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“It takes hours,” she continued. “It is excruciating. And it has never yielded a single consistent cure, to my knowledge. Yet the practice persists because the guild is rife with men who favor dogma over evidence. They cling to tradition like a drowning man to a plank of rotted wood. It is why Papa began seeking out medical journals from the Continent, why he experimented, tracked results, and wrote findings of his own.”

Julius appeared genuinely horrified now, his features arranged in a grimace. “What would have happened to me if you had not treated me? If I had summoned one of these … butchers?”

She did not soften the blow. “Bleeding. Or blistering. Perhaps both. A few cups of blood drawn to ‘balance your humors’ while they roasted your skin with mustard and mercury.”

Julius recoiled. “Merciful saints.”

“President Washington was bled and blistered during his final illness,” she added, her voice flat. “And thus was hastened to the grave by the very men who claimed to preserve him.”

He was silent for a long moment, his expression drawn. “I knew physicians could be overzealous. But this … this is cruelty cloaked in credentials.”

Audrey crossed her arms tightly over her chest. The discomfort of her starched cravat paled in comparison to the ache within her. “That is what troubles me most. The patients. The innocent souls who believe these charlatans because of their letters and lineage. No one should surrender their body to a stranger’s command without understanding the consequences. Yet they do. Every day.”

The fog of her breath hovered in the air. “There are tinctures with gentler properties. Diets that could prevent half these afflictions. Herbal infusions, careful physical movement, poultices that soothe instead of burn. My father spent years refining gentler treatments. And he wrote it all down.”

She stopped. Her throat was tight. Her hands balled into fists at her sides. “I must see it published. Papa meant for it to reach ordinary people, so they might choose wisely. For if one loses one’s health, everything else is dust.”

There was a stillness beside her. When she glanced up, Julius was watching her with something fierce and reverent in his gaze, as though he had never seen her before, not truly.

“You are,” he said slowly, “a woman of rare principle and uncommon fire, Audrey Gideon.”

She startled, caught off guard.

“I have never pledged myself to anything greater than my own amusement. But when this murder is solved … I think I would very much like to assist you. With your crusade. It matters.”

A blush rose up her neck like heat from a hearth, spreading beneath her skin with a startling pleasure. She looked away, flustered, her boot scuffing at a loose cobble.

Her heart gave a silly little thud.

Heart? Oh, Lud.

Julius remained dazed long after they left the alley behind Dr. Walker’s establishment.

Her words had not merely stirred him. They had reordered something inside him. Audrey had spoken not from sentiment, but from knowledge. Conviction. Righteous certainty laced with compassion. He had never known a woman—or man, for that matter—so ferociously committed to reason and justice.

By the time they reached the rear mews of Aunty Gertrude’s townhouse, having walked circuitous routes to ensure they were not followed, he was still half-lost in the echo of her voice.

She had been incandescent in that alley.

A crusader in trousers.

And he would never again seek treatment without pausing to consider, without seeking second counsel. She had changed him. Not with her beauty, though that was arresting enough, but with the clarity of her intellect and the courage of her ideals.

He realized, belatedly, that he had been lucky. His father’s peculiarities had spared him the horrors of leeches and blisters. He had thought it eccentricity. He now recognized it as rare prudence.

And he owed that realization to her.

As they stepped through the back entrance, with the lingering scent of damp cobbles and rainwater darkening the brim of her beaver hat, Julius made his decision.

He caught her gently by the wrist.

She paused, surprise flickering across her face as her wide silver eyes searched his.

He offered no words. Only a question in his gaze. Slowly, he bent his head.

She did not pull away.

Their mouths met, soft and still.