But good Lord. When she’d called him Professor… Hopefully, he’d collected himself quickly enough, though she was painfully observant, and she might have caught on to the expression on his face. For his mind had taken a seductive turn, and abruptly so, catching him wholly off guard. He’d liked her calling him Professor. He’d liked it far too much, and it had taken concentrated effort to school his features and keep his wits about him. She was a temptation he hadn’t expected and wouldn’t soon forget. Even now he was anticipating seeing her again, which only led to further problems. He’d mended his friendship with Morgan. It wasn’t the time to ask permission to court his sister.

Good heavens. He could only imagine the fight that would possibly follow. And that didn’t bode well for a potential suitor.

Rowles decided to wait, test, and see if perhaps Joan had felt the same sort of attraction. He had time, and if there was nothing on her end, no need to alert Morgan. It was a long stretch, he reminded himself. Joan had a plethora of suitors clamoring for her attentions, and he wasn’t necessarily included in their ranks, at least officially.

It wasn’t worth destroying a friendship for a possibility. But he could still ask for a dance, could he not? He’d already waltzed with her. Rowles thought back to Morgan’s original description of him.

Safe.

He felt anything but safe at the moment, not after enjoying her lively conversation, and certainly not after hearing her call him Professor. Safe was not an accurate word. It had taken severe restraint on his part not to cross the room and kiss her right then and there, in front of the bloody housekeeper, God, and everyone.

And for the first time, Rowles felt dangerous. But in the way the gothic romance novels portrayed the tragic hero. Black eye and all.

He could play the part.

It was a little too close to home anyway.

An ill mother, a title that weighed heavily on him, a love interest that was completely out of reach, and a hero with nothing to lose but his best friend.

Yes. That could certainly be a gothic story if someone wished to look too closely at his life. And like a lurid gothic novel, it certainly couldn’t have a happy ending. Yet as much as he told himself to accept this truth, his heart involved itself in the most dangerous sort of rebellion. It hoped.