17. Worth Every Shilling
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.
“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.
“I’ve been anticipating for hours, days, months, in fact. I’ve anticipated more than enough.”
“Imagine how wonderful you’ll feel because we waited one day.”
“I’m capable of feeling wonderful today and tomorrow and the next day as well,” he said, slowly rocking her hips on his lap. His lips parted, and his eyes were half-hooded. “I promise,” he breathed. “I shall satisfy you tomorrow, even if we venture deep today.”
“I have complete confidence in your performance,” she said coyly. “Even now, I’m…”
“You’re what?” He stilled his hands on her hips.
“Very…wet.”
He released a long groan and dropped his head on her shoulder. He suddenly covered her mouth with his and swallowed her chuckle. He devoured her, his powerful arms grinding her against his bulge.
“Everett… That hurts…”
The grinding halted abruptly, followed by his words of apology and tender kisses on her neck. “Let me apologise properly, Emma. Allow me to bury my mouth in your cunny,” he rasped against her ear. “I don’t expect anything in return. Ride my mouth, so I can taste you.”
She let out a soft moan. “That is a very tempting offer, but I still stand by my decision. Tomorrow.”
His shoulders slumped in defeat. “Very well, but we shall do it twice, if not more.”
Her laugh was bright and warm. “As you wish.” She moved to get up. “We should go to bed.”
“Same bed?” He couldn’t resist asking, enjoying the way colour rose in her cheeks.
“Separate beds,” she said firmly, though her eyes sparkled. “Show me where I’m to sleep.”
He took her hand, leading her upstairs to the guest chamber. But she tugged him in a different direction. “I want to see your room first.”
His bedchamber was as he had left it, masculine but elegant, with dark wood furniture and deep blue furnishings. Emma wandered the space, trailing her fingers along the carved bedpost, examining the medical texts on his nightstand, touching the silver-backed brushes on his dresser.
“Could I sleep here instead?” she asked suddenly. “While you take the guest room? It smells like you.”
The request, so innocent yet intimate, made his heart turn over. “You could have the real thing, you know.” He spread his arms in invitation, showing his teeth in his smile. He tried to keep his tone light despite the surge of longing her words provoked.
“Nicely done.” She smiled, patting his chest as she passed. “One more night.”
“Don’t mind me if I do unspeakable things to you in my fantasy tonight,” he called after her retreating form.
She paused her steps, and the back of her neck turned crimson. Feeling his cock swelling at the lewd image flashing before his eyes, he went to the water closet to retrieve his necessities. Avoiding looking at his bride, lest he hold her and never let her go, he walked toward the door.
“Goodnight, Everett.”
“Goodnight, my love,” he replied softly and closed the door.
He stood in the corridor longer than necessary, listening to her movements in his chamber, imagining her preparing for bed. Tomorrow, he reminded himself. Tomorrow she would be his wife, and he would spend the rest of his life showing her exactly how precious she was to him.
For now, though, he had a very cold bath to look forward to.