The Home Secretary’s wife, Lady Tatham, insisted on taking Garrett under her wing. The silver-haired, heavily bejeweled woman steered her expertly through the crowd, introducing her to a large number of guests in rapid succession. Eventually they reached a group of a half dozen dignified older gentlemen, all looking serious and vaguely perturbed, as if they were standing around a well into which someone had just tumbled.
“Dr. Salter,” Lady Tatham exclaimed, and a gray-whiskered gentleman turned toward them. He was a short man of sturdy build, his face kind and jowly beneath a neatly trimmed beard.
“This fetching creature,” Lady Tatham told him, “is Dr. Garrett Gibson.”
Salter hesitated as if uncertain how to greet Garrett, then seemed to come to a decision. Reaching out, he shook her hand firmly in a man-to-man fashion. A gesture of equals.
Garrett adored him instantly.
“One of Lister’s protégées, eh?” Salter remarked, his eyes twinkling from behind a pair of octagonal spectacles. “I read an account in the Lancet about the surgery you performed last month. A double ligature of the subclavian artery—the first time it’s been done successfully. Your skill is to be commended, Doctor.”
“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.”
“I would rather not.”
Lady Tatham leaned to whisper close to Garrett’s ear, making her shiver irritably. “Oh, but you must meet this young man, my dear. He may lack family connections, but he is an unattached gentleman of means. A speculative builder from Durham. And he’s exceptionally fine-looking. A blue-eyed stunner, as one of my friends put it.”
A strange feeling came over Garrett. Her gaze lifted to the massive pier glass, which was filled with a blur of color dabs, like a painting by Monet. She glimpsed herself in the vast mosaic of reflections . . . the shimmering blue-green dress, her pale face beneath upswept hair. A dark form was moving through the crowd toward her with a controlled and lethal grace she’d seen before in only one man.
Alarmed by the violent pulse that had begun to lash in her wrists and throat, Garrett closed her eyes briefly. Somehow she knew who the blue-eyed stunner would turn out to be, she was sure of it, and while her brain warned that something was very wrong, her senses were running wild with anticipation.
She could feel a tide of color rising to the surface of her skin, a bloom of exhilaration and desire. There was nothing she could do to suppress it. The room was an oven. She was being braised alive. To make matters worse, her corset had been cinched a half-inch tighter than usual to accommodate Helen’s slender measurements, and while it hadn’t been a problem up until now, she suddenly couldn’t take in enough air.
Someone came up behind her, a large form pausing amid the crush of bodies until there was sufficient room to move to her
side. All her skin changed, gooseflesh rising despite the sweltering heat.
Garrett was filled with ice and fire, nearly ill with excitement as she turned to confront an unfamiliar version of Ethan Ransom, all steely masculine perfection in formal black and white, every inch of him polished and impeccably groomed.
“What are you doing here?” he asked quietly, in the English accent that seemed jarring now that she was familiar with his real one.
Confused and uncertain—they were supposed to be strangers, weren’t they?—Garrett asked faintly, “H-have we met?”
Something in his stone-cold face softened. “Sir Jasper knows we’re acquainted. He assigned me to help with the security arrangements for tonight, but neglected to mention you would be here. And for some reason your name was left off the guest list.” He leveled a hard glance at Jenkyn.
“I asked Lord and Lady Tatham to make certain Dr. Gibson would attend,” Jenkyn explained in a silken tone. “I thought it would enliven the evening—particularly for you, Ransom. I do so like to see young people enjoying themselves.”
Ethan’s jaw set. “Apparently it slipped your mind that I have a job to do.”
Jenkyn smiled. “I felt quite certain of your ability to do more than one thing at a time.” He glanced from Ethan’s hard face to Garrett’s flushed one. “Perhaps you might take Dr. Gibson to the refreshment room for champagne. She seems rather overcome by my little surprise.”
Ethan held the older man’s gaze for a long moment, while tension laced through the air like metallic thread. Garrett inched closer to him uneasily, realizing he was fighting for self-control. Lady Tatham’s fatuous smile began to dissolve. Even Jenkyn seemed subtly relieved when Ethan turned to Garrett.
She took his arm, her fingertips curling into the sleek, expensive fabric of his dress coat.
“A delight to have made your acquaintance, Dr. Gibson,” she heard Jenkyn say. “As I expected, you are a woman of sharp wit.” After a sliver of a pause, he added, “And even sharper tongue.”
Had Garrett not been so dumbfounded at finding herself in Ethan Ransom’s presence, she might have thought of some withering retort. Instead she responded with a distracted nod and allowed Ethan to lead her away.
There was little opportunity to speak as they moved through a crowd as tightly packed as olives in a jar. Not that it mattered: Garrett doubted she could have managed to put more than three or four sensible words together. She couldn’t believe she was with him. Her gaze went to the neat shape of his ear. She wanted to kiss it. She wanted to press her mouth to the place where his close-shaven beard started, and move down to his throat where she could feel him breathing. But he seemed so unyielding, so unreachable in his iced-over wrath, that she wasn’t at all certain he would reciprocate.
Silently Ethan led her through the circuit of rooms and out to a stairwell landing with a cluster of potted palms near one corner. The palms had been arranged to partially conceal a small, plain door that must have led to the service area of the house.
With effort, Garrett managed to speak. “Is that the man you referred to as your mentor? Why did he want me to be here tonight?”
“It’s a warning for me,” Ethan said flatly, not looking at her.
“A warning about what?”
The question seemed to fracture Ethan’s self-assured façade. “He knows that where you’re concerned, I . . . have . . . a preference.” Guiding her past the palms, he opened the service door and took her to the landing of a servants’ stairwell. The abrupt cessation of noise was an unspeakable relief. It was cool and dimly lit in the stairwell, the dank staleness relieved by a slight breeze filtering in through outside air vents.
“Preference,” Garrett repeated cautiously. “What does that mean? You prefer me to what?”
As they stopped in a corner, Ethan’s head and broad shoulders were silhouetted in the faint glow of a sconce on the opposite wall. She began to tremble as he stood over her, big and dark, his nearness awakening a pulse of high music in her.
“I prefer you to everything,” he said gruffly, and bent to take her mouth with his.
Chapter 11
As Ethan kissed her roughly, Garrett melted against him, a moan catching in her throat. Too much pleasure, too much feeling, and yet she wanted more. She couldn’t seem to draw it in fast enough. His body was solid and heavy, raw power wrapped in civilized formal attire. Her hands slid inside his black evening coat, following the lean contours of his waist up to the muscled vault of his ribs and chest. Ethan tensed and shivered at her touch, and angled his head to fit their mouths more tightly together. Still not enough. She had to feel more of him, all of him. Daring to reach down to his hips, she pulled him closer, and gasped at the feel of his aroused form against hers.
Ethan broke the kiss with a muted growl, the heat of his breath collecting in her ear as he bit gently at her earlobe. Embers caught low inside her and spread heat to every tender place in her body. She was light-headed, weak—every heartbeat riding on a hard-coursing breath.
Ethan’s head lifted abruptly. One of his fingers came to rest gently against her lips.
Garrett was silent, trying to hear over the roar in her ears.
Footsteps, and echoes of footsteps, rose from the depths of the stairwell. She heard the rattle of glass and porcelain, the grunts of effort as a servant carried a heavy-laden tray up from the kitchen.
Garrett’s heart clattered to a halt as she realized she was about to be caught in a scandalous embrace in a servants’ stairwell. But Ethan nudged her farther into the corner and blocked her with his much larger form. She leaned into the concealment of his chest, her fingers clamping on the edges of his coat lapel.
The footsteps came nearer, then halted.
“Don’t mind us,” Ethan said over his shoulder, sounding relaxed. “We won’t tarry long.”
“Yes, sir.” The footman walked past them.
Ethan waited until the servant had left the stairwell before he murmured against Garrett’s hair, his breath stirring the pinned-up curls. “You’re more beautiful every time I see you. You shouldn’t be here.”
“I didn’t—”
“I know. It’s Jenkyn’s doing.”
She tilted her head back to look up at him, her face tense with worry, not for herself but for him. “How did he find out we were acquainted?”
“One of his men followed me and saw us at the night market. From now on, Jenkyn will try to use you to manipulate me. He fancies himself a chess master, and all the rest of us pawns. He knows I’d do anything to protect you.”
Garrett blinked at that. “Should we pretend to have a falling-out?”
Ethan shook his head. “He’d see through that.”
“Then what’s to be done?”
“You can start by leaving the soiree. Tell Lady Tatham you have the vapors, and I’ll find a carriage for you.”
Garrett stepped back from him and gave him an indignant glance. “The ‘vapors’ is a term for a hysterical fit. Do you know what it would do to my career if people thought I might succumb to vapors in the middle of a medical procedure? Besides, now that Sir Jasper knows about our mutual attachment, I wouldn’t be any safer at home than I am here.”
Ethan looked at her alertly. “Mutual?”
“Why else would I be lurking with you in a servants’ stairwell?” she asked dryly. “Of course it’s mutual, although I haven’t your pretty way of putting things—”
She would have continued, but his mouth had fastened on hers. His fingers cradled her jaw and cheek as he drew up pleasure from some depthless well inside her. Blindly she clung to his neck and lifted on her toes to make the kiss deeper, stronger.
His chest expanded with a violent breath or two, and then he fumbled to clasp her arms and hold her back. “You have to leave, Garrett,” he said unsteadily.
She tried to gather her wits. “Why can’t I stay?”
“I have something important to do.”
“What is it?”
>
Unaccustomed to taking anyone into his confidence, Ethan hesitated before replying. “I have to obtain something. Without being noticed by anyone.”
“Including Jenkyn?”
“Especially him.”
“I’ll help you,” Garrett said readily.
“I don’t need help. I need you to be far away from here.”
“I can’t leave. It would look odd, and I have my own reputation to consider. Besides, my presence provides an excuse to slip away and steal whatever it is you’re after. Take me with you, and Sir Jasper will assume we’ve gone somewhere to . . . well, to do what we’re doing right now.”
Ethan’s face might have been carved from granite. But his touch was gentle as he stroked her cheek with the backs of his knuckles. “Have you ever heard the expression ‘catching a wolf by the ears’?”
“No.”
“It means you’re in trouble whether you hold on or let go.”
Garrett nuzzled her cheek against his hand. “If you’re the wolf, then I’ll hold on.”
Recognizing the impossibility of sending her away, Ethan uttered a quiet curse and pulled her so close that her heels were suspended from the floor. His mouth found her neck, and did something between a kiss and a bite, very gentle but with the edges of his teeth. The flat of his tongue stroked her, and she gasped at the corresponding throb down between her thighs.
“Tonight I’m Edward Randolph,” she heard him say quietly. “A builder from Durham.”
It took Garrett a moment to understand. Gamely she entered into the pretense. “Why have you come all the way from Durham, Mr. Randolph?”