“You’re welcome.” Joan hitched a shoulder and turned to Rowles. “You’ll have to forgive his mood. I had a meeting this afternoon, one of which he doesn’t necessarily approve, so he’s brought that irritation with him like a dark storm cloud.”

Morgan stepped closer. “I’d rather you not mention anything in a setting such as this,” he corrected her, but with a gentler tone than Rowles expected.

“I didn’t say anything specific,” she murmured.

Morgan’s expression was concerned, and Rowles felt the urge to dissipate the tension. Thankfully, a waltz started, and without hesitation he turned to Joan. “Is this dance spoken for?”

Joan’s answering expression was enough to set his heart pounding in anticipation of holding her close again. As she offered him her hand, he looked to Morgan, who gave a quick nod and stepped back to give them room to navigate to the dance floor.

Rowles grasped her hand, noticed how it fit snugly within his own, and then placed his other hand at her waist, drawing her close enough to smell the rosewater clinging to her skin. Her eyes sparkled with a fun twinkle, and she stepped into the waltz with him effortlessly, as if they’d danced together a thousand times and would dance together a thousand more.

“So, what shall we discuss this time? You’ve already won the first debate. I think I shall select the next. It’s only fair that I get some advantage when discussing the finer points of morality and virtue with a professor of divinity.” She sent him a cheeky grin.

“I’m happy to oblige you with any topic that you select,” he answered, his lips spread wide. There would be talk tomorrow, for sure. One didn’t smile so openly in a waltz without someone noticing, especially when one was a duke.

“Hmm.” She angled her head in contemplation.

Rowles watched with interest as her eyes narrowed and her lips pursed, drawing his attention to their fullness. Had she ever been kissed? Likely no; she was an innocent. Dear Lord, he wanted to christen her lips, break that delicious seal and taste her. But in the middle of the ballroom floor wasn’t the time or place, he reminded himself.

“I know.” Her expression turned devious.

“Should I be alarmed?” he teased, flirted really.

“Perhaps. It is a divisive topic.”

“Ah, then I’ll do my best to be worthy of such a question.”

“Very well. Our society has constraints on women’s rights. Which begs the question, which rights are gender-specific and which are humanity-specific?” she asked boldly.

Rowles frowned. It was indeed a question that took thought. “That is a very good question, and one that tells me you have a decisive opinion one way or the other.”

“You assume correctly.”

“You might not like my answer.”

“That’s possible,” she answered with a nod, her stare intently searching his.