CHAPTER 1
“Dr. Lindeth, my sweet angel, do you think you could do me a favor?”
My boyfriend’s rich, chestnutty voice went through me like the smoothest sip of aged scotch.
“What kind of favor?” I asked. “Is this about me wearing the silk garters again?”
Biting my lip, I looked teasingly over at Dr. Lucian Devereaux as he leaned against a library shelf in my office.
At 55, he was a tall, handsome man, with immaculate thick dark hair just beginning to go silver at the edges, strong but gentle, cultured and urbane.
I was one lucky lady.
Lucian ran one strong hand down the spine of one of my oldest psychiatry textbooks, his fingers gentle on the fragile leather backing.
“Not this time,” he said. “It’s a professional favor.”
I wrinkled my brow in confusion. “What do you mean?”
“I need you to talk to my son. In your professional capacity.”
“Oh no,” I said. “I’m so sorry, but absolutely not. I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Please,” he said coaxingly, taking a step closer to where I sat behind the office desk. “You’re so brilliant. I am well acquainted with your work, Dr. Lindeth. You do so much to help your patients.”
“Absolutely not,” I repeated. “A therapy session with your son? Who I’ve never met? That just wouldn’t be appropriate. Besides, you know I have a verydistinctspecialty. I don’t do general psychiatric practice.”
“Just a few sessions,” he said, sitting down in front of me. “Come to Ashgrove Manor with me this weekend. I know you’re on research sabbatical this semester. It’s beautiful there in the fall.”
I looked out my window at campus, the last of the brightly-colored October leaves clinging to the bare branches.
Ashgrove Manor
Of course I had heard of it. Who hadn’t?
Lucian had never invited me back to his famed ancestral home, only to the cozy, well-appointed cottage on campus reserved for the Dean of the College of Arts & Sciences.
The idea of seeing his manor was intoxicating.
“What do you want me to talk to him about?” I asked.
He had never really mentioned his only son Gabriel Devereaux.
Lucian folded his hands together neatly on the desk.
“Now that his college career is over, Gabriel is hoping to play in the Hockey National League season that starts in a few weeks.”
The HNL? I knew nothing about sports and had never been to a game, but of course everyone on campus wasmadfor hockey. It was a big deal here.
“And where do I come in?”
“There’s been some difficulties. The team who drafted him is our local Steelblades. But there are some. . .concerns.”
“What kind of concerns?” I asked, but Lucian had transferred his gaze outdoors to the busy campus.
Through the window, I heard students laughing and joking, tossing Frisbees and footballs around on the quad.
“Your specialty is psychopathy, right?”
