Free Lessons After Dark by Isabel Cooper

there’s no bruising.”
    Now that he had a moment, he reached for the buttons of his jacket. He’d already gotten rid of his hat. There was only so much he could do about the rest of his clothing until Mrs. Brightmore took herself and Fitzpatrick out of his office. Furthermore, she was a widow. She was, or had been, a fraud, and Gareth didn’t feel particularly obligated to retain his soaked jacket for the sake of her theoretical modesty.
    Healing always made Gareth hungry and a little cold. Under the circumstances, neither was doing much for his temper.
    He glanced over at Mrs. Brightmore, not sure whether it was to warn her or gauge her likely reaction, and found himself meeting her eyes. She’d been looking at him, it seemed, and Gareth thought he saw surprise in her pretty face. Perhaps even astonishment.
    A greater man wouldn’t have found the realization gratifying. Gareth had no pretense to greatness.
    ***
    Of course he was smug. Wretched man. His smile, polite enough to the casual observer, was only barely on the correct side of a smirk.
    Olivia looked straight back at him, refusing to drop her gaze. She couldn’t do anything about her blush, curse it, but she told herself she had nothing to be embarrassed about. “I had no idea you were so talented, Dr. St. John,” she said, trying to sound casual and knowing she didn’t quite manage it.
    â€œAs you said, it’s an extraordinary school. I don’t think the average doctor would have sufficed.” A lock of his wet hair was hanging in his face. It should have made him seem less equal to the conversation. Instead, Olivia had the purely idiotic urge to brush it back.
    She didn’t look down at her hands, but she flexed her fingers, making sure they stayed laced together and her hands stayed in her lap. “A sound judgment. And certainly one that’s been helpful today.”
    No, she still sounded breathless. Damn her stays, Olivia thought. She should have followed Charlotte’s example and left them off long ago.
    â€œMuch obliged,” St. John said again. He looked away, and Olivia felt a moment of satisfaction, but it was only to continue unbuttoning his jacket. “Towel, please,” he added, and she wasn’t sure if he was speaking to her or Fitzpatrick. She passed him a towel anyway.
    The jacket came off slowly, not that Olivia was watching, and the white shirt underneath had been considerably dampened by the rain. She caught a glimpse of tan skin and dark hair, and observed that St. John’s arms and chest weren’t badly developed, for all that he was thin. Not badly developed at all.
    Not that she was looking.
    She swallowed, lifted her gaze to the shelf of books above St. John’s head, and found an opening. “I hope my classes have been helpful, then,” she said. “I didn’t know you were seeking information for yourself.”
    St. John paused, towel midway to his head. “I hadn’t been,” he said mildly, as if it were a matter of no import, and resumed drying his hair.
    A hit, Olivia thought, but a quick recovery. She pressed what advantage she had. “I beg your pardon,” she replied, trying to echo his offhand tone. “I should’ve known you’d be well schooled in theory.”
    â€œI wouldn’t say that. Practice does well enough for me.” The towel came down, and St. John met her eyes again. “I’ve had a few years of it, after all.”
    â€œI’ve washed my face,” Fitzpatrick announced. “May I go now, sir?”
    St. John snapped his gaze back to the boy with a speed that made Olivia smile. To his credit, he did provide a quick but thorough inspection before he replied, “You can,” but the words were too quick. There was a retreat there.
    â€œThank you, Dr. St. John,” said Olivia, rising from her seat. “I’ll try to avoid any further interruptions.”
    â€œPlease