Ecstasy Wears Emeralds Read Online Free PDF Page A

indicated that they should sit, guiding her to a pair of chairs facing the fireplace. “Who exactly are these relatives, Miss Renshaw? I’m asking because, for some reason, I have a sinking feeling it’s very much part of this tangle.”
    She had the courtesy to blush. “My aunt is Mrs. Jane Hamilton. Charlotte Hamilton is, or rather, was my cousin.”
    Charlotte. Beautiful, mesmerizing Charlotte. Cold and dead and the source of more misery for me than I can measure. Didn’t I once wish I’d been buried with her?
    He looked at his petitioner with new eyes. She’d hinted at blackmail and brought the worst of his past squarely into the room, and had the audacity to look lovely while she did it. Charlotte Hamilton had been his fiancée when he’d left for India, and when he’d received word of her death just after his arrival, he’d been devastated. But the aftermath of her death had involved more guilt and blame than he’d ever dreamt—and Rowan knew that the black brush he’d been smeared with had cemented Miss Renshaw’s opinion of his character, like so many others. The question was, how much did she really know and why was she still here?
    â€œMy parents never approved of my dreams, but I don’t see that that is relevant now. I have my own money, almost eighteen thousand pounds, and it is for me to decide how to dispose of it.”
    â€œYou have money enough for a decent dowry and . . .” He was unwilling to blurt out nonsense about how she was too beautiful to be a doctor. “You cannot deny you had marriage prospects aplenty. No woman chooses to live the life of a servant spinster. Not if she has a chance at any reasonable alternative.”
    â€œIs independence such a surprising choice? I have the resources to secure my freedom but you seem to think a woman would naturally prefer to be confined. I choose to make my life more meaningful than to play the role of one man’s wife.”
    â€œThen why not simply be free, as you put it? Why not travel or paint tea cups or buy a racehorse? There are women who spend more days than they like in the sickroom, hovering over their dearest ones—women who dread those hours. But you—you are seeking it out. Their nightmare is your quest.”
    â€œI don’t seek out suffering or relish the sickroom, any more than you do.”
    â€œWhat do you want, Miss Renshaw?”
    â€œI want to know if you had to undergo this kind of scrutiny when you professed a desire to become a doctor.”
    He took a deep breath and a new calm overtook him. “Tell me, Miss Renshaw. Tell me why you want to become a physician.”
    â€œMy reasons are my own. I’ll not reveal them to you for mockery or dissection. You’ll either accept me for my skills, by giving me a chance to demonstrate them, or not.”
    â€œAnd your threats from last night? Should I include them in my decision making or dismiss them as the idle rant of a desperate child bent on getting her way?”
    She lifted her chin defiantly but said nothing.
    She doesn’t know what she’s asking. But I will say one thing, there’s no denying that she’ll never accept a simple, merciful no. I’m afraid Miss Renshaw is the sort of person who can only learn things the hard way.
    And as for the ghosts of Standish Crossing, let them come.
    Rowan also held his ground. “I’ll dismiss your threats for now and confess that if I had had a fortune and an absence of family, I would have been sorely tempted to seek another life. It’s not a calling for everyone. No matter how lofty my professional goals may be to heal the sick or make some grand discovery, it’s still a trade. There’s not a peer in the land that doesn’t put me in the same column as their solicitor or their gardener. I’m a glorified servant, Miss Renshaw.”
    â€œIt is a calling for me.”
    â€œYou’re too