The Wolf with the Iron Jaw (Elysium #1)

Chapter Seventeen

 Upon arriving home, Booker and Trinket were greeted by two figures standing at the front door. One was a plump, rosy-cheeked woman who averted her eyes as they approached. The other was a short gentleman with an olive complexion, barely a head taller than the lady. They both lingered in the shadows, as if frightened someone would see them.

"May I help you?" Booker asked.

The lady glanced up helplessly at the gentleman by her side, grasping his arm tightly. He swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down nervously, and gave a tight smile.

"Sir, I've heard you're a doctor," he said.

"Yes," Booker replied cautiously.

"A discreet doctor."

Booker's eyes flickered to the lady's belly before he cleared his throat. "If you're here about particular diseases or unwanted parasites, I don't really dabble in such things. Although, I can give you the name of a doctor who does."

He reached for the door, but the lady stepped forward. "No, we—"

She let out a cry as her leg gave out beneath her. The gentleman caught her arm, taking most of her weight upon himself. He was stronger than he appeared.

"It has nothing to do with illness," he said, his voice straining as he kept the lady upright.

With a terse nod, Booker ushered them inside. Trinket and the gentleman helped the lady limp into the parlour while Booker went to fetch his medical bag from the laboratory. Once the lady was settled comfortably on the settee, Trinket hurried into the kitchen to boil some water. By the time she returned with the tea service, Booker was pulling a pair of scissors from his bag as he listened to the gentleman explain the issue.

"The grass was wet, and she took a wrong step and slipped and—" The gentleman gestured to the lady's leg. "We weren't sure if it was sprained or broken, but we couldn't risk going to a doctor."

"Why not?" Booker asked, lifting the hem of the lady's skirt.

The gentleman hesitated. He turned to the lady, and they shared a meaningful glance. Her gaze flickered to Booker as he cut away her stocking. Taking a deep breath, she squeezed her eyes shut and said, "Because my father is a doctor."

Booker paused for the briefest of moments and then resumed his examination of her bare leg. "And he does not know whom you are with."

The lady clenched her hands as Booker's touch proceeded up her calf. "Neither my father nor my husband knows."

Trinket's eyes widened and her cheeks colored, but the only sign that Booker had been taken by surprise was a slight lift of his eyebrows. The lady looked absolutely mortified. Her gentleman beau took her hand in his, rubbing her knuckles gently.

"They both believe I'm visiting my friend, Helen," the lady continued. "Rather, I've been with my lover. He has a country home in Noxbury, and we frequently steal away there for a few days alone. We were there for a week this time, and all was well until the accident. My father knows almost every doctor in the area, and if I went to any of them, there would be too much of a risk that he would find out about us."

"But I remembered hearing folks in Dufferford talk about a doctor here in Tinkerfall, one who is discreet and unorthodox," the gentleman said. "So we came as quickly as we could."

He brushed a strand of hair out of the lady's face, and she drew closer to him, sinking into his touch. Trinket's heart fluttered at the obvious affection between the two. It was so familiar. So warm and bright.

Her heart clenched as the couple triggered a memory.

Of love.

Of joy.