garments were fashioned. He'd heard tales of fops who needed to be squeezed into their coats by their valets and who were incapable of tying their own cravats, but he'd never thought about an entire class of humans reduced to the status of dressmakers' dummies by their need to be fastened in and out of their own clothing.
Such thoughts should distract him from the feel of the soft skin beneath her nape, the area above her chemise and corset revealed by the fabric falling away beneath his fingers. Fingers he'd always prided himself were steady and sure, but now seemed swollen and clumsy, fumbling with a knotted string.
"Your hands are warm, Doctor. My maid at home always had hands like icicles."
"Good circulation."
"I beg your pardon?"
"The strong flow of blood beneath the skin keeps my limbs warm, Miss Farnham. Your maid might benefit from a modest amount of brisk exercise each day to keep her blood circulating."
"I have no doubt, Doctor, if I were to suggest such a thing Hattie would remind me she leads a busy enough life caring for my wardrobe, not leaving time or desire for additional exercise."
He paused from the string he was undoing. It was above a corset that distracted from his task, the boning pulled tight at the bottom and reminding him her hips were scant inches from his own, and it would only take a sweep of his hand to bring that pert backside up against him. Her chemise of fine lawn edged over the top of the corset, one strap slipping down a rounded shoulder. The garment was nearly translucent, the fabric so soft that if he kissed her through it he would feel the warmth of her rosy skin against his lips.
"What was that noise? Did you say something, Doctor?"
"Nothing." But perhaps conversation would distract him. Even conversation with Miss Farnham.
"You are concerned about your maid being overburdened with additional responsibilities?"
"Of course, Dr. Murray. Poor Hattie has to work hard to see to it that I am properly turned out and fashionable. I do not want to make her life more difficult."
The string he worked on unraveled from its knot. Slim as she was, she could wiggle out of her own clothes the rest of the way.
And there was a mental image he could spend the entire night doing without.
"I am finished, Miss Farnham. You can do the rest on your own."
Miss Farnham turned, clutching her dress to her bosom. Alexander carefully kept his eyes on her face.
"Thank you, Dr. Murray. You are a most useful person."
"Indeed, I am, Miss Farnham. Since I will be busy tomorrow and you will be assisting me, I will bid you goodnight."
"Of course, Doctor, I understand. I remember my grandfather would retire early after supper to rest."
For one brief moment Alexander was tempted to haul the half-dressed chit into his arms and show her how far he was from being incapacitated by age or infirmity, but sanity imposed itself on him. He bowed and left her standing in the middle of her cabin looking like a pink package of temptation.
Mr. Carr was standing outside the cabin, in time to catch a brief glimpse of Miss Farnham and hear her say, "Goodnight, Doctor. Thank you for undressing me."
Alexander adjusted the cuffs on his shirt and turned to the smirking officer.
"A word of advice, Mr. Carr: Miss Farnham is my responsibility, and it is a responsibility I do not take lightly. If you attempt anything that might damage her reputation, I will introduce you to some of the more dramatic methods I use to treat the pox. You will find the experience educational, but not enjoyable."
The younger man paled and his eyes grew large.
"I am always glad when I can clarify these medical procedures for my patients--or potential patients. Goodnight, Mr. Carr."
Chapter 5
"Red sky in the morning, sailors take warning..." Daphne looked at Dr. Murray. "Is that true, Doctor?"
Dr. Murray looked up from where he was compounding something, a salve or an ointment. Daphne was not sure which, but it had a sharp smell in the
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