“I’m only protecting my hide since my sister will have a fit if I make any faux pas at her come-out,” Morgan replied, sighing with resignation.

Chuckling, Rowles returned with “Ah, I should have known.”

“Yes, yes, you should have.” Morgan groaned, then tensed.

“What is it?” Rowles followed his friend’s attention and frowned.

“Were we ever that wet behind the ears?”

“Pardon?”

“Green, untried, and full of our own stupidity. Look at him. Bloody fop is mooning over my sister, and if his eyes stray south once more—”

“Ah, it’s times like these I’m thankful I don’t have a younger sibling.”

“It’s a trial,” Morgan replied through clenched teeth.

“Want me to cut in?”

“You can’t, not without making a scene, and then you’ll have to deal with the aftermath of people wondering if you are favoring her.”

“Oh. Yes, well then.”

“Chivalrous of you to back off so quickly,” Morgan said with dry sarcasm.

Rowles chuckled. “Tell me you wouldn’t do the same if the roles were reversed.”

“I can’t,” Morgan returned after a moment’s pause. “Are you going to ask her for a dance?”

“Does she have one available?”

“I’ve been very selective in granting my permission to those allowed to dance with her,” Morgan answered.

“And the milksop—”

“Was an error in judgment.”

“I see. At least it’s a reel, so there’s no prolonged touching.” Rowles shrugged. “Or real conversation for that matter.”

Morgan stilled in his agitated manner, then turned to Rowles. There was a gleam in his eye that made Rowles’s cravat seem tighter. “Waltz with her. That dance is still open. I’ve made sure of that, but I didn’t consider the…touching…as you put it.”

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, safe was 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.