A few steps ahead of them now, Rowles smirked over his shoulder, earning a glare from her as she tried to gather her wits.
“It’s your fault,” she said to his smug expression.
“And the world is better for it,” he said. “The unrestrained laughter of a lady is a beautiful thing indeed, and I cannot help but congratulate myself for bringing it forth.”
“You’re no help,” Morgan admonished his friend, but amusement threatened his features.
“I usually am not.” Rowles shrugged and started onward, leaving Joan a fine view of his back.
Her merriment shifted into awareness as her observation took in the way his wet coat hugged his broad shoulders, the taper of his waist, and the length of his legs. Proportionate in every way, he was beautiful, even from the back. Especially from the back. One wasn’t distracted by the green of his eyes or the brightness of his smile. She could appreciate his form, as wanton as it sounded to her own mind.
But it was the truth.
And if she was anything, it was honest.
And honestly, she was enamored. Fascinated and…hungry.
But she didn’t exactly know for what, since it wasn’t a hunger of her belly, but of her heart.
Her soul.
And she had the odd sensation that perhaps it wasn’t a hunger as much as an appetite.
An awareness.
A need.
“Joan?” Her brother’s voice cut through her greedy perusal.
Shifting her attention to the ground, then to her brother, she noted his curious expression. Understanding must have dawned because her brother’s eyes darted from her to his friend, then back to her.
He gave his head a shake, as if scolding her. “Come. Let’s get home.”
Chastised, Joan kept her eyes from straying to Rowles’s form, even as it pulled her like a magnet. It was an exercise in self-control, one she wasn’t sure she was equal to. But as they crossed the square to their home, she breathed a sigh of relief as the duke’s carriage waited out front.
“I’ll take my leave, if you don’t mind. I have grown uncomfortable on our trek here.” Rowles gave a self-deprecating smirk.
“Understandable. Will I see you tonight? I believe it’s the Rathbone fete. Though I imagine you’d wish to stay in after this afternoon’s events,” Morgan stated.
Rowles’s eyes shifted to Joan, only for a split second, and then he turned back to her brother. “I’ll see you tonight, then.”
“Indeed.” Morgan nodded, and then gestured for her to follow him up the steps and into their home.
Ivy climbed the stone face of the town house, adding life to the otherwise stark gray stone. As they entered the foyer, Morgan turned to her, then lowered his eyes and spoke in a soft but warning tone. “I meant what I said earlier. He is not…” He paused. “There are better options, and we shall find them. Do not let your attachment grow.” He speared her with his unflinching stare, then stepped back, heading toward his study.
Joan released the breath she’d been holding.
What he asked was nearly impossible.
She climbed the stairs to the second floor. As she passed through the hall toward her rooms, she blew out an exasperated sigh. She went into her chamber and closed the door softly, leaning her back against it as she closed her eyes.
It wasn’t as if she’d cultivated these feelings, this attachment.
It was involuntary.
But real, insistent, and growing.
How did one extinguish an attachment when she wasn’t even sure how it had started?