Jillian Stone - The Miss Education of Dr. Exeter

“Would you like me to untie the bow?” Holding her skirts up around her waist, she patiently awaited further instructions. Good God, what had he gotten himself into?

“Well, this is damned awkward.” The very thing he had been trying to avoid—an erection was on near full display beneath his trousers.

Her gazed dropped to his rather prominent problem. “I see.”

Exeter snorted softly and shook his head. “This exercise was supposed to be for you.”

She dropped her skirts and stood up. “I shall retire to my room and undress. I will get into bed, pull the covers up to my chin—so there won’t be any visual distraction. You will have another brandy, and then you come to my bedchamber and show me exactly what do with my hands.”

She placed her open palm on his crotch and stroked. “If your hand is over the covers and mine is under—”

He grabbed hold mid-stroke and stopped her. “Let’s give it a go.”

She nearly collided with Mr. Tandi as she backed out the door. The dark-skinned servant held the door as Mia whisked past him. “Will you be needing anything else this evening, sir?”

“I don’t believe so, we are both ready to retire.” On the brink of dismissing his manservant, Exeter hesitated. “If you have a moment, Mr. Tandi? A few questions have popped up . . . about Mia.”

Mr. Tandi closed the door and entered the room softly. Every gesture of this man was measured, gentle, every thought expressed, considerate. Exeter had never once heard Mr. Tandi raise his voice, though he had once taken a broom to an unruly scullery maid.

When Mia was very young, if she was badly behaved, a typical Mr. Tandi punishment consisted of a lengthy stint in the corner of the nursery, or the withholding of hot chocolate at teatime.

“Has Mia shared anything about her calling to medicine?”

“She will be an excellent healer. The Sky Father is pleased.”

“It seems an American medical school has a slot open midyear. I know you’re not keen on the country, but slavery is long past—by some twenty-five years. And the university is in Boston—duly civilized since the Tea Party.”

Tandi clasped his hands behind his back, and many long strands of beads rustled from the movement. “It would be my honor to serve Miss Anatolia.”

“Excellent. I worry about her.

“I have known Miss Anatolia since her birth. I gave the child her first bath, changed her wet nappies. I was there when she spoke her first word, took her first step. The month we were separated, I missed her as if she was my own child.”

“You’re saying . . .” Exeter switched his question mid sentence. “You never told me you were separated.”

“Mia was taken to a hospital in Pretoria. She had contracted a fever. There were many small bites—insects, they said.”

Exeter stared. “You say differently?”

“There is an old Zulu tale, one my people tell. About the evening panther—the black cat who is part human being. A creature with sharp, needle-like teeth, who travels in a dark mist. This being enters a hut during the night and shares his blood with another using a thousand bites.”

Exeter fought to control his temper. “You might have said something earlier . . . Mia obviously survived.”

Tandi’s gaze was far away. “I stole away in the night, with a shaman’s medicine. When I arrived at the hospital, Mrs. Chadwick was frantic. White doctors were of little use in the matter. The medicine I brought with me was potent—she could not hold it down, so we made a tea, and administered the brew over several days. On the fourth day, the child was better—in another week they sent us all home.”

More than curious, Exeter pressed on. “Any arcane tribal wisdom you might share about her current condition?”

“A shaman might know more.” His manservant met his gaze momentarily, as an equal. Tandi put his hands together in prayer. “What is done, is done.”

“And we are far from the horn of Africa.” Exeter frowned. This discussion felt like two men trying to sort through the care of a most cherished young woman, whom they both dearly loved. He found this new Mr. Tandi refreshing—as if the docile, reserved man was finally peeling off a few austere layers.

“Doubtful there would be anything in the library of secrets. Still, it’s a lead of sorts, should we chance to run into a Zulu shaman.” Exeter absently twisted a bottom lip. “Mia’s beginning to fully integrate her cat side. She’s making wonderful progress, but there is also another matter, and I’m dashed unhappy about it.”

“You are unhappy, Om Asa, because you love her as a child.” Tandi’s piercing black eyes hardly blinked.

“Of course I love her.” Exeter returned his stare. “Very much.”

“And yet you would choose to let her go.”

Tandi’s flagrant impertinence was so unexpected, Exeter actually sputtered. He could not quite believe his ears. The amount of cheek from his manservant was unprecedented. “Why would you say such a thing?” Exeter protested.

“Because you do not face the truth in your heart.”

MIA SAT AT HER VANITY and peered at the young woman reflected in the mirror. Spending a few busy years in Boston might not be such a bad thing—in fact, it might be just the distance they both needed. She entertained a brief fantasy, and pictured a distraught Exeter, looking darkly handsome, as usual, and missing her terribly. More than he could have ever imagined.

Mia raised her chin, blinking rapidly. She would not cry—not again.

She tried to think of something cheerful—her newfound independence. The chance that she might have a new life in America. The picture in her mind quickly turned to a fledgling medical student alone in a strange country. Why, she didn’t know a single solitary soul in Boston. A chill went through her, and then the longing for him returned. She had hungered for him before they were intimate, but not with this kind of intensity. At times it seemed as though she had yearned for him since . . .

Forever.

She had weighed her choices over and over these past weeks. If she stayed here in London, her life would be nothing short of a living torture. To live with a man she loved, who did not wish to be her husband or lover—but her guardian.

Mia shivered.

“Would you like a warmer dressing gown, Miss—the quilted one perhaps?” The upstairs maid drew her from unhappy thoughts.

“I’m fine. Good night, Violet.” The little maid padded out of the room. Absently, Mia heard the soft click as the door shut. She exhaled a sigh—more of a soft moan, wrenched from deep within her body. Dear God, how she would miss him.

Certainly, the young woman who returned her gaze in the mirror appeared older and wiser, or was that because she wanted to believe it so? Mia reached up to unpin her hair. “I would like to help you with that—if you would allow me.”

She had thought the dark silhouette a mere shadow in the window. In the blink of an eye, he moved from her bedchamber to her dressing room. Mia stared at his reflection. “Good evening, Prospero.”

“Mia.” Their gaze met in the mirror. After every pin had been removed from her looped chignon, a mane of hair fell down her back, Gentle hands reached out and swept loose waves off her neck. Reverently, he bent and kissed her shoulder. “If I believed for a moment you could be mine, I would not hesitate to love you.”

Her heart palpitated rapidly, not in the way it did for Exeter, but there was no denying the attraction. Something dark inside her—the cat in her, presumably—sparked to him. “How could you know?”

“I know only what I sense from your heart—” Prospero’s breath drifted over her ear. “And your body. I have wanted you for some time now, Mia—to plunge deep inside you—feel those long legs wrapped around my waist.”