All Chapters of The Doctor's Temptation: Chapter 71 - Chapter 80

"If you spill that ink anywhere near the white linen upholstery, I am going to have Marcus reassign you to stable duty," Vincent warned, though his deep voice carried an unmistakable tone of fond amusement.Mia didn't even look up from her desk, dipping the nib of her fountain pen into the heavy glass inkwell before gliding it smoothly across the thick parchment. "Marcus is head of estate security, Vincent, not a dry cleaner. And anyway, I am a professional archivist. I know how to handle ink.""A professional archivist who once managed to drop an entire bottle of black India ink onto my favorite tailored suit in Mayfair," Vincent reminded her softly.A quiet, bubbling laugh escaped Mia's lips as she turned her head to look at him. Vincent was standing by the large arched window of the Oakhaven study, holding a cup of black coffee in one hand while the afternoon sunlight cast a warm, golden glow across his broad shoulders. He wore a dark charcoal knit sweater, his dark eyes fixed enti

"If you try to wrap her in one more knitted blanket, she is going to start rolling around like a very small, very angry caterpillar," Vincent observed with a dry, amused smirk, leaning his broad shoulder against the doorframe of the nursery.Mia paused, holding a thick, cream-colored wool blanket in her hands, and looked down at fourteen-month-old Clara. The toddler was sitting in the middle of the plush rug, wearing a tiny grey cardigan, surrounded by a mountain of stuffed toys, completely unbothered and warm as toast.Mia turned around, letting out an affectionate sigh. "It is the first frost of the autumn, Vincent. The wind coming off the Atlantic is freezing today. A caterpillar needs proper insulation.""A caterpillar that is currently trying to dismantle her wooden music box with a plastic spoon does not need three layers of wool," Vincent chuckled low in his chest, walking across the room. He stepped up beside Mia, his large warm hands coming down to rest comfortably on her sho

"If you drop that flour onto the polished hardwood floor, Marcus is going to draft a formal security memo about kitchen hazards," Vincent warned with a dry, amused smirk, leaning his broad shoulder against the kitchen doorframe.Mia paused, holding a heavy wooden mixing bowl in her hands, and turned around with an indignant, playful glint in her hazel eyes. "For your record, Dr. Vance, I am an archivist, not a disaster area. And this flour is contained. Mostly."Vincent let out a low, rumbling laugh, walking across the kitchen to stand right beside her. He reached out, his long fingers effortlessly steadying the bowl while his other hand brushed a stray wisp of dark hair away from her cheek. Outside the tall kitchen windows, the mid-winter snow was falling heavily over the Oakhaven cliffs, coating the dark Atlantic rocks and the sprawling lawns in a thick, pristine blanket of white."Mostly is a terrifying word when used in reference to your baking projects," Vincent teased softly, le

"If you give her one more slice of pear, she is going to start rolling across the lawn like a very small, very determined cannonball," Vincent warned with a dry, amused smirk, leaning his broad shoulder against the stone frame of the terrace doors.Mia paused, holding a small silver fruit knife over the wooden cutting board, and turned around with a bright, playful glint in her hazel eyes. "She is growing, Dr. Vance. Growing toddlers require high-velocity fruit consumption. Right, Clara?"Eighteen-month-old Clara sat in her low wooden chair on the sunny terrace, wearing a light blue linen dress and immediately ignoring her father's warning as she grabbed another slice of pear with absolute triumph.It was an unseasonably warm Monday morning in late September. The lingering autumn chill had finally broken, and the rugged cliffs of Oakhaven were bathed in a brilliant, golden wash of late-morning sunlight. Down in the sprawling estate gardens, the first green shoots of spring bulbs were

"If you let her plant that entire handful of muddy acorns into my favorite potted fern, I am going to formally reassign her to sandbox duty," Vincent warned with a dry, affectionate smirk, leaning his broad shoulder against the stone archway of the conservatory.Mia paused, holding a small brass watering can, and turned around with a bright, amused glint in her hazel eyes. "She is simply practicing her botany, Dr. Vance. It is called cultivating early academic interests."Nineteen-month-old Clara sat cross-legged on the tiled conservatory floor, wearing a green cotton romper and completely ignoring her father as she enthusiastically shoved another acorn deep into the damp soil of the grand fern.It was a crisp, brilliant afternoon in late autumn. The wind sweeping across the Atlantic was sharp and invigorating, carrying the scent of pine and damp earth from the woods bordering the upper estate. Through the massive glass panes of the conservatory, the afternoon sun cast long, golden sh