Setting aside the fact that she was nearly blinded with pain, Hannah couldn’t help but be warmed by the doctor’s gentle manner. Her husband had never shown her any such kindness. Of course, it crossed her mind that he was only doing his duty as her physician, but then…Dr. Pritchard was never quite so gentle or caring. Dr. Pritchard had certainly never inspired such longing in her heart.

Hannah had to take a moment and remind herself that she’d been starved of love for far too long. That her reaction to this man—her doctor—was merely because she’d been deprived of attention for…well, forever, it seemed. If she wasn’t careful, she’d make things awkward between them. Something she most certainly didn’t want. He promised to make her well—to allow her walk again—she wouldn’t scare him off by falling in love with him.

She laughed inwardly at the idea. In love. She’d known him the lesser part of an hour. What a preposterous thought.

“How are you feeling now?” came his velvety voice, so close to her ear, it sent a shiver down her spine.

The spots were gone from her vision, and the sharpness of the pain had subsided to a dull throb. “I think I’m ready to proceed.”

“We won’t go far,” he promised, and then he tightened his grip around her lower back, as she braced a hand in his. “Small steps.”

It took so much of her effort to concentrate on trying to walk that she barely registered how strong his arms were. But only barely. He seemed so lean when one simply gazed upon him, but to have that band of steel around her back, that unwavering arm supporting her, it was enough to make a lady swoon. Especially one that was already in a great deal of pain and discomfort.

“So, what have you been doing these six weeks, holed away in your chamber?” Dr. Alcott asked as they inched along.

Hannah sighed. “A great deal of reading,” she began. “My sister-in-law visits me often to share tales of the outside world. Mother drops in occasionally, but…”

“And your brother?” he prompted, clearly sensing the topic of Mother was not a pleasant one.

“Oh, yes. He visits too.” A little smile crossed her lips. “He sneaks me a little brandy from time-to-time as well.”

Dr. Alcott threw his head back and gave a hearty laugh. “Well, then it hasn’t been all bad, has it?”

“I’ll admit I’ve acquired a taste for the stuff. My late husband never would have approved, though Heaven knows he was more often in his cups than out of them.” Speaking of Beeston always set her nerves on edge, and she found herself needing a deep breath to steady herself.

“My professional opinion is that a nip of the spirits is good for the mind and the body every now and again, be ye male or female. You needn’t worry about being judged by me.”

Hannah looked up at him. “I never was.” It seemed a ridiculous thing to say, since she’d known him all of a half hour, but it was true. She just knew, in her heart, that he was a different kind of doctor. A different kind of man.

He didn’t respond, but the barest of grins tipped the edges of his lips up. “Look, my lady.”

Hannah followed his gaze and realized they’d reached the edge of the stairs at the end of the corridor. She hadn’t even noticed how far they’d come.

“How do you feel?” he asked.

Truth be known, she was a little light-headed, though she was starting to question whether it was the walk or the company. “I feel…happy,” she said. “I was beginning to wonder if I’d ever leave the bed, let alone walk down the corridor.”

“What the devil is this?”

The stern voice startled both of them, and Hannah craned her head around to find her brother practically stomping toward them. His dark curls shook with every step, and his blue eyes were narrowed upon Dr. Alcott.

“Dr. Alcott,” Hannah said calmly, for she had dealt with her brother and his temper often enough to know he was more bark than he was bite. “May I introduce my brother, the Duke of Somerset. Evan, this is Dr. Alcott.”

Evan approached, and Hannah had to laugh. As tall as her brother was, the doctor still towered over him. Goodness, he was tall.

“Your Grace,” Dr. Alcott said, bending his head in deference.

Evan wasn’t nearly as polite. “Where is Dr. Pritchard?”

“He’s gone to care for the Countess of Kilworth through the rest of her confinement. Dr. Alcott will care for me in his absence.”

“But why the devil are you out of bed?” he asked, and then realized he ought to direct the question to the doctor directly. “Why the devil is she out of bed?”

“I realize you are more accustomed to Dr. Pritchard’s methods, but I assure you, your sister will come to no harm.”

“He says it will advance my healing,” Hannah put in, eager to put her brother at ease.

“And what credentials do you have?”

“Goodness, Evan,” Hannah said. “He is a doctor, is he not? That alone speaks to his credentials.”

“It is quite all right,” Dr. Alcott rushed to reassure Hannah. “Your Grace, I would be happy to discuss my training and history with you, but this is unfortunately not a good time to do that. It is important to see your sister back to her bed before we overtax her.”

Evan’s jaw twitched just a bit, but he nodded and backed away, so Hannah and the doctor could make their way back to her bedchamber.

* * *

Graham sat in the burgundy leather chair, facing His Grace, the Duke of Somerset. Someone of Graham’s status ought to have been intimidated by someone of the duke’s status, but Graham had dealt with many a titled gentlemen, and had learned that with a title came a great deal of entitlement. The best way to deal with men of his kind was to allow them to think his treatments—his “new way” of thinking—were their idea.

The duke gave a tight smile and drummed his fingers on the mahogany desk. “I apologize if I came off rather brutish before,” he began. “It has been quite…unsettling, these events of the past six weeks or so. If it weren’t for my new wife, I’d have gone mad already.”

“I know only a bit of the story, but I can deduce that you all have been through a rather trying time.”

The duke leaned forward. “To be truthful, we’re all quite pleased that the baron decided to end his own life. Bunny will be better off for it.”

Graham struggled to get over the shock of the duke’s words and tried to focus instead on who the hell Bunny might be. “Bunny?”

“My sister. Lady Beeston,” the duke clarified. “Forgive me. It’s what I’ve always called her, and it’s hard to break old habits.”

“Of course,” Graham said, at a loss for anything else to say.

“So, go on. Tell me what I wish to know about you. Dr. Pritchard has been my family’s doctor for decades—I knew all I needed to know of him.”

“I understand,” Graham began. “I know it must be unsettling to find a new doctor caring for your sister, but I assure you, I am qualified and I will see to her full recovery.”

Somerset’s eyes rounded below raised eyebrows. “Full recovery? Don’t you think that’s a bit optimistic? Dr. Pritchard said she’d be lucky to ever walk again at all.”

“And yet, there she was, walking the halls of your home with me just a few minutes ago.”

The duke narrowed his ice blue eyes on him. “I don’t know whether I’m annoyed by your arrogance, or impressed by it.”

Graham had to admit that stung a bit. He wasn’t trying to be arrogant, just confident. “I don’t mean to put you off, Your Grace,” he said, changing his tone. “But there is no reason your sister shouldn’t make a full recovery, regardless of what Dr. Pritchard said.”

Eyes still narrowed, the duke nodded. “Go on,” he said, his tone a challenge.

Graham scooted to the edge of his chair, his passion on the subject forcing him forward, igniting that familiar fire in his belly. “You see, Dr. Pritchard is of the old school of thought.”

“The old school?”

“But there is a new thought to be found on almost every topic of medicine. Why, just the other day I read about alternatives to laudanum for easing pain. Things that have been used for centuries in China and India—”

“China? India?” The duke threw back his head and laughed, though it was hollow, devoid of any real mirth at all. “Surely you jest! You can’t possibly think remedies from a primitive and barbaric world are better than what the English have discovered.”

Graham should have known he’d be laughed at. Men of the duke’s ilk found it hard to stray from tradition. But he’d not be thwarted. Lady Beeston would walk again, if not run. “The true barbarism is in the English methods, Your Grace. Bloodletting will be a thing of the past soon, I assure you.”

“But I’ve seen with my own eyes how it heals.”

“And I have seen how it kills.”

Silence fell over the room, save a little bird chirping a high-pitched tune just outside the study window. The duke narrowed his eyes on him.

“Perhaps I should look for another doctor. As much as I respect Dr. Pritchard and his opinion, I fear his judgment has failed me in this regard.”

Graham hadn’t been expecting that. He’d not even thought about the fact the duke had the power to dismiss him, but of course that was foolish. He was probably the one paying for his services—he could dismiss him without another thought. But Graham wasn’t going to let that happen.

“Perhaps we can come to a…compromise.” He practically choked on the word. He hated to kowtow to someone who knew nothing of medicine, but sometimes one had to swallow their pride for the greater good.

His Grace leaned back in his chair and nonchalantly lifted his ankle to rest on the opposite knee. “Go on.”

“I can continue some of Dr. Pritchard’s work,” he said slowly, trying to come up with a plan that wouldn’t completely compromise his integrity. “While gently integrating some newer methods.”

“In my experience, it is hard to mix the old with the new.”

“There’s no reason the methods cannot work hand-in-hand.” Truthfully, he didn’t know if that was true. How could he keep her abed and encourage her to walk at the same time? But he would say whatever he had to say to set the duke at ease.

Somerset leaned forward and placed his elbows on the dark, mahogany desk, his icy blue eyes fixed so intently on Graham that he began to sweat a bit beneath his starched collar. “If any harm comes to my sister, I shall make certain you are never able to practice medicine in this city again. Is that clear?”

Graham swallowed over the lump in his throat, trying to keep calm and confident in the face of the brooding duke, in spite of the fact he felt as if he might toss up his accounts. Or cry. Or both. He wasn’t usually a cowering man, but for some odd reason, the stakes felt high in this particular situation.

“Perfectly,” he finally managed.

“I will be watching you,” the duke added, as if it were necessary.

“I would expect nothing less.” There was sarcasm in his words, but if the duke noticed, he didn’t say as much.

Graham took himself from the study, breathing in the taste of freedom as he entered the corridor. A million thoughts ran through his mind in light of the days’ events. Part of him wanted to run home to Ravenglass and leave this harsh city behind. He’d kept himself nicely cocooned for the past six years, shadowing Dr. Pritchard and spending time only with those who made him feel comfortable. And now he was decidedly outside his realm of comfort.

Yet, something was keeping him from running away or from even standing up to the duke. No, not something. Someone.

Lady Beeston needed his help—she needed hope, wanted it, even. He could see it in her eyes, so full of sadness and regret. Graham could only imagine what she’d been through. A widow with a gunshot wound. What in the world had happened there? And were the two related?

A door creaked somewhere nearby, bringing Graham back to his senses. He’d been standing lamely in the corridor just outside the duke’s study—how awkward that would have been if Somerset had found him there.

He headed for the front door, gathered his things from the butler, and set off for his rented rooms. He was expected at his sister’s for dinner that evening—perhaps she could shed some light on the tale of Lady Beeston.