Page 85 of Deceiving an Earl
“In two days. Give me two days.”
“Meet me under our tree in Hyde Park at midnight. I will arrange to go to Scotland where we can wed.”
“And then what?” she asked, her hand slipping from his. “Where do we live then?”
“I’ve been thinking of purchasing a townhouse. I have some money set aside. And then we can start our life together.” He gathered her in his arms and hugged her tight, as if he could crawl inside her. “I love you, Ellen, and I can’t wait to spend the rest of our lives together.”
She hugged him back. “I love you so much, Oliver, and we are going to have the best, happiest lives ever.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
“Please explain to me what we are doing again?” Ashland asked Oliver as he jogged up the steps beside him.
“We’re attending Needham’s lecture.” Oliver had deliberately kept their destination from Ashland, for fear his friend would balk and not attend, and Oliver did not want to do this alone. To be truthful, he didn’t know why he was here. What did he hope to accomplish? Why was he torturing himself?
Because he was curious about Needham, the man who had won Ellen’s heart, the heart that Oliver could not seem to keep.
But Ashland was no fool. He stopped in the middle of the steps to squint up at Oliver. “What? Are you mad?”
“If we don’t hurry we’ll be late.”
“Why do I have a bad feeling about this?” Ashland muttered as he followed Oliver into the Royal Academy building.
The room was crowded when they arrived, and Oliver chose a standing spot in the back by the door. Two assistants were already on the stage, standing beside what appeared to be a body lying on a table, covered with a bedsheet.
Needham appeared on the stage and conferred with his assistants. The physicians-in-training who were in the audience with Oliver and Ashland, quieted until silence reigned.
Someone coughed. Another shuffled his feet. There was an air of hushed expectation.
“Good God,” Ashland whispered when he realized what was about to happen.
The bedsheet was pulled away, and Needham began lecturing. Oliver listened to the rise and fall of Needham’s voice, reluctantly admitting that the man knew how to captivate an audience. He was like a maestro with an orchestra, the knife his baton.
The men around them frantically took notes in their books, their faces scrunched in concentration.
Ashland edged toward the door, but Oliver grabbed his sleeve and pulled him back.
Needham cut into the body, and steam rose from the incision. All around him the pencils stopped scratching. Everyone paused, and it seemed as if a collective breath was held. Oliver looked at the men curiously. Eventually, one by one, they resumed their note-taking, but a few whispered among themselves.
Oliver looked back at Needham and the body and tried to remember the few things he’d learned in anatomy class at Eton. Something about dead bodies cooling to the temperature of the outside.
Oliver continued watching. What was he looking for? Something nefarious? Something that he could take back to Ellen and saythis. Thisis why you can’t marry the man.
But there was nothing. Or was there?
He did not want to draw attention to himself and Ashland, so he waited for a break in the lecture and followed the other students out.
Ashland shot him a curious look but didn’t comment. Although he appeared a bit pale.
But Oliver wasn’t finished yet. He hung back as the rest of the students filed out. Some were discussing the autopsy. Some were discussing the events of the night before. Apparently, they all had gone drinking together and had visited a brothel.
One did not seem a part of the others. He was standing in the shadows, reading over his notes. Alone.
Oliver headed toward him, motioning Ashland to follow.
“Excuse me,” Oliver said.
The man looked up and squinted at Oliver as if he couldn’t see him properly.
