Morgan’s blue eyes were studying her with wary suspicion. He placed both hands on the desk and leaned over it, narrowing his eyes. “Joan.”
“Yes?” Joan replied, swallowing.
“I must admit, I really wish you could lie right now. Because I don’t think I want to know the truth,” he said evenly.
Joan didn’t look away; it would be useless regardless. She wouldn’t lie, even if he’d rather she did. “What’s your question.”
“You don’t… That is…” He huffed and closed his eyes for a moment, as if mustering his resolve to continue. “You haven’t a tendre for Rowles.”
Joan tipped her head. “That’s not a question.”
Morgan closed his eyes, then smacked the desk. “Blast it all, Joan.”
She jumped at the sound, then scowled at her brother. “I’m not going to cower just because you are having a fit of temper.”
“Believe me, I know you don’t cower. You don’t back down, and you don’t lie. It’s a disaster.”
“How is that a disaster?” Joan threw her hands up in the air. “Do you want me to run and hide in a dark corner when you lose your temper and lie to your face about it later? What sort of man wishes for that?”
“Joan—”
“Answer me.”
Morgan met her stare. “I wouldn’t call a person like that much of aman, to answer your question. But you’ve put me in a dreadful position.”
“Oh? In what way? Because last I checked your heart isn’t invested in anything, so what do you possibly have to lose?”
“Is it?” Morgan asked, his stare boring through her.
“Is what?”
“Your heart invested.”
Joan ran a finger along the wooden grain of the desktop. “Not enough to cause harm or regret. He likely doesn’t know, and I was already chiding myself for it.”
“Good, that’s…good.”
“Whyever is that good?” Joan’s eyes flickered back to his.
“Because…” Morgan sighed, his shoulders caving ever so slightly. “Because he’s London’s most eligible bachelor with a mother fit for Bedlam, and when…if he found out about your education and how you use it freely, he wouldn’t necessarily appreciate it for the gift that it is. Rather, he’d likely see it as a precursor to his mother’s malady. She was…she was quite educated in her youth, and there were rumors of her working as a spy…” He paused. “All I know is that there are similarities, and enough of them that it’s not a stretch. And…I want better for you than that, Joan. The last thing you want is for someone you have a tender affection for to think you’re a bit unhinged.”
Chest tight, Joan struggled to take a deep breath. “Do you?”
“Do I what?” Morgan asked, his tone soft and…defeated.
“Think I sound unhinged? That something is not right with me? Because I love to study handwriting and behavior and use that skill for my king and country?”
Morgan frowned, his jaw clenching. “Joan, you’re my sister. I would fight the fires of hell for you. And I’ve seen firsthand from day one your abilities. But that is far different than someone coming to understand them right now. I know you’re perfectly sound of mind and heart.”
Joan released the breath she’d been holding. It was silly, she knew. Morgan had always been her champion, but she needed to hear it again.
Because sometimes she did feel a little different.
Like an outsider.
Even in her own family.
“But I also have eighteen years of your consistency to prove it. Others…do not. This is why we had that conversation before your debut,” Morgan continued.