Hello Stranger (The Ravenels #4)(45)

“I was fortunate in being able to use the new ligatures Sir Joseph is developing,” Garrett replied modestly. “It allowed us to minimize the risk of sepsis and hemorrhage.”

“I’ve read about this material,” Salter said. “Made of catgut, is it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“How is it to work with?”

As they continued to discuss the latest surgical advancements, Garrett felt very comfortable in Dr. Salter’s presence. He was affable and open-minded, not at all the kind of man who would treat her with condescension. In fact, he reminded her more than a little of her old mentor, Sir Joseph. Now she was sorry for having been so grumpy when Dr. Havelock had insisted she attend the soiree. She would have to admit to him that he’d been right, and she’d been wrong.

“If I may,” Salter eventually said, “I would like to prevail on you from time to time, to have your opinions concerning matters of public health.”

“I would be delighted to help in any way I can,” Garrett assured him.

“Excellent.”

Lady Tatham broke in then, laying a glittering gem-weighted hand on Garrett’s arm. “I’m afraid I must steal Dr. Gibson away, Dr. Salter. She is much in demand, and guests are clamoring to make her acquaintance.”

“I can’t blame them a bit,” Salter said gallantly, and bowed to Garrett. “I look forward to our next meeting at my office in Whitehall, Doctor.”

Reluctantly Garrett allowed herself to be drawn away by Lady Tatham. She would have loved to prolong the conversation with Dr. Salter, and was annoyed by Lady Tatham’s insistence on pulling her away. One might have assumed from the woman’s claim about “clamoring guests” that people had been forming a queue to meet her, which was certainly not the case.

Lady Tatham guided her purposefully toward a looming gold-framed pier glass filling the wall space between two windows. “There is a gentleman you simply must meet,” she said brightly. “A close associate and personal friend of my husband’s. It would be impossible to overstate his importance in matters of national security. And he is a frightfully clever man—my poor brain can scarcely follow him.”

They approached a fair-haired man standing at the pier glass. His form was thin and elongated, as if he were a figure from a work of French Medieval art. There was something striking about him, something repugnant and yet compelling, although Garrett couldn’t identify what it was. She only knew that something twisted sickly inside her as she met his gaze. His eyes, unblinking and copper-colored like an adder’s, were set deeply in the narrow framework of his face.

“Sir Jasper Jenkyn,” Lady Tatham said, “this is Dr. Gibson.”

Jenkyn bowed, his gaze taking in every subtle variation of her expression.

Garrett was grateful to feel a sense of cold, steady purpose descend over her, as it always did just before a particularly difficult surgical procedure, or in an emergency. But underneath the surface, her thoughts raced. This was the man who posed such danger to Ethan Ransom. The one Ethan thought might have him killed. Why had Lady Tatham made a point of introducing them? Had Jenkyn somehow found out that Garrett was acquainted with Ethan? And if so, what did he want with her?

“Sir Jasper is one of the men in my husband’s inner sanctum,” Lady Tatham said lightly. “I confess, I’m never quite certain how to describe his occupation other than to say he is Lord Tatham’s ‘officially unofficial’ advisor.”

Jenkyn chuckled briefly. He didn’t smile naturally—the muscles of his face seemed poorly designed for it. “That description is as accurate as any other, my lady.”

How about “treasonous bastard”? Garrett thought. But she kept her expression perfectly bland as she said demurely, “A pleasure, sir.”

“I’ve been eager to make your acquaintance, Dr. Gibson. What an exceptional creature you are. The only woman admitted to the honors of this soiree on her own merit, rather than as some gentleman’s accessory.”

“Accessory?” Garrett repeated, her brows lifting. “I hardly think the ladies present deserve to be described that way.”

“It is the role most women choose for themselves.”

“Only for lack of opportunity.”

Lady Tatham giggled nervously and tapped Jenkyn’s arm lightly with her fan in girlish rebuke. “Sir Jasper likes to tease,” she told Garrett.

Jenkyn made Garrett’s skin crawl. There was a quality about him, a malignant vitality that people would interpret as magnetism instead of corruption.

“Perhaps you’re in need of an accessory, Dr. Gibson,” he said. “Shall we find some virile young trophy for you to flaunt on your arm?”

“I already have an escort.”

“Yes, the estimable Dr. Havelock. I see him over there at the side of the room. Would you like me to take you to him?”

Garrett hesitated. She didn’t want to spend another second in Jenkyn’s company, but neither did she want to take his arm. Unfortunately, according to etiquette, a woman was not allowed to walk across the room unescorted at a formal event.

“I would be obliged,” she said reluctantly.

Jenkyn looked over her shoulder. “Ah, but wait—we’re being approached by an acquaintance of mine, who appears most intent on meeting you. Allow me to make an introduction.”