“So she had quite the turnout, did she?” Rowles asked, a strange sort of tension scratching along his belly at the thought. It wasn’t surprising that she’d attracted attention with that clear observation skill of hers that saw through to one’s soul. In truth, he was still haunted by her words and the way she’d spoken them.

“Yes, which is not surprising, at least to me. But I must say, I don’t fancy this season of my life.” Morgan’s expression went thoughtful, as if the words had reminded him of something else entirely.

“Season, eh?”

“Yes,” Morgan replied and then sipped his drink. “I’m sure she’ll find a good match. But the process might kill me.”

“You mean might kill others.” Rowles chuckled.

Morgan raised an eyebrow. “That too. But we’ll keep that between us. I don’t wish to scare off any prospective suitors because word gets out that her brother has a hot temper and is quick on the draw,” he said with amusement.

“Your secret’s safe with me.” Rowles lifted his glass in salute.

“I know. And your secret is safe with me as well.”

Rowles’s forehead furrowed as the words brought him back to the earlier conversation. “Much obliged. You know…your sister said something quite similar to your own words.”

Morgan paused swirling his glass, then started back up. “Oh?”

“Yes. She said I wasn’t.” Rowles tipped his head to the side. “She’s usually so talkative, but it was difficult getting her to explain what she meant.”

“Oh?” Morgan said again, taking a slow sip.

Rowles noted the way his friend’s hand moved from the table and held the edge, as if gripping it tightly. Odd. Even in his inebriated state, he’d noticed. It must not have been a subtle movement. “Yes. But eventually she explained herself, and I must say she’s…intriguing.”

“In what way?” Morgan’s expression went blank, as if he were hiding his emotions.

“Are you well, ol’ chap?” Rowles asked, leaning forward to take a closer look.

“Well enough. Continue.” Morgan waved his hand impatiently.

Rowles frowned but continued as instructed. “I was saying, it was like she was looking through me. I’ve never had that happen before. It was disconcerting, yet I’m grateful she did.”

Morgan didn’t reply, only worked his jaw as he swirled his glass.

“She reads people well, doesn’t she? A family trait, that, and I do believe you’ll have your hands full of young bucks all fascinated with her,” Rowles mused, then took a sip of his own drink.

“Is that so?” Morgan asked, an odd grin on his face. “Disconcerting, eh? Anything else?”

Rowles thought about the question, then reading his friend’s expression, decided to leave it unanswered.