Free Not Always a Saint by Mary Jo Putney Page B

“My condolences on your loss.”
    The sincerity in his voice threw her off balance. Belatedly she realized his clothing might also be mourning. But no matter. She could use her widowhood to keep him at a distance. “Thank you. My husband died quite recently.” She swallowed back a genuine stab of grief. “He was quite possibly the best man who ever lived.”
    â€œThen your loss is even greater,” he said quietly.
    The sincerity was real, she could see it in his eyes, along with the knowledge of death that doctors had. But there was some other, subtler emotion visible, too. Regret that she might not be interested in a new husband, now or ever?
    She reminded herself that she shouldn’t be watching him so closely, but attraction could cloud sense, and he was unsettlingly attractive. Wanting to turn the conversation away from herself, she asked, “Are you also in mourning? It’s harder to tell with men since they wear black more often.”
    His blue-gray eyes shadowed. “Both my parents died suddenly.”
    â€œI’m so sorry.” She realized that Julia and Randall had moved on and were talking with others, leaving her and Lord Romayne with too much privacy.
    She was about to excuse herself when he snagged two glasses of sparkling champagne from the tray of a passing footman. As he handed her a glass, he asked, “Forgive me, Lady Kelham, but you seem familiar. Have we met before?”
    His fingers brushed hers as she accepted the champagne. Even through her gloves, she felt a sear of heat as if she’d touched a candle flame. Dear God, she must kill this curiosity and get away from him! She took a sip of champagne as she steadied her nerves. “I doubt it,” she replied in her coolest tone. “I am new to London society.”
    â€œAs am I,” he said, unfazed by her coolness. “I’m from the West Country and I’ve lived in or near Bristol most of my life. Are you from that area?”
    â€œMy home is in Kent. It’s unlikely our paths have crossed.” Which wasn’t quite a lie but should be enough to deter his questions.
    Undeterred, he said, “I went to school in Kent. Perhaps I saw you there.”
    He’d have been well past his school days by the time she’d settled in Kent, but Jessie felt no need to tell him that. “Perhaps.”
    Even though she knew she should leave, she found that she didn’t want to. Succumbing to curiosity instead, she asked, “Was Lady Julia serious when she said you have such a range of medical skills, Lord Romayne? Surely all the training required must have been very time-consuming.”
    â€œI didn’t sleep much for a decade or so,” he replied with an engaging chuckle. “The different medical disciplines are not unrelated, so separating them does patients no service. Physicians may be highly educated and considered gentlemen, but it’s hard to diagnose disease from the opposite side of the room because they would consider it vulgar to actually touch human bodies.”
    She laughed, thinking of the more hidebound physicians she’d met. “Which is why you learned the ungentlemanly trade of surgery? That most certainly requires physical examination.”
    â€œExactly. Healing requires understanding how bodies work, which comes more from clinical experience than theory.” He shook his head. “There is so much we don’t know. But good men are working constantly to increase our knowledge.”
    â€œAnd perhaps some good women as well,” she pointed out. “Lady Julia told me that she was fascinated by all forms of medicine from the time she was a child, and she spent as many hours as she could with the local practitioners.”
    â€œReally? I did the same,” he said, intrigued. “Medicine is a calling, I think, and very hard to deny. Lady Julia’s patients are fortunate that she was called to midwifery.