A Highland Duchess by Karen Ranney

wanted more. What else she wanted was not so easily defined. The brush of a man’s hand on hers. A masculine glance of appreciation. The whisk of a night beard against her cheek. She wanted a kiss and more.
    Passion, ecstasy, bliss—without the price she’d always paid for them.
    I an worked on his notes until nearly midday. Perhaps it was the hours searching the music halls for Bryce the night before that had taken a toll on both his concentration and his linguistic abilities. Or perhaps it was simply the fact that the Duchess of Herridge was still his guest and occupied too much of his mind.
    He’d given the Earl of Falmouth a day to obtain the mirror. He should send a footman to recover the mirror, then arrange to send Emma home. Each minute on the clock reminded him of his duty, even as it increased his dread.
    He didn’t want to send her home. His reluctance was not solely based on the fact that he’d been overwhelmed by her, by one simple kiss.
    The Earl of Falmouth had struck her, hardly the act of a caring relative.
    The notes finally done, he walked around the courtyard to the small laboratory he’d created here in London. The equipment was not as expansive as what he had at home, but it would do to occupy him. He needed something to divert his attention from Emma.
    Ian lit the sconces against the gray day, then uncovered his microscope. After polishing the lens and arranging the slides in order, he checked the settings and opened his notebook. His work would eat up the hours.
    He should talk to her, see if there was anywhere else she could go. Perhaps she had friends with whom she could stay. Or acquire her own establishment. She was a widow, after all, and not entirely subject to the same rules that governed a single woman’s life. Besides that, she was an heiress. Her father had left her a fortune. Surely she had the money to do what she wished.
    Anything but live with someone who had struck her.
    Why, then, didn’t he simply ask her? Why was he avoiding her?
    He should not involve himself in the Duchess of Herridge’s life. Nor did he have any business feeling protective of her.
    Strange, that the woman he’d abducted had almost nothing in common with the rumors that circulated about her. Her beauty was undeniable but he’d known other beautiful women. Her intelligence interested him, as did her rarely seen sense of humor. But it was the look in her eyes he found fascinating. Almost as if emotion were buried beneath emotion, layers of secrets hidden in their blue depths. He’d glimpsed fear there, and worry, and more than once a little sadness. He’d been tempted to ask her if he was correct, then counseled himself that it wouldn’t be wise to learn more about her.
    What had she been like before her marriage? Had she awakened in the morning eager to explore the day, knowing, somehow, that only good things would come to her? Had she seen each new adventure as something to be treasured, to learn from, to experience? In the intervening years, had all of that joy, all of that excitement and wonder, been leeched from her?
    His curiosity about her was unwise and perhaps dangerous. He was due to be married—he should remember that fact.
    Before he could change his mind, he summoned the young footman. After giving him an explanation carefully crafted in innuendo and vagaries, he sat back.
    “Do you know what I expect of you, Jim?”
    The young man was from Lochlaven, a Scot, and therefore loyal. “I am to say that I’m there for the mirror, sir. And then bring it back to you, straightaway. I’m not to let the man know your name or the lady’s whereabouts but only to tell him she’s fine and in good health. Once I have the mirror, she’ll be returned home.”
    “Exactly,” Ian said.
    He inspected Jim’s attire. The footman was dressed as any young man might be in bustling London: black trousers, white shirt, and a loose-fitting jacket.
    “I’m depending on you, Jim,” he said. “Both for this