Chapter 7: A Confrontation in the Linen Closet
The murmur of her grandfather’s voice faded down the stone corridor, absorbed by the relentless echo of the hospital. Emily stood for a moment in the ward’s oppressive stillness, the ghost of Jack’s grip still warm on her elbow. Then, a shadow detached itself from the wall. His hand was on her again, insistent, and she was pulled backward into a dim alcove.A door clicked shut, plunging them into a thick, dusty darkness.
The air was close, saturated with the scent of damp linen, stale lavender, and something faintly metallic beneath. Shelves pressed in on either side. She could feel the heat of him, hear the sharp inhale of his breath.
“What are you doing here?” His voice was a low, furious scrape against the silence. “Are you utterly mad?”
Emily leaned back against a shelf, the stacked sheets shifting behind her. She could just make out the hard line of his jaw in the sliver of light under the door.“I told you. Philanthropy.”
A harsh, disbelieving sound escaped him. He moved closer, his hands planting on the shelves on either side of her head, caging her in.“This isn’t a drawing room game. You brought your grandfather, a Peer of the Realm, into my place of work. Do you have any idea what you’ve stirred up?”
“I know exactly what I’m doing,” she said, her own voice steadier than she felt.“Do you?” He leaned in, his words a hot whisper against her cheek. “You’re here for something else. For me.”
She tilted her head, her lips parting.“Perhaps I simply wished to see you again, Dr.Dawkins. Is that a crime?”
He pushed off from the shelves, running a hand through his hair in a gesture of pure frustration. In the confined space, the movement was explosive.“You don’t know what I am. What I’ve done. I’m not a good person, Emily.” He turned back, his gray eyes catching a faint gleam.“I’ve killed men.Not in a duel. Not honorably. In dark alleys, because I had to, or because I was ordered to.I’ve stolen. I’ve lied to judges and bishops and men like your grandfather while stitching up the people who robbed them blind. I’ve done things that would freeze the smile right off your face.”
The images his words painted were ugly, vivid.They should have repelled her. Instead, they anchored him, made him more real than any of the porcelain gentlemen who visited her parlour.“I don’t believe you,” she whispered.
“Christ.” The curse was a soft, desperate thing.He closed the distance again, his body a wall of tense muscle. His lips hovered a breath from hers, a repeat of the alley’s dangerous promise. “Let me show you.”
The same charge filled the air, the same pull in her stomach. But this time, she didn’t sway into it. She slipped sideways, out of the space between his arms, her skirt brushing against his legs.“No.” The word was firm. “You don’t get to push me away with a kiss and then pull me back with one. Not this time.”
Her hand found the cold brass knob. She turned it, and the door swung open, a blade of gaslight carving into the dark closet, illuminating his face etched with conflict and her own heightened expression. “If you want to convince me you’re a monster, Jack,” she said, using his given name deliberately, “you’ll have to try harder than that.”
She stepped into the corridor, the clinical smells of the hospital a welcome shock after the intimate must of the closet.She didn’t look back.