Doctor...to Duchess? by Annie O'Neil

Author:Annie O'Neil [O'Neil, Annie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2015-09-08T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SIX

OLIVER DREW A finger down the list of the day’s remaining patients. Between the two of them, they’d make quick work of it. He could’ve sworn the clinic of days gone by had been one of well-intentioned but hapless disorder.

Hats off to Julia. Yet another tick in “the woman is a star” book. The clinic was a world away from how he remembered it. She was efficient, professional and obviously very dedicated. Oh—and beautiful. Did he mention beautiful? And funny? And had the softest skin. He’d barely had a moment to trace the soft outline of her cheek—but by God he wouldn’t mind doing that again. Not that he’d had a moment alone with her since the Bite of St. Bryar.

She was always at the clinic before him, beavering away at some paperwork or cleaning, and she’d never left until well after he’d hung up his stethoscope. She wouldn’t be avoiding him, would she? Had she seen through his veneer of charm and realized he was a man who couldn’t commit? Or maybe it was simpler: she loved her work here at the clinic. And who could blame her? He’d enjoyed the past few days immensely.

Word had quickly spread that there was an extra pair of hands in St. Bryar Hospital—and not just any old hands. After an initial surge of patients, who all seemed to be suffering from hypochondria more than anything else, the appointments list had settled back to a steady trickle. He grinned as he pictured Julia re-enacting the disappointed faces of patients who’d drawn the short straw and been seen by her.

“Ooh—I was just hoping Lord Oliver might have a listen with his stethoscope, you see. I’m sure you’re very good, but this condition might call for a specialist.”

“What have you done to my practice?” she’d wailed. “Everyone’s out for their heartbeat to be listened to by the future Duke of Breckonshire.”

How she managed to push all his buttons and make him grin instead of growl was beyond him. Perhaps because she had one heck of a gift for mimicry, he could forgive it.

Realistically? His soft spot for the cheeky blonde was growing despite his resolve to push it into the back of a wardrobe somewhere and forget about it. That in and of itself was steadily sanding away the sheen of his well-laid plans.

Apart from feeling like a bit of a tourist attraction, he was genuinely beginning to enjoy this whole country-living thing much more than he’d bargained for. He’d been an idiot to think springtime, when the estate was virtually exploding with new life, was the best time to wipe his hands of St. Bryar. There were lambs bouncing around the fields and gorgeous, fluffy calves gorging themselves on their mother’s milk—not to mention every shrub, hedgerow and fruit tree bursting into spectacular life. And—of course—Julia. The place was a rural idyll. Anyone would be a fool not to want to be a part of it.

He rapped a pen on the desk. That

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