The Virgin Bride. Miranda Lee

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      ‘Oh, how sad! She must have been very upset.’

      ‘One might reasonably have thought so,’ he said bitterly. ‘I have no doubt you would have been devastated in her position. But not Adele. Oh, no. The child’s death meant nothing to her, other than a slight blow to her ego. She was briefly annoyed she hadn’t matched the child’s symptoms with the cause, but then how could she, in a mere five minutes’ consultation?’

      ‘Five minutes?’ She was shocked, he could see.

      ‘That was the average length of a consultation in our surgery. Get ’em in and get ’em out as quickly as possible. Turn-over meant money, you see, and money was the name of the game. Not people. Or lives. Just money.’

      She was staring at him, perhaps seeing the truth behind that vitriol, that it wasn’t just Adele who’d been greedy and heartless in those days. He’d been just as bad.

      He sighed. ‘Yes, it’s true. There, but for the grace of God, go I.’

      ‘Oh, no, Jason,’ she said softly. ‘Not you. You’re not like that at all. I watched you with Aunt Ivy. You’re a very caring man, and a very good doctor.’

      His heart squeezed tight. ‘You flatter me, Emma. But I would like to think I finally saw the error of my ways and made changes for the better. That’s why I left the city and came here, to find my self-respect again, and to find a better way of life.’

      ‘What about your relationship with this Adele?’ she asked, her expression thoughtful.

      ‘I could hardly continue to love a woman I despised,’ he said.

      Her laugh startled him. ‘Do you think love is finished as easily as that? Do you think finding out something unpleasant—or even wicked—about the person you love, smashes that love to smithereens? Believe me, Jason, it doesn’t.’

      Her words were like a kick to his stomach. She still loved Dean Ratchitt, regardless of his faithless character. And she believed he still loved Adele.

      Jason tried to give that concept some honest thought. Perhaps he did still love her. He certainly thought about her a lot. And he missed her, especially in bed.

      But neither of these factors would deter his resolve for a future between himself and Emma. Nor would he let her think he wasn’t aware of her unrequited passion for another man.

      ‘I’ve heard all about Dean Ratchitt,’ he said abruptly, and her green eyes flared wide with shock.

      ‘Who from? Aunt Ivy?’

      ‘Amongst others.’

      ‘And what…what did they say?’

      ‘The truth. That you were engaged to be married and he betrayed you with another girl. That you argued and told him you would marry the next man who asked you.’ He set steady eyes upon her own stunned gaze. ‘So I’m the next man, Emma, and I’m asking you. Marry me.’

      Jason was taken aback when her shock swiftly became anger. ‘They had no right to tell you that,’ she shot back at him. ‘I didn’t mean it. I never meant it. I can’t marry you, Jason. I’m sorry.’ And she tore her eyes away from his to smoulder down into her coffee.

      Her passionate outburst stripped away the cool, calm façade Jason had been hiding behind. He was never at his best when his will was thwarted, especially when he believed what he wanted was for the best for everyone all round.

      ‘Why not?’ he demanded to know. ‘Because you’re waiting for Ratchitt to return?’

      ‘Dean,’ she snapped, glittering green eyes flying back to his. ‘His name is Dean.’

      ‘Ratchitt matches his character better.’

      Her gaze grew distressed and dropped back down. ‘He…he might come back,’ she mumbled. ‘Now that I’m alone, and…and…’

      ‘An heiress?’ he supplied for her cuttingly. ‘I don’t think this place will bring him running, Emma.’ And he waved around the ancient and shabbily furnished room. ‘Men like Ratchitt want more out of life than some old house in a country backwater, even if the front rooms have been turned into a sweet shop.’

      She was shaking her head at him. ‘You don’t understand.’

      ‘I think I understand the situation very well. He stole your heart, then broke it, without a second thought. I’ve met men like him before. They can’t keep their pants zipped for more than a day, and they love no one but themselves. He’s not worth loving, any more than Adele was. I’ve consigned her to my past. The best thing you can do is consign Ratchitt to your past, and go forward.

      ‘Marry me, Emma,’ he urged, when her eyes became confused. ‘I promise to be a good husband to you and a good father to our children. You do want children, don’t you? You don’t want to wake up one day and find that you’re a dried-up old spinster with nothing to look forward to but loneliness and rheumatism.’

      She buried her face in her hands then, and began to cry. Not noisily, but deeply, her shoulders shaking. Jason was moved as he’d never been moved before. He raced round the table to squat down beside her chair. He reached out to take her small, slender hands in his and turned her tear-stained face towards him.

      ‘I won’t hurt you like he did, Emma,’ he promised her with a fierce tenderness. ‘I give you my word.’

      ‘But it’s too soon,’ she choked out.

      Jason wasn’t sure what she meant. ‘Too soon?’ he probed. ‘You mean since Ivy’s death?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘Are you saying you might marry me later on?’

      Her eyes lifted, betraying a haunted, hunted look. She was tempted to say yes, he could see. But something was stopping her.

      ‘A month,’ she blurted out. ‘Give me a month. Then ask me again.’

      Jason sat back on his heels and exhaled slowly, his surge of elation dampened by a prickle of apprehension. It wasn’t a long time, a month. But it worried him. He didn’t believe the wait had anything to do with Ivy’s death. It was all to do with Ratchitt. She still hoped he’d come back for her.

      The possibility of that scum showing up again was slight, Jason believed. But even that slight possibility sickened him. The thought of Emma falling back into his filthy arms sickened him even further.

      And it did something else. It sparked a jealousy which startled him.

      He’d never been a jealous man before. Not even with Adele. Emma was evoking emotions in him that were alien to all his previous experiences with women. Along with the jealousy, he also felt fiercely protective.

      Still, he would imagine most men would feel protective of a girl like Emma. She was so fragile-looking. And so sweet. Someone had to stand between her and the Ratchitts of this world. She wasn’t experienced enough to see just how bad his type were. How depraved and conscienceless.

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