He didn’t come back. Emma had been sure he’d return, to banter with her at the very least, perhaps even to flirt, to kiss her again, to perhaps. . .

And she might let him. She could allow herself so little, but that one night would tide her over for years. She could survive giving herself to him—there was no question that he wanted her. And she wanted him to hold her.

She might as well accept the fact: she was like a green girl in raptures over a pair of broad shoulders. And his shoulders were very broad after the years in Scotland, his strength returned to him in abundance.

But this hadn’t started with broad shoulders. This had all started with a deeply damaged man barely clinging to life, to long hours in the darkness as she did everything she could to bring him back from the precipice. With soft, harmless midnight kisses until they became something more. The man whose charm and wit had surfaced and enchanted her, until it was too late to defend herself.

She’d spent many long hours of the last three years, trying to understand her unlikely infatuation, she who despised most men, and she’d come across a simple answer. When she first met him, he was so frail he was no danger to her, not on any level, and she’d let down her guard. He wasn’t the enemy, as most men were, he was simply a damaged boy in need of comfort, and she’d tried to convince herself her feelings were only maternal. After all, she loved children—she found both boys and girls delightful.

But as Brandon returned to life, growing stronger day by day, it was already too late. When he’d first managed the pale ghost of a grin she was smitten, and nothing had been able to scour that unlikely attraction from her soul.

And his kisses. They were innocence and charm, and she’d never been kissed like that in her life. Growing up, she’d been kept close to home. The lurid dangers of the male species had been explained to her in such harsh and explicit terms that she’d viewed every man with distrust, relying on her stern father’s guidance, until he’d turn those same, lustful eyes on her and she’d known her presence on this earth was a curse.

Why had she let herself forget? For years she’d believed that her inconvenient beauty had tempted her saintly father to attempt something so heinous she refused to think about it. It wasn’t until many years later that she recognized the fault wasn’t in her, it was in the male of the species, and she’d been absolutely fine since then, armored in her dislike and distrust.

That is, until Brandon had slipped into her heart.

She’d always been a great reader, and she adored travel books, the vicarious adventures almost enough for a woman who would doubtless never leave England, and she read of a strange phenomenon in the desert, something called a mirage. It happened when the sun grew so abominably hot it seemed as if cool, refreshing water was floating on the sand. The idea had always fascinated her, and the knowledge that when the thirsty traveler arrived at the fantasy oasis they only found barren ground.

That was her relationship, for want of a better word, with Brandon. A mirage, a brief, tantalizing glimpse of cool, refreshing water, only to find it turn to sand in her mouth. She was a fool to ever let herself be so vulnerable.

She waited in the nursery for over an hour, but he didn’t return, and she told herself it was a relief. Tomorrow she could leave—she was feeling well enough, and Brandon would marry Miss Bonham, and she and her companion would be miserable. . .

It wasn’t her problem, she reminded herself. She was already dealing with enough—the girls at the Dovecote, her patients, her nemesis, the cow-handed Dr. Fenrush. There was no place in this world for unconventional attractions, be they between two women or a gentleman and a whore.

As luck would have it, she slept late into the morning, only waking when the sun moved overhead, the sun she hadn’t seen in so many days. She struggled out of bed, landing on the floor in a tangle of covers, bruising her backside, before she could fight her way out of the linen and throw off her nightclothes. Dressing normally was a matter of a few short minutes—she didn’t bother with voluminous petticoats, tight corset or a myriad of buttons, and her hair was usually screwed into a tight knot at the back of her head. She’d been primping the last few days, and she knew why, knew she should make her way downstairs looking like a drudge. And knew she wouldn’t.

She stared at herself, frustrated. She looked her age—two years older than Brandon Rohan, and a century beyond that. Perhaps she should just stay in her room to pack and have the maid bring her something to eat.

And then Melisande would come traipsing in, asking her all sorts of uncomfortable questions, and she surely didn’t want Brandon to think she was avoiding him. She was happier if he didn’t think of her at all, something he seemed to have mastered last night, even if his afternoon kisses had shattered her.

She yanked her hairpins out, twisted the long length of her hair into a knot and secured it with a few hairpins, secure in the knowledge that now she looked like herself, a sensible woman with no interest in attracting the attention of anyone. She could convince Brandon, and she could probably convince Melisande as well. She just needed to convince herself.

“Darling, you shouldn’t be up!” Melisande greeted her when Emma wandered into the small green salon. Young Adrian was playing at her feet, entranced with a set of wooden blocks, and Alexandra Emma lay curled in her mother’s arms. “Surely you aren’t still intending to leave? Only two days ago you were attacked and almost killed.”

“But I wasn’t killed,” she said, squatting down besides Adrian and handing him a block, accepting his toothy smile as reward. “I had a restful day yesterday, a good night’s sleep, and I’m more than ready to get on the road. I have work to do.

“What about Brandon?”

“What about him?” Emma said innocently.

Melisande wasn’t so easily distracted. “I don’t suppose he’s remembered you yet, has he?”

It had taken years of practice, but Emma knew how to keep her expression serene and unruffled. “I hadn’t thought about it,” she said airily. “It doesn’t matter, Melly. You’re making a romance where there is none, and he’s engaged to be married. Really, I can’t put off leaving any longer—I must return to the city. I can’t leave the women in town to the tender mercies of Butcher Fenrush.”

Melisande laughed, distracted. “Do you think he’s going to be a problem? Being replaced by anyone is always difficult, by a woman is worse, though I agree with Benedick’s decision completely. Sooner or later he was going to kill a patient.”

“He kills patients every week,” Emma said. “It’s the only reason I agreed to Benedick’s high-handed decision, and I have no intention of staying in charge any longer than it takes to find a more suitable surgeon. The sooner I get back the sooner things will settle down.”

“All right,” Melisande said, giving in more easily than Emma would have expected. “In fact, that should work out quite well. Brandon plans to leave for London today as well. You can travel together.”

“Oh, God, no!” she cried before she could stop herself. She cleared her throat, trying to sound more reasonable. “I wouldn’t want to be a burden. I’m certain Lord Brandon would prefer not to have a female on his hands.”

“Lord Brandon, as you so formally call him, would be more than happy to assist you. He has a great deal of penance yet to perform, and looking after you. . .

“I don’t need looking after!” Emma’s voice was fierce.

“Of course you don’t,” Melisande agreed. “But men like to think they’re useful, and it would help Brandon put the past behind him.”

“I think he’s already managed that quite well. His upcoming marriage is proof of that. Where is he, by the way?”

She didn’t like Melisande’s sly grin. “Miss him already, do you?” The grin faded when she saw Emma’s stony expression. “Did something happen between you two?”

“Of course not. Nothing ever would. We are far removed on the social scale—he’s a peer, I’m a. . .” she remembered Melisande’s slap and amended her words “. . .a working woman. There is no common ground, and our history is just that. Over for me, already forgotten for him.”

“So why are you running away?” Melisande asked calmly.

In fact, she didn’t have to leave. If Brandon truly was heading to London, then she was better off here in the country. Danger seemed to come from all sorts of unexpected directions—at least here she wouldn’t risk running into Brandon.

She was being absurd, she reminded herself. London was a vast, sprawling city, and they would travel in much different circles. This wasn’t her life—she needed to get back to her shabby rooms, her work, her place in the world, to deal with Butcher Fenrush and move on. Those things were what she needed to ground her, remind her who she was, to sweep away any errant fantasies and dreams.

“I’m not,” she said. “If I was trying to get away from Lord Brandon . . . Mr. Rohan,” she amended, too aware of Melisande’s scrutiny, “then staying here would be the wiser choice. But I have to get back.”

“I see,” Melisande said, and Emma was afraid that she did. “Well, it is his loss.”

“Life is full of losses.”

Melisande rolled her eyes. “Leave off, Mrs. Siddons! Life is a healthy mix of joy and sorrow, and if you didn’t spend your time running away you’d realize it.”

This was far worse than the much-needed slap. “I don’t run away!” she insisted in a raw voice. “I’m no coward.”

“No? What are you doing right now? You’ve been trying to get away from here the moment you set eyes on Brandon, because he makes you feel. You’ve been able to divert all your love and caring to the women who’ve suffered as you did, as long as you keep everyone else at arm’s length.”

“I haven’t kept you at arm’s length,” Emma said stiffly. “Perhaps I should have.”

Melisande didn’t relent. “I’m safe to love. The Gaggle is safe, my children are safe, even Benedick is safe for you to let down your guard. And that guard is formidable. Brandon somehow managed to get past it at some point, and you’re terrified. Don’t run, Emma! Stay and face him, face your own feelings! What’s the worst that can happen? Do you have a heart left to break?”

The pain from Melisande’s words was so sharp it took her breath away. She stood frozen, staring at her best friend, when the door to the salon opened and Benedick strode in. Behind him, Brandon stood in the doorway.

“Up so early?” Benedick greeted Emma, coming over and giving her a kiss on the cheek. “Shouldn’t you be resting?”

“Emma must get back to the city, my love,” Melisande announced before Emma could say anything. “She’s needed at the hospital. She has to deal with Mr. Fenrush.”

“That’s probably wise,” Benedick said, giving his wife a more lingering kiss and dropping down beside her. “We’re sad to see you leave, Emma, but perhaps it’s for the best.”

“I thought Brandon could accompany her, since he’s leaving for London as well,” Melisande added artlessly.

Brandon had not entered the room, and the expression on his face was shuttered. “I don’t think that’s a wise idea,” he said before Emma could protest.

His flat words startled her. She would have expected amenability, even light flirtation at the suggestion, not that cool dismissal.

“Why ever not?” Benedick’s brow furrowed.

“I’m going on horseback, for one thing. . .”

“You asked to borrow my carriage.”

“That was when I thought my fiancée would accompany me. Since she and her companion plan to travel on to Cambridge to visit her old nanny, I changed my mind. Noonan and I would prefer to be unencumbered.” He didn’t look at Emma—in fact, his gaze hadn’t settled on her once this morning. It was so unexpected that some of her initial distress began to fade, replaced by annoyance. Unencumbered? How dare he?

Melisande and Benedick were looking equally surprised. “Take a damper,” Benedick said impatiently. “Mrs. Cadbury is my guest and you will show her every courtesy. You will provide her escort back to London and be gracious about it! What the devil is wrong with you?”

That was Emma’s cue to leave. Benedick had no qualms about airing private matters in front of her, and the last thing she wanted was to be witness to a family quarrel with her as the bone between two squabbling dogs. “I don’t wish to be a bother,” she said, following Brandon’s lead and avoiding looking at him. “In fact, I’m sure your brother would make much better time on horseback, and there’s absolutely no need to hover over me. I hate to sound ungracious. . .” Take that, you surly bastard! “. . .but I’d prefer to travel alone, and the public coach would be preferable. I have work to do during the trip, and I don’t wish to be forced to make idle conversation.” Another slap at him, she thought with irritated pleasure. Idle conversation indeed.

She did truly love Benedick like a brother, perhaps the only male she’d allowed herself to care for, but she’d forgotten how dictatorial even the most enlightened man might be, particularly if he were a peer and an older brother. “You will ride in my carriage, Emma—what kind of host do you think I am? And my very rude baby brother will accompany you to your destination. He will be absolutely silent if that is what you prefer, or he can entertain you with his version of polite discourse. Do you understand me, Brandon?” He directed his impressive glower on his younger brother, and reluctantly Emma followed his gaze.

She expected mutiny, but Brandon still had that cool, detached expression on his face. Even his startlingly blue eyes seemed to have turned a shade icier. “As you wish, Benedick. At your service, Mrs. Cadbury.”

She bared her teeth in the approximation of a smile. It would be a waste of time to argue further, and only mire her deeper into the morass of confused emotions that seemed to tighten in her chest. “Your escort would be most gracious. . .” she dug the knife in “. . .but you may, of course, feel free to simply ride beside the carriage with your friend. I have no need for entertainment, and indeed, would prefer my own company.” Take that, you swine!

He looked neither relieved nor annoyed at her subtle barbs. “As you wish, Mrs. Cadbury.”

She glanced at Melisande, part of her heartsick that they had fought, a stronger part still affronted by the accusations. Her friend looked equally unhappy, and not best pleased with her brother-in-law. He was not going to find a warm welcome when he returned to Starlings Manor.

The tension in the room was unbearable, and Emma had no intention of continuing to enjoy it. “I must finish my packing,” she said abruptly, knowing that this efficient household would have overheard her plans and already taken care of that little matter. It was a small annoyance compared to everything else.

Melisande didn’t contradict her. Benedick was glaring at his impassive brother, who was blocking the doorway to the center hall. She could always leave by the side door, but that would put her much farther away from the family staircase, making it clear to everyone how unsettled she was. She wasn’t going to give her erstwhile weakness the satisfaction.

Turning, she advanced on the door, expecting him to move out of the way. He didn’t. In fact, she came right up to him, too close, so that her skirts brushed against his riding boots, and she would feel the warmth of his body, absorb the faint, leathery scent that clung to him, mixed with fresh air. It was enticing. Or, it had been, before she’d abruptly come to her senses.

She looked up, her face as stony as his. “Are you going to let me pass?”

For a moment he stayed, blocking her. She was wondering if she was going to have to put her hands on him to push him out of her way when he stepped back.

“I beg your pardon,” he said in a bored voice that she’d never heard from him. “I was wool-gathering. Thinking of my fiancée.”

If he was thinking of his fiancée then she was a goat’s breakfast. “Instant love is such a glorious thing,” she said icily.

This time the barb ricocheted, hitting her in the heart. She could see the look of satisfaction on his ruined face—he knew that he’d upset her, and he was pleased to have done so. She had no idea why. Yesterday he’d kissed her as if she was the only thing in the world that mattered. Now, for no discernible reason, he seemed contemptuous.

It wouldn’t matter. In six long hours, possibly longer given the state of the roads, she would be quit of him, her irrational weakness scrubbed clean, the last vestige of an old life, an old dream vanished. She would return to her work with a clear mind, free of any entanglement, even if it had been of her own making. She’d been a fool, allowing herself furtive daydreams, but she was over that now. She was probably just as deluded about any sinister connotations to her recent accidents. She would be wary, of course, but in the cool light of day the very notion of someone trying to hurt her was simply absurd. Especially since Brandon Rohan’s casual words could do a much more effective job.

Dropping a perfunctory curtsey to Melisande and Benedick, she left, traversing the broad hallway and the private staircase with a speed that made her head pound. As she disappeared into the darkness his eyes followed her, she knew it, and this time not from appreciation. Unlikely as it seemed, she had suddenly been declared the enemy. She would accept that role with relish.