Rowles gave a deprecating chuckle. “So you want me to do the touching?”
“You’re not interested, so you’re harmless.”
“And here I thought we were discussing how we didn’t want to start talk, or—”
“This is higher priority, and I’ll explain that I wanted her first waltz with someone safe if I hear the rumor mill start to buzz. One bloody dance won’t signify a courtship.” Morgan turned back to watch the dancing.
Rowles fought against a scowl. Safe? He wasn’t sure if he was being insulted or disregarded with such a label. He’d been called many things, but safe? That didn’t sit well with him, but at the same time, he understood his friend’s quandary. In that context,safewas an accurate word, much as he hated to admit it.
He wasn’t interested, nor was he even looking for a wife. If his mother were in her right mind, he was sure she’d be after him to find a duchess, but as it were, there was no pressure.
And he was in no hurry.
The Scottish reel ended, and Joan curtsied, then turned toward her brother from her place on the dance floor. Rowles studied her. Eyes the sparkling green of moss and a bemused expression on her lovely face were all that lingered of the girl Rowles remembered from years ago. She’d made the transition from girl to woman with uncommon grace. She met his look with a curious expression but then turned her attention to her brother as she approached, escorted by her dance partner. When the gentleman bowed and left, Joan raised her hand ever so slightly to hide her wide grin.
“What’s so amusing?” Morgan asked, his scrutiny raking over the crowd.
Joan’s giggle was light and playful as she shook her head. “It’s quite overwhelming. And odd, if I’m honest. It’s quite difficult to converse during a reel, but I must say my partner made a valiant effort.”
“I’ll bet he did,” Morgan ground out.
Joan smacked her brother with a fan she’d lifted from a nearby table.
“What did I do to deserve such treatment?” Morgan frowned.
“I’m not sure, but it sounded insulting so I assumed.”
Rowles bit back a chuckle at the banter between the two siblings, then straightened his coat as the first strains of the waltz began.
“May I have the pleasure?” He turned to Joan, offering his arm.
Her look darted from him to her brother, then back. “Why am I suspicious?”
“Because it’s in your nature,” Morgan replied. “Are you telling me you’re going to turn down a duke wishing for a waltz? Come now, His Grace is giving you an honor.”
Joan quirked a brow to her brother, then turned her attention to Rowles. “I’m honored.” As she took his arm, he led them toward the center of the ballroom.
His hand circled her waist, an odd sensation of awareness dancing through him at the touch.
“Thank you,” Joan stated as she placed her hand on his shoulder and met his eyes unflinchingly. She was taller than he remembered—of course it had been several years. It was a rare day he didn’t see clearly over a woman’s head. Her touch was light and delicate, like her voice as she continued. “I know my brother asked you to do this.” She gave a little shake of her head. “One would think it washisdebut, the way he’s been acting.”
Rowles chuckled, amused at her insight. “He’s wound tight, is he not?”
Her eyes widened with agreement. “Yes! Good mercy. Shall I tell you a secret?”
“If it’s concerning your brother, by all means.”
Her eyes darted to her brother, then back to him. “I called him a tyrant today.”
Rowles laughed, then restrained his reaction. Her words had caught him off guard for a moment. “Truly? And what did he say to refute such a claim?”
“He agreed.”
“Ah, and that is the true shock! You have achieved what others have failed at trying.”
“Proving him wrong?” she asked, bestowing him with an easy grin.
For a moment, he became distracted by the pink swell of her lower lip, curving up into a perfect Cupid’s bow. “Er, yes. Often I’m rebuffed when I present him with facts.”