A Highland Duchess by Karen Ranney Page B

you will, that on the tip of my finger there are hundreds of thousands of tiny little animals that you cannot see. These are bacteria, so small that they aren’t visible to the human eye. But they’re there all the same, and it’s their presence that can make us ill.”
    He straightened and pulled back his hand.
    “How do you see them?”
    “With a microscope,” he said.
    “And you study this? Isn’t it dangerous?”
    “A great many things can be dangerous if care is not taken.”
    “But why?”
    “Because it’s there? Because I can? Because whenever people become ill I want to know why?” He shrugged but the intent look in his eyes belied his affected nonchalance.
    “Are you a physician, then?”
    “No, but I work with a physician. My betrothed’s father, as a matter of fact.”
    She envied him his enthusiasm because she’d never viewed the world with such delight.
    “I must be about my work now,” he said, placing his napkin on the side of his plate. “But I have no needlework to occupy you,” he said. “I noticed the needlework in your room.”
    “I do not require occupation,” she said. A moment later she corrected herself. “I do not require needlework as an occupation.”
    “My sister deplores it,” he said. “Ever since she was eight, and required to rework her sampler numerous times, she’s refused to take up the needle.”
    “Your sister sounds like someone after my own heart,” she said. “However, I’ve always thought it a failing of mine not to have the patience or the skill.”
    “Perhaps your talents lie in other directions,” he said. “Unfortunately, my library is filled with scientific treatises, but perhaps my sister has left behind a novel or two. I’ll see if I can find something for you.”
    “You are very solicitous for an abductor,” she said. “For all that you say you’ve had no experience in it.”
    “Much less than you’ve had at being a duchess.”
    “There isn’t much to being a duchess,” she said, looking away. “One must simply have the capacity to endure.”
    She hadn’t meant to say that , either.
    He reached out and touched her hand again. She didn’t withdraw it but left it there, fingers straightened and pointing toward him.
    She tilted her head slightly and regarded him with some intensity.
    He smiled once more, an expression that was evidently commonplace for him. Was it also a routine occurrence for him to attract women? She couldn’t help but wonder.
    A very mysterious man, this brigand, and one she’d do well to avoid.
    She stood, pushing back her chair rather than waiting for him to assist her. She placed her napkin to the left of her plate, checked to see that she’d left the silverware in the correct position. The training of a lifetime served her now, as it had so often in the past.
    Yet she’d never taken nearly an hour to eat her breakfast. Or eaten it in the bright light of the morning sun or with such an enticing stranger.
    A great many things can be dangerous if care is not taken. Including wanting something one mustn’t have. Although she may wish it, she could not turn time on itself. She couldn’t become someone other than who she was. It was not four years ago; it was today.
    “Thank you for breakfast,” she said. “But until my uncle sends you the mirror, I think it would be better if I ate in my room.”
    He’d stood when she did, and now she had to tilt her head back in order to see him. Not an easy thing to do since the sun was behind him. She shielded her eyes, wishing she could see his expression.
    “But it’s not my room,” she said. “It’s yours. Where did you sleep last night?”
    “There are ten bedrooms in this house,” he said. “I simply took another.”
    “Wouldn’t it be better for you to have your own chamber back? I’d be happier in another,” she said.
    “I have no objection to sharing what I have with you, Emma,” he said softly. “Whether it’s breakfast or a