Page 86 of A Touch of Charm
“May I present to you Dr. Andre Fernando von Dürer?”
Etiquette required Andre to bow to her sister’s husband, but he couldn’t get himself to bow to the cheating, twitching figure before him. It was almost comical that he gave Andre a once-over and had to look up for it. A meager man like that should treat his sister like a queen, not discard her and break her heart. For a broken heart, one needs to fall in love first. Anna didn’t seem to love this man beyond the excellent sentiment of tolerating his presence.
Paul reached out, and she jerked back.
Oh, she couldn’t bear his touch.
Andre’s insides churned at the sight of his sister’s unhappy marriage. This was not what he’d wished for her. Love, passion, devotion, and a man with integrity were the least she deserved.
“So I heard,” Paul started, showing his crooked teeth. “Your brother is a doctor.”
He twitched again and tugged at the back seams of his breeches.
Anna pretended to be impervious to the jerking movements of her husband. Her smile faltered, replaced by a fleeting grimace, as she cast a sidelong glance, her expression carefully schooled to neutrality.
“Was ist mit dem Hampelmann?” What is it with the jumping jack? Andre whispered to Anna.
She burst into laughter.
Andre joined her.
It was just when they were like children, and Andre’s heart swelled with love for his long-lost sister. Oh, how he’d missed his family.
“Wahrscheinlich hat er sich wieder was eingefangen.” He probably caught something again.
“What are you saying to him?” Paul demanded in a tone Andre didn’t appreciate when his sister was addressed.
“Do you suffer from an itch?” Andre asked Paul.
The man narrowed his eyes, but Andre paid more attention to his sister’s grimace. No woman should feel disgust for her husband. How could he help his sister out of this union?
“It’s been going on for a while,” Paul admitted. “Have you an ointment for it?”
Andre’s eyes met Anna’s, but she crinkled her lips and gave a faint shake of her head.
Good, at least you don’t have it.
“I’d need to examine you before I can make a diagnosis.”
At first, Paul stood stiffly in the room, but the silence, which couldn’t have been more than a second, stretched into what felt like an awkward hour.
“May we leave you here for a moment?” Andre asked his sister.
“Certainly, I shall have another cup of tea.” Anna’s hand slid down Andre’s arm, and she sank back into the armchair.
Less than fifteen minutes later, Andre considered the Hippocratic Oath he’d sworn in the exam room at Cloverdale House. “First, do no harm” was its essence. Yet, he wished for nothing more than to rip Paul’s arms out for how he treated his little sister.
“You have a boil,” Andre said as he dropped his probe into the metal bucket prepared for dirty instruments. The instruments would be carried outside in the bucket and rinsed with boiling water before being touched by hand.
Paul pulled his breeches back up and tied the laces.
He didn’t seem rueful for having contracted a disease that was a testament to his indiscretions.
“Does your mistress have it, too?” Andre asked. His duty as a doctor was to stop any spread of infection and warn his patients—even if his instinct was to let this particular man suffer.
“How dare you imply infidelity? Why don’t you ask whether your sister gave me this?” Paul fastened the last button and sucked his belly in like a rooster. “Perhaps she’s the one—”
Andre rose from the chair, dashed around the desk, and towered over Paul, balling his fists so tightly that his palms hurt. “You listen to me very carefully—”
