Ecstasy Wears Emeralds by Renee Bernard Page B

across her child’s body.
    It was the worst kind of scene, and long, chaotic moments before any order was restored. Only with the help of a draught of another tonic from Rowan’s bag was Mrs. Blythe finally coherent, and with her sisters’ assistance, led sobbing from the room to wail like a banshee in the privacy of her own chambers.
    Rowan was like a quiet general, giving instructions to the housekeeper to send for the undertaker and where to inquire for services. He ignored Gayle entirely, and she was left to helplessly trail after him, weakly offering her tearful condolences and what little assistance she could before he’d packed up his bag and escorted her from the house to their waiting carriage and a patient Theo.
    â€œI’m so sorry, Dr. West.” She spoke as soon as the carriage was in motion, her cheeks still wet with tears. “It was . . .”
    â€œIt happens.” His reply was terse. “What generally doesn’t happen is the new experience of having an assistant standing around wringing her hands and crying like a child in the corner! How in the world can you comfort anyone if you’re busy dabbing your own eyes like a sentimental fool?”
    â€œI . . . I apologize for . . . crying, but he was . . . so young and so . . . sweet . . .”
    â€œHe was a patient and his death was inevitable. He was, truthfully, nothing and no one to you, Miss Renshaw. He was not your child! He wasn’t your favorite patient! It’s not as if you’d cared for him since he was small!” His voice was harsh, and Rowan’s stomach clenched at the rough sound of it in his ears. I’m angry at myself. I’m grieving and I’m lashing out at her for betraying her feelings when I wanted nothing more than to drop to my knees in there and out-scream that woman. “You have to maintain an emotional distance if you’re going to do your patients or yourself any good.”
    â€œI shall strive to pretend that I have ice running through my veins, Dr. West,” she snapped back. “It’s a trick you must be sure to teach me.”
    â€œI will! Don’t think for a minute that anyone will be thrilled at the sight of a teary-eyed woman clutching a doctor’s bag! Those tears will get in the way and cost someone his life, Gayle. You’ll waste precious minutes mourning an unfair universe or wrestling with your feminine revulsion at loss, and you’ll kill someone with that hesitation! If you cannot control yourself, Miss Renshaw, then you should pack your things and beg off!”
    Silence invaded the small confines of the carriage and he waited, dreading the conflict and wishing he could take it all back and repair the conversation. True or not, he was sure he’d gone too far only because his heart was stinging from his own wounds.
    The carriage stopped, and Rowan opened the door to climb out, reaching back to help her down. He dismissed a weary Theo with a single wave and escorted her up the steps into the unlit brownstone. He’d half expected Carter to defy him and still be up and at watch in the entryway, snoozing next to a candelabrum, but there was no one to greet them in the predawn darkness.
    He lit a taper and turned to hold out his arm. “Here. I’ll walk you up to your floor.”
    She took his arm, her fingertips barely resting on his arm, as if the physical contact was loathsome. Up the dark staircase, they walked without speaking, and he wasn’t sure what to say after their hurtful exchange in the carriage. He should have been gloating at that glimpse of her tender heart and feminine weakness—instead his own pain had almost spoiled his ruthless plan. But he had no doubt he’d won the day and she would be gone on the morrow.
    He stole a glance at her in the candlelight, moving gracefully next to him, the flickering light accenting the regal lines of her profile and the sensual turn of her neck and