The devil doctor *Completed*

Morning rituals

*Wicky*

I awake to find Billy raised up on an elbow, watching me. The fire has long since gone out. With the draperies drawn, no sunlight is entering the room. The only light comes from the soft glow of the lamp that he’d brought into the room with him the night before.

I’m not yet ready to speak, to disturb his study of me, especially as I want to take a few moments to enjoy the sight of him. Although his hair is blond, he has the longest, blackest eyelashes I’ve ever seen. Unlike mine, his nose is straight and perfect, narrow, patrician. His chin is narrow, sharp, with the tiniest dent in the center of it. His cheekbones are high, sharp. The bristles along his jaw are darker than I’d expected them to be. I have an insane thought that I would very much like to shave him, feel and hear the scrape of the razor over his skin.

I think of doing things with him that I never thought of doing with Riverdale. Billy appeals to me in ways that Riverdale never had. I cared for Riverdale, believed when I accepted his offer of marriage that I loved him, but now I can’t help but wonder if perhaps I was too young to truly recognize love, if perhaps I was simply in love with the notion of love, or perhaps marriage. It was what she-wolves of my station strive to accomplish: a good marriage. Or maybe he managed to beat out my affections toward him until no remnants of my original feelings for him remain, and so I can no longer remember exactly how I felt toward him.

“Did you sleep?” I ask Billy.

“I promised to keep watch,” he says with a small smile and a hoarse voice that stirs something deep inside me. It implies secret trysts. “Besides, I don’t need much sleep, and I rarely go an entire night without someone knocking on my door.”

I sigh, “I can’t help but feel I’ve become quite the nuisance.”

“You haven’t. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be.” He tucks his finger beneath my chin and strokes my cheek with his thumb. “Are you feeling a bit more settled?”

“Somewhat. I’m quite embarrassed with the spectacle I made of myself last night.” I admit.

He smiles softly, “You have nothing for which to be embarrassed. A nightmare can be upsetting enough without the strange occurrences you’re experiencing.”

“I just don’t understand what’s happening.” I say.

“I think someone is striving to drive you mad.” He says.

I shake my head, “But who and for what purpose?”

Turning his attention to the braid draped over my shoulder, he brushes his fingers through the loose strands at the end, seemingly mesmerized by the movements. “That I don’t know, but I’m wondering if it wouldn’t be wiser for you and your son to move into my residence.” He shifts his solemn gaze back to mine. “Just for a few days.”

I felt so welcomed in his home, so at ease. It was there that I came to realize the horror that my life has truly become. As I gain my strength, he allows me to determine the menu for the meals. He never finds fault with my selections. He never criticizes if I spend my mornings reading or composing letters. For the first time in my life, the hours of the day become mine to do with as I please. He has given me glimpses of a life that doesn’t encompass fear.

“I truly, truly appreciate the offer, but I’ll not be chased out of my own home. I don’t think Ethan is in any danger. His governess hasn’t reported any strange goings on. All that is happening just seems directed at me. Perhaps I do have a disgruntled servant. I’ll speak with Thatcher, have him watch them a bit more closely.”

“I admire your resolve.” He traces the curve of my cheek. “But I don’t think you’ve quite recovered from last night’s misadventure. I have a morning ritual that I don’t always get to indulge in but I think it would be just the thing to chase the last of the shadows from your eyes.”

He is looking at me so intently, as though he were memorizing every line and curve of my features, every bump and every scar. His intensity has all sorts of notions racing through my mind, notions no proper she-wolf should entertain. Morning rituals that include kissing and touching, hands on my thighs, my stomach, my breasts. I’m not certain I’m quite ready for that, but I hear myself asking, “What sort of ritual?”

“Rowing.”

I blink in surprise. Is that what the lower classes call it? I suppose I can see that, but not quite. And he might have once been ensconced among the dregs of society, but he has risen above that to a respected… and, in my mind at least… an exalted position. Surely he no longer uses such crude references. I lick my lips. “What exactly does it entail?”

“A boat, oars, the river.”

“Oh, you mean actual rowing?”

With a grin, he skims his finger along the bridge of my nose. “What did you think I was alluding to?”

I am going to embarrass myself by admitting the truth. “Exactly what you said.” I’m intrigued. “You truly go rowing in the morning?”

“Whenever I can before breakfast.”

Glancing over at the clock, I realize it is much earlier than I thought. “It must still be dark out.”

“It won’t be by the time we get there. Come with me. I think you’ll find it’s a refreshing way to begin the day.”

I think doing anything with him would be a lovely way to start the day. “Yes, all right.”