What is a poor anatomist to do? Twenty pounds, wasted, up in smoke when a beautiful young woman wakes up on the dissection table. Someone has made a ghastly error. Dr Richard Craven, an ethical doctor, has but one choice, to nurse the girl back to health and restore her to her family. That’s when his troubles start. She can’t remember anything, only her first name, and she isn’t even sure about that. As his household helps her to recover her strength and her memories trickle, then flood back, their mutual attraction buds into a flowing passion.
Unfortunately one of the things she’s conveniently forgotten was her arranged engagement to a vulgar, but wealthy son of a Northern industrialist. Not only that, but there is some deep dark secret about Dr Craven that her father believes makes him completely ineligible.
Resolving the resulting tangle in this sweet historical romance takes the combined efforts of the doctor’s once profligate brother, the Earl of Craven, a displaced French Royal, le Duc de Bourbon, and the visit of a mysterious French Baron to the sacred floor or Almack’s.
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Dr. Craven meets his fate. He just doesn't know it yet. He's preparing to dissect another body when things come undone.
In the meantime, the boy undid the bandage that held the woman’s jaw shut tight. As he pulled it off her, her mouth opened and she gasped for air.
He ran to his father and the doctor, shouting, “I tell you, Doctor, she’s alive!”
Jonas and the doctor walked back to him, carrying a decanter of the brandy with them.
Dr. Craven said, “Can’t be, Lad. That must just have been gas escaping from the body. They do that, you know, as they decompose.”
The elder resurrection man nodded, “I’ve seen it before, many times.”
His son replied, “So have I Dad, but this wasn’t that. She gasped for breath when I undid the bandage.”
Dr. Craven said, “I’ll prove she’s dead. Put her on the table.” The resurrection men lifted the body from the floor and put it on the examining table. This cadaver was light for the two of them to lift. It having once been a delicate young female; they were gentler with it than they were usually.
The doctor gave his hands a quick rinse. Something he did more for superstition than any rational basis, and then he examined the body.
“She is warmer than I’d expect. The decomposition must be advancing rapidly. I’ll need that ice.” He paused. It, no not it, she breathed. It was a gasp, a weak one at that, but a breath.
“Brandy!” He shouted, “and be quick about it, man. She’s alive.”
The youngest resurrection man ran for the decanter and returned as fast as he could. “Here, sir.”
The doctor took some and moistened the woman’s lips with it. She gasped again and stirred. “She’s cold, bring a blanket and a warm brick.” He immediately unwrapped the winding bandages from her body and untied the bindings on her legs and arms. “Come man, rub her legs. We must get the blood flowing.”
Between the warmth, the brandy, and the commotion, the woman’s eyes suddenly opened, and she sat up. She saw this handsome dark-haired man looking at her. His concern for her was evident in his face.
“Is this Heaven?”
“Close enough.” Then she lay back and closed her eyes again.
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