chin tilted upward.
“Everett Hughes at your service, my lady.” He attempted a bow from the waist but winced at the pain.
Lady Salisbury’s eyes swept over him, taking in his injuries. “You’re badly hurt. You must be one of Emma’s rescues. Is she home?”
“No, my lady. She should be at the hospital.”
“I see.” Her lips pursed thoughtfully. “I’d like a word with you first.”
Without waiting for a response, she strode past him into the parlour, her skirts rustling. Two footmen and a maid followed, the men positioning themselves at the entrance while the maid took a seat beside the lady.
“How did you come to know my sister, Mr Hughes?” Her piercing gaze fixed on him.
Everett’s jaw slackened in surprise. “Your sister?”
“Yes, my sister, Miss Brown. How did you meet?”
His mind raced with possibilities. Even if Miss Brown was the unlicenced physician, with Lord Salisbury as her brother-in-law, she might be spared from punishment.
“I was set upon by thugs when Miss Brown came to my rescue. I’m convalescing here until my wounds heal.”
Lady Salisbury sighed, her shoulders dropping slightly. “I shall seek out my sister at the hospital.” Her sharp eyes pierced him once more. “Attempt anything untoward with her, and you shall face my wrath and that of my husband’s. Good day.”
With a swish of her skirts, Lady Salisbury swept out of the room, her entourage following closely. The door closed with a resounding click.
As he watched the Salisbury carriage depart, Everett ran a hand through his hair in relief. He didn’t much relish the thought of disgracing a lady who had saved him. It was welcome news that she had her powerful family’s defence.
On the other hand, he couldn’t help but feel everything was about to spiral out of his control—his mission, his carefully ordered life—all threatened by a woman who defied every convention, who challenged him in ways both maddening and thrilling.
Emma’s quill hovered above her medical notes, her mind wandering to memories of her mysterious patient—his powerful physique, a flicker of appreciation in his eyes as he studied her, the flexing of muscles beneath her fingers. She pressed her thighs together, fighting an inappropriate warmth.
“This is ridiculous,” she muttered, setting down her quill.
A physician should maintain clinical detachment, not dwell on the magnificent breadth of Mr Hughes’s shoulders or the elegant definition of muscle that spoke of disciplined training.
Everything about him was a contradiction—refined speech at odds with his claimed profession, powerful form belying gentle manner.
“What has you so lost in thought, Miss Brown?”
Michael’s voice startled her. Emma’s cheeks warmed as she met his knowing gaze. “Merely analysing data.”
“Are you certain?” His boyish grin held a hint of their former intimacy. “Your expression suggested more…personal contemplations.”
“Stop it, Kincaid. You know perfectly well I’m immune to masculine charm.”
“Is that so?” His slight frown carried echoes of old hurt. “I hadn’t noticed.”
The loaded silence that followed made Emma’s skin prickle. “Did you expect me to fall into your arms like other women do?”
“No, you were quite clear about your intentions.” He stepped closer. “Though I had hoped…perhaps we might try again? This evening?”
Emma’s heart gave a peculiar twist. Once, she might have considered it. Michael was handsome, intelligent, and understood her work. But now she knew her body could react more intensely to the male physique in ways it never had with Michael.
“No. I have a patient staying with me.”
“Who?”
“You don’t know him. I found him in the cemetery.”
Michael’s features creased into a frown. “A man? Emma, you underestimate the danger—”
“He’s in no condition to pose any threat.”
“Men have hidden strengths when properly motivated.” His voice softened. “I should know. I could be at death’s door and still wouldn’t decline you.”
His confession made Emma pause. “Perhaps we should discuss what happened between us. I assumed you’d simply lost interest.”
Michael’s gaze drifted away. “I thought I could maintain distance. That our arrangement could remain purely physical. But my heart had other ideas.”
The admission landed like stones in her chest. “You developed affections for me? Is that why you ended things?”
His nod sent guilt through her.
“And you? Did you feel nothing?” he asked quietly.
“I value your friendship deeply,” she said carefully. “But our physical relationship didn’t awaken any deeper emotions.”
His laugh held more pain than humour. “Ever decisive, even in matters of the heart.”
Michael changed the subject quickly to their cholera research, though Emma couldn’t quite forget his confession.
As Michael leaned close to study her notes, his familiar scent brought memories of intimate moments.
Yet all she could think about were dark eyes and callused hands that belonged to someone else entirely.
After Michael left to attend to his patients, Emma paced her office while wrestling with an unconventional hypothesis. Her recent conversation with Michael had stirred something—not desire for him but rather a stark awareness of her own limited understanding.
“A physician should comprehend all aspects of human health,” she muttered, trying to frame her thoughts clinically.
Her female patients constantly sought advice about intimate matters, their whispered confessions revealing profound unhappiness.
Some described their marital duties as mere endurance, while others spoke longingly of passion they’d only read about in novels.
She paused at her desk, fingers tracing the spine of an anatomy text. Medical knowledge was one thing, but practical understanding… That was harder to come by, especially for a woman physician.
“Thirty years old,” she said to the empty room. “And what do I really know of pleasure beyond clinical descriptions and one failed experiment?”
Her relationship with Michael had been educational in its way, but ultimately unsatisfying. He had approached intimacy with the same efficiency he applied to surgery, technically correct but lacking something essential.
But Mr Hughes… Just the way he looked at her was enough to heat her skin. As a man who allegedly earned his living bringing ecstasy…
“Pure research,” she told herself firmly. “For the benefit of my patients.”
Even as she tried to frame it academically, Emma knew there was more to it. At thirty, her prospects for a love match were grim.
“This may be my only opportunity.” Not just to satisfy curiosity, but to understand why her sister turned to pudding whenever Arthur entered a room while other ladies spoke of marital duties with all the enthusiasm of taking cod liver oil.
She began her list, determined to approach this methodically.
Why This Research Is Entirely Sensible and Not at All Scandalous:
Thirty years old and increasingly unlikely to inspire poetry
Current romantic prospects limited to elderly widowers and Michael
Another naked gentleman appearing in cemetery—unlikely
Remember, he’s a specimen, not a suitor
Seven days only
Summary: Absolutely no chance of emotional entanglement.
Emma stared at her list, recognising the attempt to rationalise what her body had already decided.
The way she responded to Hughes’s presence defied clinical explanation.
Perhaps that was precisely what she needed to study: how pleasure transcended mere physical reaction.
If she were being honest with herself, this was also about understanding the hunger that woke her in the night, about experiencing what romance novels tried to capture in flowery prose.
“One week to gather data, then we part ways,” she decided, reaching for fresh paper. She would approach it like any other medical study, with clear objectives, careful observation, and professional detachment.
As she rehearsed her proposal, trying to frame it in the most clinical terms possible, Emma couldn’t quite suppress a shiver of anticipation that had nothing to do with science at all.
As always, Helen’s reply arrived at the hospital just when she needed it.
6 December 1840
Dearest Emma,
Finally! At last, something more exciting than your usual letters about infected wounds and fascinating diseases (though I do treasure those missives, gruesome details and all).
A mysterious gentleman with secrets, education, and, if I read between your carefully proper lines correctly, a rather spectacular physique. My darling friend, this is far more interesting than your usual ancient farmers and their equally ancient wives.
I cannot stop laughing at the image of you, the unflappable Dr Brown, blushing over a man’s thigh!
Though I suppose for someone inexperienced, the difference between diagrams in medical texts and a living specimen is…
enormous. Well, is he? A few inches higher up while cleaning his wound, and you’ll easily discover if you need a pair of forceps to dig for his manhood.
You ask me to be sensible. Well, I refuse. You are an intelligent, kind, and vibrant spinster. If you don’t wish to scrape dust off your delicate regions or abandon medicine to become a gentleman’s companion, then seize this opportunity.
Emma, dearest, when was the last time you allowed yourself to feel anything beyond professional satisfaction?
You’ve spent so long building walls around your heart, perhaps it’s time to conduct an experiment in letting them down.
Some of the most important medical discoveries came from taking risks.
Though I doubt any of those are documented in quite the way you tend to!
Do try to document everything in detail for my vicarious enjoyment. And if you need me to come rescue you from this dangerous specimen, I shall be there in a heartbeat. This shall be the evidence of our true friendship.
With great anticipation for your next letter,
Your devoted friend Helen
P.S. Is his face as pleasing as his thighs? These are the vital details a friend requires!