Page 7 of A Touch of Charm (Miracles on Harley Street #3)

A ndre moved purposefully through the dimly lit kitchen, the flickering candlelight casting shadows on the stone walls.

He had royal guests.

Royal.

A prince and a princess.

He selected a plate and began to gather an assortment of foods: a handful of walnuts, almonds, and hazelnuts, each one gleaming in the soft light. He set the kettle on the stove and brewed some peppermint tea, its deep amber hue promising warmth and comfort after the brutal attack and the injuries of the night. The plump and sweet grapes found their place beside the spiced biscuits that Felix had meticulously baked before they’d left for the wedding. He wanted to offer his royal guests some comforting nourishment rather than the stinging scent of witch hazel and the clove oil that hung in the air.

Treating the nobility as long as nobody knew who he was was one thing. But if they stayed with him overnight, they were somehow closer, which felt more dangerous. What if anyone found out that he wasn’t merely Dr. Andre Fernando?

He’d never lied about who he was, but why did his omission about his heritage feel like a lie?

As Stan’s doctor, he welcomed the opportunity to be close in case Stan became feverish throughout the night or if the stitches didn’t hold.

No stitches he’d ever made had done so, but who knew what else could go wrong that night?

And nothing must go wrong because enough had already been done.

First, he was alone at the practice and should be ready for emergency callers. Instead, he arranged a food tray for the beautiful princess down the hall.

Second, he had to hide who he was and live his life, not think about how some brutal highwaymen nearly captured the lovely Transylvanian princess in the other room.

Just down the hall, only a few steps away, her brother guarded the princess with clear vigilance. This brought Andre to the third point: The injured prince was deeply involved in some dangerous diplomatic crisis with Baron von List. And since Prince Stan was injured and Andre was the only other person there, he had involuntarily stepped into List’s line of fire. And for the princess in the room down the hall, mere steps away, Andre feared he’d do anything. A woman like her deserved his protection—even at the cost of his conviction that violence was never an adequate response. A pang of something more profound than remorse struck him, for it was the first time in his life that Andre wished he were more. If he had a title, he could confront Baron von List. But as a bastard, he could stand as little more than the princess’s guard.

The princess’s guard.

Andre plucked a grape from the plate on the tray and squished it in his palm. He had to remind himself that he was no more than a grape that had fallen off the Habsburg vines. He’d never make it into the cream of the crop. He’d never suffice to be the wine that touched Princess Thea’s rosy lips.

He sighed.

For Mary, Andre knew fresh milk would be needed come morning, but for now, he placed a jar of golden honey on the tray, its translucent glow catching the light, and neatly arranged spoons, cups, and glasses.

While the tea steeped and cooled, Andre entered the cellar through the kitchen’s back door. He needed some ice for Stan’s shoulder. As he went down farther into the cellar, the chill seeped through his thin shirt as he approached the cooling cabinet, which he opened with a screech. It was as if the cool realization made his insides scream.

He had to stay away from the princess like he never had to stay away from a woman before.

*

Thea left her assigned guest room in search of something to drink. Stan had looked strained after their conversation—or was it because of his shoulder injury? Either way, she knew replenishing his body would aid his healing and perhaps double as a gesture for reconciliation before they went to sleep angry. She went down the stairs and through the corridor toward the back of the building and found an open door that led to a kitchen. A kettle was steaming there, and the fresh scent of peppermint wafted through the air.

“Dr. Fernando?” She saw an abandoned tray loaded with two plates, cups, silverware, grapes, and other food items. It looked unfinished. Where had the handsome doctor gone?

Since Stan thrust her into his arms, Thea had felt a sense of closeness with the doctor, unlike anything she’d ever experienced before. Her stomach fluttered excitedly, and she was curious about the tall, dark-haired man who seemed unlike anyone she’d ever met.

She heard a tapping and then another as if a hammer struck metal.

“Dr. Fernando?” she called louder, venturing toward another door that was narrow and seemed to lead to a storage or cellar.

Thea touched the rough wood of the door and looked into the dark space. It was a staircase leading around a dark cellar corner, and the light flickered from the depths of the darkness.

Carefully, Thea ventured down the steps and found the man she’d been looking for with a big lantern on the floor beside him.

Andre knelt on the floor, the dim light casting long shadows on the damp stone walls. His fingers curled around the chisel and hammer so that Thea could see the veins of his hands and lower arms. He was strong; she’d felt it when he’d held her and Mary mere hours ago in the forest. But now she could admire the muscular arms and envied each tool in his grip. The rhythmic thud of metal on ice filled the quiet space, each strike deliberate and sure.

“Princess, this is not a place for you,” he said without looking up from the wooden door. But Thea was curious and didn’t want what was for a princess; she tried to decide for herself what was for her. And he most certainly was.

“What is this place, Dr. Fernando?”

“Andre. Just call me Andre. This is our cellar storage. Clutter.”

Thea glanced around and saw a few chairs stacked on each other, a broken lamp, metal buckets, and a few old tools that reminded her of the axes the woodcutters used back in Bra?ov.

However, Andre focused on the cabinet inserted into the wall. Thea stood behind him and bent down to see what the lantern illuminated.

A sizeable sparkling block of ice.

She was accustomed to ice houses, but not tiny cooling cabinets let into cellar walls.

Andre raised his right hand with the hammer and let it fall onto the top of the chisel. Each hit produced a crisp, cracking noise, followed by a satisfying crunch as the ice fractured and broke away.

“This is almost enough,” he said, putting down the tools just long enough to hand Thea a piece of ice nestled in a white towel.

The block of ice glistened under the flickering lantern, and Thea felt the cold on her hands. However, a heat built inside her that was so strong that she feared she’d melt Andre’s precious ice.

“Did you build this ice chamber?” Thea asked.

“Yes, I need the ice for my patients. It cools wounds and reduces inflammation.”

“So, the ice doesn’t melt if you keep it here?”

“Not for about ten to twelve days. But I get a new ice block every Tuesday.”

“Where does it come from?”

“A patient. I helped him a little while ago, and he has a large subterranean icehouse near Regent Street. He shows his gratitude with a block of ice every week.”

“Gratitude for what?”

“I’m not in the habit of revealing information about my patients, Princess Thea.”

She could imagine he’d done much for the man if he delivered a precious block of ice weekly. “It’s so pure,” she observed.

“The finest from the lakes in Norway,” he said.

Thea ducked lower again, taking in the egg-shaped chamber that’d been embedded seamlessly into the cool, stone cellar wall. Its smooth, curved interior gleamed faintly in the dim light, a clever design meant to preserve the cool just like a tiny icehouse.

“Why is the chamber oval? Does it involve heat dissipation or the shape’s insulation?”

At that, Andre set down his tools and scooted to the side. Thea squatted to look inside the ice chamber, and Andre held the lantern up so she could see.

“Yes,” he said, and she thought she had caught a hint of admiration in his tone.

Thea could feel the cellar’s chill seeping through her thin gown, yet the contrasting warmth of Andre’s presence truly held her focus. The air around them was cool and damp, as if they were sharing a secret in the flickering shadows cast by the lone lantern he held aloft. Its light danced over the walls, illuminating the ice chamber’s oval mouth—a hidden alcove of scientific brilliance within the brick wall.

Her gaze lingered on the ice, where each chip caught the lantern’s glow, transforming into a cascade of diamonds.

Andre leaned in, his voice a soft murmur that threaded through the stillness. “Notice the curve of the roof,” he said, his hand a gentle guide pointing to the chamber’s arch. “It traps the warmth, cooling it quickly, much like an igloo.”

The rectangular block lay before her, smooth yet faceted. It was a frozen testament to Andre’s strength, breaking off the final piece he’d wrapped and setting it on the ground next to her feet. Her warm breath curled like silver tendrils as she breathed, a ghostly ballet in the dim, intimate light.

Her awareness of him was acute; each breath he took matched hers, weaving them together through nothing but the special moment.

She tilted her head slightly, catching the outline of his features—solid and sure in the lantern’s glow. Thea felt an unspoken connection, as though the chilled air had conspired to bring them nearer, wrapping them in its embrace.

Her fingers grazed the ice, a cool caress that sent her shivering, mingling with the warmth that blossomed from Andre’s proximity. The world outside faded away, leaving just the two of them and the palpable tension, a delicate thread ready to weave them into something wondrous.

“This cabinet is a marvel of practicality,” Thea said.

She watched as Andre resumed his work, the rhythmic sound of the chisel against ice resonated in the dim cellar. Each strike seemed to echo the tumultuous thoughts swirling in her mind. She shouldn’t be here, alone with him, especially not after the unsettling events of the night. The memory of being kidnapped still lingered, a shadow she couldn’t quite shake. Yet here she was, caught between propriety and a curiosity she couldn’t ignore. She followed Stan’s inclination and couldn’t help but trust Andre.

Her gaze lingered on his silhouette, how his muscles tensed with each precise movement. He was more than just a doctor; he was an enigma, and she was inexplicably drawn to him. His presence was a strange comfort amidst the cold and the dark.

Andre paused, lifting his eyes to meet hers, a flicker of something unreadable in his gaze. “You shouldn’t have to endure this chill, Thea. It’s not proper for you to be here.”

His words were like a splash of cold water, a reminder of the boundaries she was teetering on. “Proper,” she repeated, almost to herself. The word felt heavy, laden with the expectations she had always known. But something about being with him made her want to defy them.

“I find warmth in different places, it seems,” she replied, her voice softer than she intended.

He raised an eyebrow, a small smile playing on his lips. “You find warmth in the strangest places, indeed,” he said, returning to his task. There was a teasing edge to his voice, yet a seriousness that told her he understood more than he let on.

Thea’s heart fluttered at his words, and fear and excitement swirled within her. With Andre, the darkness felt less oppressive, yet the allure of the forbidden danced around them like a dangerous waltz. She was safe yet on the brink of stepping into unknown territories.

As Andre continued to chip away at the ice, Thea realized that the danger might not solely lie in the dark edges of country gardens or shadowy figures. Sometimes, it lay in the quiet moments, the silent exchanges, and the spaces where propriety and desire collided. And she couldn’t deny the thrill of it.