Page 67 of How Not to Marry a Duke

“Where did you meet all these intellectuals?” she asked Warwick.

“They had been gathering for years before I attended the first meeting. We are all judged on our work, not our titles. Everyone here knows that I’m a duke, but it’s unimportant. What is important are our discoveries and advancements to the fields of science.”

She looked around, her gaze scanning the others. “There are women in the group.”

“Yes. Miss Wagner is a brilliant mathematician,” Warwick replied with clear admiration. “She aided with a chemical formula I was working on a year ago.”

Miss Wagner was young and beautiful with honey hair and blue eyes and porcelain skin. She appeared as day to night with Adeline’s dark coloring. Pressure built in Adeline’s chest, and she was honest enough with herself to recognize the uncomfortable feeling as jealousy.

Had the lady and Warwick shared more than mathematical formulas?

Blast! It’s none of your concern! His rejection was fresh in her mind.

Then why did the thought bother her?

“We have a presenter today,” Warwick said, oblivious to her discomfort. “Someone I believe will capture your interest.”

“Who is it? Do not keep me in suspense.”

“An anatomist.”

She shifted in her chair and craned her neck to look at the doorway. “Truly? Here? How is that possible?” Eagerness thrummed in her veins. An anatomist’s presentation would allow her to forget the duke. When Adeline was thirteen, and her father, the earl, had been on a hunting trip in the country, her mother had taken her to observe a surgery. The surgeon was from Arabia and had been her mother’s friend since childhood. He’d been training others in Eastern medicine. The patient had expired by the time they could arrive, and the surgeon had decided to dissect him to learn why his liver had failed.

Adeline had stood by her mother while three out of five of the surgeon’s aspiring students had turned green. One had to leave, and she’d heard him vomit outside the room. Adeline’s mother had held her hand during the dissection and had explained that a healer should know what was between skin and bones to best treat a patient.

Adeline had later learned that surgeons, anatomists, and artists needed to dissect corpses to study and create accurate models, and grave robbers were notorious for providing corpses for profit.

Warwick chuckled and raised a hand. “He will not dissect a flesh-and-blood body, but a model made of wax. When I heard that he would be presenting today, I thought of you and knew you must come.”

Warwick’s consideration made the pressure in her chest bloom like a hothouse flower. Most men would disparage her interest in medicine.

But not the duke.

He was confident enough in his own knowledge and masculinity not to be intimidated by her intelligence.

She knew firsthand it was a rarity in a male.

Edwin had never encouraged her healing endeavors. Looking back, her own father had never fully embraced Adeline’s interests, either. As for Adeline’s mother, she had been a healer and midwife before marrying the Earl of Foster. But she’d ceased working soon after her marriage.

Adeline had always believed her mother had stopped treating others because she wanted to spend all her time with her husband.

Had Adeline been wrong? Had her mother slowly stopped going to houses simply because her father had disapproved?

Her mother had agreed to her father’s demands. Mostly. There were exceptions, and her mother had taught Adeline what she’d known about herbs and healing and had taken her along when she’d slipped out of the house to help a friend in need or a sick servant. She’d acted clandestinely. Adeline had thought it was because she didn’t want payment, but maybe there was another reason. Maybe it had been because of her husband’s demands.

Warwick would never demand his wife give up her dreams.

Good God, why was she thinking such thoughts?

Because of their kiss. It had changed things between them. At least, it had for her.

Despite their conversation in the carriage, she couldn’t forget their heated encounter. She licked her suddenly dry lips, and her stomach fluttered as her mind helplessly relived the velvet warmth of his lips. She’d wanted to kiss him, and she hadn’t been disappointed. For a man who isolated himself in his workshop, he certainly knew how to kiss. From what she could discern, he had enjoyed the kiss even though he had been the one to pull away.

Sweet Jesus, despite everything, she wanted to kiss him again.

“He’s here.”

She jumped in her seat just as a dark-haired man entered the library followed by two assistants who carried jars of unidentifiable specimens floating in clear fluid. The anatomist was short with a wiry mustache and beard.