“Yes, I can understand that, but this day’s bloodshed did not signify loss of life. That surgery saved a life and perhaps more than one life through the gaining of experience by all those who watched.”

“Perhaps,” he allowed.

A rueful smile curled her lips as she stared at him. He did not fool her in the least. He had been fascinated, too.

“Admit it, Mr. Sinclair,” she charged, arching an eyebrow in challenge. “You were as riveted as I was.”

“I’ll allow it was not uninteresting. I’ve seen army surgeons at work before but never have I observed anything like that . . . never anything with such, such . . .”

“Precision,” she supplied.

“Yes,” he agreed with a nod as they continued down the gallery, side by side.

“My father would have appreciated this today.” Likely Papa had seen such a surgery performed before when he himself attended medical school, but it would have been quite the special thing for the two of them to have observed something like this together. “He would have . . .” She paused, gathering her thoughts, feeling her composure slip as she thought of her dearest Papa. “He would have loved it. Thank you.” She stopped and he stopped in kind. She turned to face him. “Thank you for thinking to bring me here,” she said haltingly, feeling a little awkward with her surge of emotion.

He looked equally uncomfortable, as though he didn’t know what to do with her gratitude.

“You have no business here!” The words cracked like a whip over the air.

Tensing, she stopped and turned, searching for the source of the angry voice.

Her gaze swept the length of the gallery. A man with a shiny-knobbed cane approached with very sharp steps, a sneer twisting his lips. His eyes flashed back and forth between Nora and Sinclair in a fiery display of ire for which she could not account.

Astonishment rippled through her to find herself the target of this stranger’s glare. She should not have felt such sentiment. Virulent men came as no shock. She well knew they existed in the world. In truth, they abounded.

A couple years ago, Marian had been abducted by a man who thought his rights superseded her own. For all the good men that existed, there were always some who were content only when crushing a female beneath his boot.

She braced herself, knowing more was to come from this particular gentleman. Indeed, the red mottling of his face warned her that he was just getting started.

“Females,” he began, dropping the word as though it alone was something objectionable, “do not belong here.” He lifted his cane and shook the gleaming head in her direction.