Loving Bella by Renee Ryan Page B

sharp angles and well-defined planes. His eyes were the color of polished pewter.
    Unfortunately, the look he cast her was completely impersonal, as though he’d slid an invisible shutter across his features.
    Bella swallowed a sudden urge to cry. She wished she could understand what was going on in that complicated mind of his.
    “Our first patient is Lizzie.” He shifted away from her and set the brake. “She’s suffering from consumption, as many of her kind do.” The sorrow in his eyes told her there was more to the story than he was revealing.
    “Her kind?” she asked.
    His head rotated back in her direction. An innerstruggle was written across his face. “Prostitutes. Lizzie earns her living by accepting favors from men.”
    A gust of cold, misty air swept through the alley at his proclamation. Bella shivered.
    “We’re at a brothel?” she asked, trying to hide her terrible fascination at the notion.
    “Yes.”
    Bella studied the two buildings on either side of her, silently wondering which establishment was their destination.
    As though sensing her unspoken question, Dr. Shane pointed to his left. “It’s that one.”
    Cocking her head in fierce concentration, she eyed the sooty brick and mortar. “I see.”
    She felt rather than saw him take a deep breath. “You are not shocked?”
    “Of course not.”
    Well, maybe a little. But she pitched her voice to a confident level. “I am a woman of the world, after all. In fact, I have sung the lead in the opera La Traviata. ”
    She hoped her rapid blinking didn’t belie her bold words. She might have sung the notes of a doomed prostitute, but she’d never fully understood the tragic Camille’s choices. Her performance had suffered, resulting in the worst reviews of her life.
    “Did you enjoy playing the ill-fated courtesan?”
    “The story was quite sad,” she said. Then sighed. “I always wished she’d have accepted her young suitor’s love and simply left…” She cleared her throat. “That life.”
    That life.
    The very same life William had offered her.
    Of its own volition, her hand reached for the locket around her neck. She spread her fingers across her collarbone and let out another sigh. If she was honest with herself, she’d admit she’d left London out of fear, not moral conviction. Eventually, she’d have given in to William’s vows of love, just as the fictional Camille had done over and over again with her various suitors.
    Bella hadn’t believed in her own inner strength, hadn’t believed she had the character to turn away from her temptation and the sin that came with it.
    So she’d run.
    She was still running.
    “Brace yourself, Miss O’Toole. The play glosses over the harsh reality of a woman dying of consumption.”
    She tossed her head back and scoffed at him. “You needn’t worry about me. I’ve seen my share of ugliness in the world. I will not be shocked.”
    Oh, but she would be. She was sure of it, yet not for the obvious reasons. She sensed, down to the bottom of her slippers, that she would find a kindred spirit in Lizzie, the prostitute.
    And that, Bella thought miserably, told the true state of her wretched sinner’s soul.
     
    Stepping quickly to the ground, Shane studied the area surrounding his feet. Confident the last remaining rat had fled, he proceeded to Miss O’Toole’s side of the carriage.
    “Ready to start our day?” he asked in what he hopedwas a pleasant enough voice, one that would soothe away the majority of her fears.
    At her wide-eyed stare, a thread of discomfort wiggled through his conscience. Perhaps he should have brought her to the front door after all. Perhaps his scheme to toss her immediately into the thick of things wasn’t as well-thought out as he’d told himself.
    Unfortunately, it was too late for second guesses. What was done was done. He’d simply have to do his best to protect her from this point forward.
    Inching toward the edge of her seat, she squeezed her eyes