“So this is about your injured pride then? I thought you were concerned with the well-being of the Duchess of Birchwood. I did not realize this was about you.”

He angled his head sharply, his eyes narrowing on her. “Do you think insulting me a way to endear you to me?”

She shrugged. “Again, this is not about me or you . . . or how you feel about me. It’s about a very ill woman.”

His lips compressed and she knew she had either made her point—or just gotten herself tossed out of there.

She decided to take a page from her sisters and adopt a conciliatory manner in case she had pushed him too far. “Please, Mr. Sinclair. Let me try. What do you have to lose?”

He stared at her a long time with those deep eyes of his, so dark, so impenetrable. “What do you want out of this?”

She straightened her spine. “What makes you think I want anything?”

“What. Do. You. Want?”

Your respect. She wanted him to look at her and admit he was wrong, that she was as capable as any doctor. Oh, and she wanted to know her reputation as a healer was safe. Healing the duchess was also another factor. Marian was right. She loved nothing more than solving a mystery diagnosis.

“I’d like you to promise not to expose me . . . Don’t write to Durham and any of the others.”

“Am I to let you continue your lying then?”

“No. I’ll write of my father’s passing and cease giving out advice in his name.” She stared at him hopefully.

He was silent for a moment, considering her with narrowed eyes.

She continued, “Once you see that I can help her, you will realize I know what I’m about. Allow me to treat her.” She nodded encouragingly. It was perfectly reasonable. “And I should stay here, of course, as yours and the Birchwoods’ guest.”

He sputtered. “Have you here? Under this roof?”

“Where else shall I stay in London? I don’t know anyone.”

“Do you commonly invite yourself to people’s homes?”

She frowned. “The only way my sister and Warrington will tolerate me staying in London is to stay here . . . as a guest of the Birchwoods. Anything else would be unseemly.”

“Tolerate? Did they not give you leave to venture here?”

Some of her poise evaporated at the question. “Er, no. I slipped away with my maid before they woke.”

“Without their permission?”

His question fired her indignation anew. “I’m an adult. I don’t require permission.”

“And yet you’re concerned at what they may or may not tolerate.”

She glared at him, not liking her own words tossed back at her. “I said I can help her, and so I can.” She propped a hand on her hip. “Will you at least show me to her?”