Page 1 of Dark Embrace

Prologue

London,February10,1839

Killian Thayne couldn’t saywhy he noticed Sarah Lowell—there were night nurses and day nurses aplenty at King’s College—but notice her he did. It was an hour before dawn. She had come early for her shift and she stood by the bed of a man who moaned against the pain. She was not tall, but her posture made it seem as though she was. And she was confident in her skill as she unwound the bandage from the wound onhisarm.

Killian stood in the corner, cloaked in darkness, and he watched with interest as Miss Lowell lifted her candle, and examined the deep, long slash that had been fixed with an adhesive plaster and tightbandage.

The man on the bedgroaned.

“Let me help you,” she saidsoftly.

The patient ceased his thrashing and stared at her. “How can you help me? The surgeon said there’s nothing more to be done. I’ll heal or I won’t and it is out of hishands.”

Miss Lowell looked around the room, wary. Once she appeared certain that the other patients slept and no one else observed her, she said, “Thereissomething to be done, and I would be pleased to do it. There is a piece of cloth in the wound and several small stones. I can remove them if you’ll let me. And then I’ll sewyouup.”

“You?” The man made a harsh laugh that turned into anothergroan.

“Me,” she said. “After all, is not your wife a fine hand with aneedle?”

The man stared at her, wary. “Sheis.”

“I, too, am a fine hand with a needle. And I think sutures will do better for you than the plaster.” She paused. “And it was not a surgeon but an apprentice who tended your wound, one with less than a year’s experience. I have trained more than half my life. Do not let the fact that I am a woman sway you from accepting my care. Icanhelpyou.”

He was silent for a longmoment.

“I can help you if you’ll let me,” she said, her tone even,confident.

The patient hesitated a moment longer and then with a grimace, he offeredanod.

Miss Lowell hastened from his bed and when she returned, she stopped at the basin at the side of the ward and washed her hands. Then she drew close to the patient once more and set out red wine, pads, rolls of linen bandages, and a needle with waxedthreads.

The first thing she did was give the patient some of the wine. A good portionofit.

“We must be as quiet as we can,” she said. “Are youready?”

Again, the patient offered ashortnod.

She took a pad and rolled it into a cylinder. “Bite on this to stifleyourpain.”

He did as she instructed, but still, he groaned as she prodded in the wound with her small fingers. Killian was not surprised when she drew forth the cloth and stones she had described. He was not surprised when she washed the wound with red wine and dried it with the pads, then sewed it up with neat stitches and wrapped it tightly in linen bandages. And he was not surprised when she cautioned her patient to mention the care she had provided to no one. If anyone asked, he was to say that he could not recall who had stitched and dressed hiswound.

Killian was not surprised because from the first second she had unwound the man’s dressing she had portrayed confidence and experience. So, no, he was not surprised, but hewasimpressed.

She had the knowledge and hands of a surgeon. A trained surgeon. Somehow, this woman had studied medicine or apprenticed to a surgeon. Both options were impossible for no medical school would accept a woman, and no surgeon would take one on as an apprentice. But Killian did not doubt what hehadseen.

Which made Miss Sarah Lowell very interesting,indeed.

1

London,November3,1839

Dyingmoments of darkness and shadow fought to stave off the first creeping fingers of the dawn as Sarah Lowell walked the familiar route through the edge of St. Giles, north of Seven Dials. Her boots rang on the wet cobbles as she ducked through the dim alleys and twisting lanes, past wretched houses and tenements, and rows of windows, patched and broken. Wariness was her solecompanion.

A part of her was attuned to the street before her, the gloomy, faintly sinister doorways, the courtyards that broke from the thoroughfare. And a part of her was ever aware of the road behind, dim and draped in shadows andmenace.

She was alone…or was she? The scrape of a boot sounded from somewherebehindher.

Would that it was the cold that made her shiver. But, no, it was unease that didthedeed.