Prescription for Sin (Rogues Worth Saving #4)

1. The Stranger

Chapter one

The Stranger

Emma’s fingers tightened around her medical bag as she found herself once again among the last to leave the hospital.

She felt the sharp blade of the scalpel in her skirt pocket while hurrying through the cemetery.

The moonlight cast long shadows across frost-dusted graves, painting an eerie landscape.

A piercing cry shattered the night’s stillness. Emma froze. Her heart leapt into her throat, and her mind began cataloguing possible medical emergencies. The sound had come from deeper within the cemetery, where shadows held dominion beyond the lantern light.

Common sense urged retreat. Professional duty demanded investigation. As usual, duty won.

She found them in a clearing, three men surrounding a fourth, who was bound naked to a tree. Despite his predicament, the bound man appeared remarkably composed, almost lounging against his bonds as if they were a minor inconvenience.

“Come on, fellas,” one ruffian growled, brandishing a horsewhip. “Let’s finish him off!”

“I wouldn’t advise that,” Emma called out. The authority in her voice surprised her.

Four heads turned toward her. The bound man raised an eyebrow, managing to look intrigued despite the gag in his mouth.

“Is she a ghost?” one man whispered.

“Don’t be a fool,” the burliest of the three snapped, though he shifted uneasily. “What’s it to you, Miss?”

Emma stepped forward, channelling her best imitation of the hospital’s most imperious surgeon. “That man is afflicted with leprosy.”

The bound man’s eyes widened, and she could have sworn she saw amusement flicker across his face.

“What?” the largest ruffian demanded, brow furrowing.

Emma strode past them with feigned confidence, coming to a halt before their captive. His eyes met hers—intelligent, alert, and decidedly intrigued, despite his dire situation.

“Observe,” she said, retrieving a stick to point at his wounds. “The blackened flesh, the telltale signs of decay. Soon his extremities will begin to fall away—toes first, then perhaps more…vital appendages.”

The bound man made a muffled sound that, despite the gag, sounded suspiciously like suppressed laughter.

“You’re lying!” the skinniest thug accused, though he took a step backward. “If he’s got leprosy, why aren’t you afraid to get close?”

“An excellent question, sir. Your powers of deduction do you credit.” Emma smiled serenely. “I’m not afraid because I, too, am afflicted. Would you care to examine my lesions? They’re quite spectacular, especially in this light.”

She reached for her skirts. The men fled as one, their shouts of terror echoing through the cemetery.

Once they had gone, Emma turned back to her patient, who was now shaking with what was unmistakably silent laughter. She removed his gag.

“Fascinating diagnosis, Miss,” he said, in the cultured tones of a gentleman. “Though I confess, I’ve never heard leprosy described with quite such theatrical flair.”

“You seem remarkably cheerful for a man facing imminent dismemberment,” Emma observed dryly, reaching for her scalpel to cut his bonds.

“One must maintain standards, even when tied naked to a tree.” He winced as circulation returned to his arms. “Isn’t one of the signs of a gentleman an unflappable spirit?”

“A gentleman? In your current state of undress? How remarkably progressive.”

“Ah, but what better proof of my gentility than the ability to maintain polite conversation while completely nude?”

Emma fought back a most unprofessional smile as she began her examination. “Hold still. I need to check your vital signs.”

“By all means. Though I should warn you—” He glanced down at his groin, then inhaled sharply as she pressed the cold stethoscope to his chest. “Your bedside manner leaves something to be desired.”

“My bedside manner is perfectly adequate for patients who aren’t making improper jests.” She moved the stethoscope methodically. “Breathe deeply.”

“I would, but I fear my lungs are still recovering from your remarkable performance. ‘Soon his extremities will begin to fall away,’” he mimicked. “Quite inspired.”

“If you’ve enough breath to mock me, your lungs are perfectly sound.” She withdrew the stethoscope.

His obvious appreciation of her quick thinking made her cheeks warm, but she maintained her professional mask. This man was dangerous in ways that had nothing to do with his injuries and everything to do with how her pulse quickened when his dark eyes held hers.

“These wounds need proper tending,” she said briskly, forcing herself to focus on the lacerations rather than the play of muscles beneath his skin. “You’ll require stitches and monitoring for fever.”

The words slipped out before she could stop them: "Remarkable. The definition of your serratus anterior is quite extraordinary."

She noticed the. man shift uncomfortably under her scrutiny, and a slight flush crept into her cheeks.

“Might I suggest we relocate this medical examination somewhere warmer? I believe certain vital parts are at risk of requiring amputation from the cold alone.”

She straightened, professional mask firmly back in place. “I need you to urinate.”

His brows furrowed together. “I generally prefer dinner first, but as you’ve already seen me in my all together…” He swayed slightly. “Though I fear I must first address the matter of shelter.”

“We shall catch a hackney and go to the police station,” she said.

“No,” he said firmly.

“Why ever not? You ought to report those blackguards who meant to kill you.”

He shook his head. “I can’t. I am a…fugitive.”

Alarmed, Emma clutched the scalpel in her pocket. “Fugitive? What crimes have you committed?”

He hesitated, then murmured quietly, “Sodomy.”

“Oh.” Emma blinked, medical curiosity warring with common sense. “That’s…unfortunate.”

“Your gift for understatement is remarkable.” Despite his trembling, a ghost of a smile appeared on his lips. “Though at present, my more pressing concern is avoiding death by freezing.”

“Where is your lodging?”

“Nowhere, currently. My funds were…redistributed amongst our departed friends.”

Emma sighed, watching him shiver. She was accustomed to taking in strays, but they usually weren’t virile young men with criminal charges. Still, her medical instincts rebelled at the thought of leaving an injured patient to freeze.

“You may recover at my house,” she heard herself say. The hospital beds were full of cholera patients, and there was no reason to tax the nurses further.

His head snapped up. “Truly?”

“Yes. However”—she fixed him with her sternest gaze—“whoever you are, know that I’m much more skilled with knives and ropes than those fools. Try anything untoward, and you will find chunks missing from your body.”

“After witnessing your performance with those ruffians, I wouldn’t dare risk incurring your wrath.” He attempted a bow, wobbling slightly.

Emma couldn’t quite suppress her smile as she hastily divested herself of her coat and offered it to him. As he fumbled to tie the sleeves around his waist, she gently brushed his hands aside, positioning herself behind him to secure the garment with deft fingers.

Though well-versed in the intricacies of the male form through her professional endeavours, Emma found herself quite unprepared for the visceral reaction elicited by this particular specimen.

The broad expanse of his back, adorned with sinews that spoke of strength and vitality, captured her attention.

Her gaze, unbidden, travelled lower, noting the taut curves of his buttocks, free of injuries, so finely formed as to rival the sculptures of antiquity.

The muscles within rippled as he shifted, stirring within her a most unfamiliar sensation—a curious blend of admiration and something altogether more primal.

“Have you forgotten how to tie a knot, Miss?” The amusement in his voice was plain.

“Has anyone ever told you that you talk entirely too much for a man at death’s door?” she asked, tying the coat with force.

“Frequently. Though usually I’m wearing considerably more clothing at the time.”

“Are you able to walk?”

“With assistance.” His smile held pain but also something warmer that made her stomach flutter. “I find myself entirely at your mercy, Miss…?”

“Brown. Emma Brown.” She slipped under his arm, bearing some of his weight. “And you are?”

He hesitated a fraction too long before answering, “Hughes. Everett Hughes.”

The walk was slow, his limping gait requiring frequent pauses.

“Tell me, do you feel any sharp pains in your abdomen?”

“Only the acute embarrassment of parading through Rochester in nothing but a lady’s coat.” He adjusted the makeshift garment around his waist. “You seem remarkably confident for a nurse. Are you certain you haven’t trained as a physician?”

“I find patients who ask too many questions tend to develop mysterious complications.” She quickened her pace, silencing him from the exertion. “My house is just ahead.”

“Most excellent. Try to appear less suspicious, Miss Brown. I have my gentlemanly standard to maintain.”

Emma’s lips twitched despite herself. The man was incorrigible, yet there was something oddly comforting about his ability to maintain wit in such circumstances. It suggested either remarkable fortitude or concerning head trauma.

She rather hoped it was the former. She couldn’t wait to write to her best friend, Helen, about this strange event.