Chapters (46)
- Front Cover
- Title Page
- Copyright
- Contents
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-one
- Twenty-two
- Twenty-three
- Twenty-four
- Twenty-five
- Twenty-six
- Twenty-seven
- Twenty-eight
- Twenty-nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-one
- Thirty-two
- Thirty-three
- Thirty-four
- Thirty-five
- Thirty-six
- Thirty-seven
- Thirty-eight
- Epilogue
- Author’s Note
- Acknowledgments
- Back Cover
Joan’s cheeks heated at his words, since the statement was coming from someone who would certainly know about worthy debates. Surely he’d seen his share of brilliant students and ideas in his time at Cambridge; he was likely one of those brilliant minds. The compliment washed through her all the way to her toes, far more than if someone had called her beautiful.
The duke had praised her mind, her intelligence, the intangible things that didn’t fade with time.
“Thank you,” she murmured, meeting his look. There was such warmth there, captivating her. So many times she looked at people to uncover things, or to find the truth, but in this moment nothing was required of her. Everything he had said was true, and she was basking in the glow of it all. His body language said even more than his words.
“Does that mean this theological discussion has ended? Please say yes.” Morgan’s words broke the spell, and she turned away, wondering how long she’d been staring at their guest.
She hazarded a peek back to him, observing the way he glanced from Morgan to her, likely noting the same thing she had, Morgan’s closed eyes. Never before had she been so thankful for a headache. If Morgan had seen her behavior, he would certainly have questions.
Questions she wasn’t ready to answer yet.
Because she wasn’t sure of it herself.
But one thing was for certain.
This conversation, this precious half hour of time, was more enchanting and tempting than all of the hours spent with her potential suitors. Which left her with one question, the one she was most afraid to answer.
Was she fascinated by the duke? Or was this what it felt like when one fell in love?
Nine
Rowles wiped one hand down his face as he thought back over the events of the morning. What had begun as the worst sort of way to start a day—apologizing and looking after a friend he’d assaulted—ended with the brightest conversation he’d had in an age.
Joan didn’t only see through to one’s soul, she bloody well interpreted what she saw as well. Her premise was brilliant and well defended. And he took the challenge as a way to tease her, test her, and see a little into that wit he’d enjoyed when they’d waltzed. And she’d not only risen to the challenge but done so brilliantly and with such articulate prowess. She was enchanting.