A Bewitching Bride by Elizabeth Thornton Page A

have suffered some terrible loss in their lives. I think that’s where Dr. Rankin’s heart lies. He says that these patients can be healed, too. We do what we can.”
    He thought of Fox, the retired headmaster, who sneered at Will’s work. The stigma would extend to his patients. No one wanted to be known as a loony. Kate Cameron’s credit rose by several degrees.
    A smile lit his eyes. “You’re an amateur psychiater?”
    “I’m a volunteer. I do the most menial tasks.” She held up her hand to stay the next question. “I don’t know why you’re asking me about the clinics. You’re Dr. Rankin’s friend. Surely he told you all this already?”
    “Well, he did, but . . .”
    “But what?”
    He didn’t want to betray a friend’s confidence, but the events of that night had added a new ingredient to the mix. Will suspected someone connected to his clinics was up to no good, and that was putting it mildly. Kate Cameron was connected to the clinics, and tonight someone had tried to kill her.
    He had to get to the truth.
    He gave a careless shrug. “Will is worried about his clinic in Aberdeen. Do you know anything about it?”
    Her eyes went very round, and she shook her head. “He said nothing to me. You should speak to him directly, Mr. Hepburn. I can’t answer for him.”
    “Can’t or won’t?”
    “I can’t. Dr. Rankin doesn’t confide in me.”
    She was telling the truth, or was she? He could read her, but imperfectly. This was getting him nowhere.
    “We’ll leave here at first light.” As he spoke, he stood, reached above his head, and began to pull their garments from the pulley. “They won’t start looking for you until you don’t turn up for breakfast or until someone raises the alarm.” A thought occurred to him. “What about your lady’s maid?”
    “She’ll think that I have gone out for an early morning walk. What difference does it make? I don’t see where this is going. Shouldn’t we raise the alarm and send for the police the first chance we get?”
    She was examining the gray dress he had thrown at her, poking her fingers through holes in the delicate lace bodice that was smeared with blood. He heard her sniff.
    “You’re not going to weep over a ruined frock, are you?” he asked incredulously.
    Something flashed in her eyes, and she tipped up her chin. “This is no ordinary frock. It’s a gown that was designed by a couturier from the House of Worth, and it cost a small fortune. It doesn’t belong to me but to my sister. She loaned it to me for the occasion of Juliet’s marriage, and I promised to return it in pristine condition.”
    “I’m sure she’ll make allowances when she hears the circumstances.’
    “You don’t know my sister. There will be hell to pay.”
    “He’s not French. He’s as English as you or I.”
    “What?”
    “Worth. He trained in France, but he is as English as you or I.”
    “Why would he pretend to be French?”
    His look verged on the satirical. “For the cachet. Every lady wants a French dress designer, just as every bachelor wants a French chef presiding at his table. It’s all for show.”
    She frowned down at the ruined dress. “I can’t go back to the hotel wearing this. What will everyone think?”
    “I’ll lend you my coat. When it’s buttoned up to your throat, no one will notice what you’re wearing underneath. You can slip upstairs to your room and change your gown before we meet with the police.”
    She was shaking her head.
    “What?” he asked.
    “Shouldn’t we go to the police at once and tell them what happened? That villain may be hanging around the hotel. He may even be one of the guests.”
    “You may be right, but if we want to be taken seriously, we won’t broadcast the fact that we spent the night together, at least not to the rank and file. We’ll do this discreetly. I’ll talk to the police first. They’ll want to question you, of course, but they’re decent fellows. They’ll keep their mouths