The Death of Jane Lawrence(21)

“Medical training attracts odd people, and makes us even odder.” He offered a self-conscious smile, then crouched back down at the hearth.

Jane watched for a moment, reflecting that in a normal house, the fire would be lit from its own coals, or with coals from another fire—but Lindridge Hall wasn’t a normal house. She hesitated to even call it a home. It was … a building. Only that.

No wonder he wanted her to leave before sundown. She only wished he would come with her.

“Should I call for Mrs. Purl?”

“I’m entirely capable of lighting my own fire,” he said, and so saying began working steel against flint.

She found herself appreciating the flex of his coat across his shoulders, and returned her attention to the skulls. “Where did these skulls come from?”

“The animal skulls are largely from my friends who hunt for sport. The human skulls … several were specimens my primary instructor kept. They were from his own patients. They all have malformations or unusual injuries of some kind. The others are actually fakes, some made of plaster, but I find them amusing. Like the one on the shelf to the left of the windows, with the horns? Peddled as proof of demons walking among us. That’s a child’s skull, with two goat horns glued on with pitch. If you look closely, they tried to carve the skull itself in a few places, then abandoned it.”

Satisfied that the fire was growing steadily, Augustine dusted off his hands and stood up. “They’re bothering you,” he said, coming to stand close to her, close enough that she could hear his breathing. Her thoughts grew muddy once more, and she fought to keep her wits.

“I enjoy learning the connections,” she said, fighting the urge to move closer still. She kept her gaze fixed firmly on his eyes and away from his lips. “You have a brilliant mind, Augustine.”

He laughed at that. “I have a suspicion you’re the quicker-witted of us. You’re certainly the more determined and adaptable.”

“Am I?”

“I don’t think, in your place, that I would be nearly so accepting, and yet also still curious,” he said. “I wish…”

Jane waited, but he didn’t finish the thought, staring off somewhere over her shoulder. He had gone somewhere else again, like he had in the carriage. It did not look like a happy place. Her resolve fractured, and she reached up and lightly touched his jaw, bringing him back to her. Her fingers trembled slightly. She did not know this dance, did not know what he would welcome, or what she could offer.

But she couldn’t resist any longer.

Her touch brought him back to her. Augustine gazed into her eyes, then closed his, leaning his forehead against hers. His skin was warm.

“I should go see Mrs. Luthbright about the menu,” he murmured.

He was right, but the thought of him leaving again conjured up anger in her breast. Just another few minutes, alone. Couldn’t they have that? Long enough for them to sort out where they stood now that she wore his ring, long enough for her to untangle the snarl of emotions and desires that writhed inside her.

“Don’t go,” she whispered.

“Jane?” He pulled back, eyes open once more. He searched her face for some explanation.

She was too embarrassed to put it into words. “There is one last part to today’s wedding,” she blurted instead. “That is … if you’re not going to come back with me to the surgery—”

“I can’t,” he said.

“If you’re not,” she continued, “then perhaps we should take the opportunity now to consummate the marriage.”

Silence. She looked down, unable to meet his gaze.

“Consummate the marriage,” he repeated at last, and she expected frustration, perhaps even anger. And then he laughed, a breathy little thing. He folded his arms around her. His embrace was light, easy to escape from. Tentative.

She stepped closer, heart stuttering. Her hands settled against his chest.

His next exhale ghosted over her lips. “So romantic, Mrs. Lawrence.”

“I’m a businesswoman above all else, Dr. Lawrence,” she countered, unsure if he was teasing or not. “What was it you said? Consummated on mutually beneficial terms?”

Augustine pulled back a fraction of an inch, a stunned but pleased expression on his face. “You memorized that?”

“It was hard not to.” She cringed, fingers curling lightly into her waistcoat. “I’ve thought of it—often.”

“As have I,” he confessed, voice dropping to a husky note. His throat worked, and his thumb stroked her cheek.

Her toes curled in her shoes, unbidden, and the urge to kiss him returned, nearly overwhelming her. But she still resisted. She had pushed them too far ahead once more. They should discuss this properly, at a safe distance—if they both were comfortable, truly comfortable, with this change to their plans.

And yet she could only resist so much. She did not kiss him, no, but she whispered, “Will you have me?”

A knock cut off any response.

He pulled away, smoothing out the rumpled front of his waistcoat. “Yes?” His cheeks were stained as red as hers felt.

“Pardon the interruption, Doctor, but Mrs. Luthbright has asked for you downstairs.”

Augustine shot Jane an apologetic look. She shrugged. What excuse could they offer?