Someone to Watch Over Me (Bow Street Runners #1)(57)

"About me?" Vivien asked, startled. "I don't know what you mean."

The doctor smiled wryly. "In the five years that I've known Grant Morgan, I've never seen him in such a state over a woman. Guilt is the least of the emotions that are working on him."

"If you're trying to imply that he's in love with me..." Vivien began warily.

"It doesn't matter what I imply. The fact is, heis in love with you." Linley stood and went to the door. Before opening it, he added prosaically, "What comes of that is up to you." Linley found Grant in the billiards room, seated on a chair at the baize-covered table with his arm and chin resting on the edge. One by one, he rolled a succession of ivory balls in varying patterns across the table, sending them to a corner pocket where a green braided silk bag waited to catch them. He surveyed the clicking orbs as he spoke. "How is she?"

"Considering the whole of what she has been through since the night she was rescued from the river...very well indeed. She is a resilent girl."

Grant felt an easing in his throat. He trusted Linley. And in the course of treating the varied physical and emotional complaints of the women of London, the man should be an expert. Grant gripped the last ivory ball, engulfing it completely, then sent it rolling gently to the corner pocket. "I have an issue to take up with you, Linley," he muttered. "Your silence on the matter of the real Vivien's pregnancy--"

"I was obliged to keep silent," Linley said matter-of-factly. "Miss Duvall made it clear on the day of the visit that the babe's future, perhaps even its life, depended on secrecy. And although she seemed to be given to dramatics, I was inclined to believe her. She was none too happy about my confirmation of the pregnancy, and she left with suspicious haste. As if she were afraid of something...or someone."

"You should have told me before!" Grant stood and scrubbed his fingers distractedly through his short hair. "For God's sake, someone is trying to kill her. The fact of her pregnancy could be one of the most important clues about what happened to her and why."

"Morgan," the doctor said calmly, "do you know what would happen to my practice if it became known that I divulged private information without a woman's consent? Do you know how many of my patients are obliged to keep the circumstances of their pregnancies secret for one reason or another?"

"I can only guess," Grant said sardonically. The respectable ladies of London's first society often escaped their loveless arranged marriages by taking lovers. Sometimes they foisted their illegitimate children off as their husbands'. No doubt the popular Dr. Linley was the keeper of many secrets.

"I understand the concept of confidentiality," Grant continued tersely. "However, the real Vivien is probably alive and in hiding somewhere. She is most likely pregnant and definitely in danger...and the girl you've seen today is in danger as well. So if there is anything you can remember about what Vivien said to you that day, you'd do well to tell me."

"All right. But before we return to the library to examine my files, I'd like to offer a word of advice. It concerns Vivien...that is, the young woman who is awaiting us. She was understandably disinclined to discuss her recent, er...experience with you, but she seems a sensible enough creature, and I don't believe she suffered unduly."

"You thought sleeping with me might be enough to frighten her into fits?" Grant inquired acidly.

A humorless smile pulled at Linley's mouth. "You would be surprised at what a physician discovers about women, Morgan. I've attended some who are so refined that they can't say words like 'stomach' or 'breast' aloud. There are women who can't bring themselves to tell me what ails them, and so I keep a stuffed doll in a drawer of my desk, and let them point to the body part that is giving them pain. Fully grown, married women, mind you. At times I'm certain it's mostly a pretense of delicacy, but there are unquestionably those who are acutely uncomfortable with all things pertaining to sex and physicality."

"Vivien's not that rarefied, thank God." "You're right," the doctor said equably, "but even so, she may have a few private fears and concerns that only you--or her next lover--can assuage."

"There isn't going to be a 'next lover,'" Grant said automatically, outraged by the idea. "I'm the only man she's going to have."

"Well, for most women the second sexual experience is even more important than the first. It either confirms or disproves their worst fears. In my professional opinion, most of the women I see who claim to be inherently cold-natured have in reality been mishandled by husbands or lovers."

Grant sent him a simmering glare. "I know how to please a woman, Linley. Or are you preparing to expound on your own vast experience with females?"

The doctor laughed suddenly. "No, I'll leave the matter in your capable hands."

They returned to the library, discovering Vivien beside a bookcase loaded with ham-sized medical and scientific tomes. Her gaze left the rows of ponderous volumes with Latin and Greek titles, and flew to Grant's face. They exchanged a wary stare, while Vivien wondered what had been said between Grant and Linley. Grant wore a disgruntled expression, his black brows lowered over his eyes.

Busily Dr. Linley hunted through cabinets and drawers until he produced a thin sheaf of documents tied with string. "Ah, here it is," he remarked, spreading a few papers across the library table. Grant was at his side immediately. "You see?" Linley continued, tracing one finger along a page of notes. "Nothing untoward, except..." He fumbled a bit with the pages, and suddenly a small square of paper slipped out and fluttered to the floor. Vivien went to retrieve it quickly. It was a letter, sealed with brown wax and addressed to "V. Devane, White Rose Cottage, Forest Crest in Surrey."