So much regret, need, and love swirled in his eyes, and she drank it in like a thirsty deer at a stream, desperate for more. The sound of a carriage approaching shook her from her trance, and as her attention wavered to the coach, she felt and saw Rowles take a step away.

When Morgan alighted from the carriage, her eyes shifted from her brother to Rowles and back. Watching as the duke swallowed and turned away, nodding once.

No.

She turned to her brother, watching him as he refused to meet her scrutiny and only offered his hand.

“Morgan.” She spoke his name in a clipped tone.

“Allow me, it’s a bit chilly but we should be home soon,” he offered. As quickly as his met hers, they slithered away.

But it was enough to confirm her suspicions. She stepped into the carriage and waited for her brother, knowing all hell would break loose as she asked the one question she suspected she knew the answer to.

“Did you refuse the duke permission to court me?”

Nineteen

Rowles delayed the trip to Cambridge. Running away had never solved any problems, and currently he had more than his share of them to deal with in London. First and foremost, Joan.

He’d tried.

He’d kept his distance.

He’d utterly failed.

Because the moment Joan beamed at Archby, something in his soul had snapped. Because seeing her court another was entirely different than understanding the concept of it, and all his good intentions evaporated. While she’d danced with Archby, he’d forced himself to unclench his fists.

During every dance when she swirled away with another suitor, he’d forced a calm he didn’t feel till all his patience was spent and all that was left was desperation.

So he’d asked for a waltz, praying she’d agree.

And when he’d held her, the familiar scent of rosewater clung to her skin and erased any other thoughts. Her luminous green eyes captivated him, and he’d been powerless to look away, to do anything but drown in her gaze, drink it in, pretend for a moment that it was where he belonged—while in her arms.

He’d tried to apologize, but the effort was weak even to his own ears, and the attempt had only made matters worse, which was why he followed her to the front of Almack’s. He couldn’t, wouldn’t let her leave when she was so clearly angry with him, and rightfully so.

He’d taken away any choice she’d had to choose him by taking himself from the running.

And wasn’t that exactly the sort of thing they’d talked about? Women having little say in the matter of their futures? And here, after all his spouting about the intrinsic value of a person, man or woman, he’d made such a grave error.

He’d decided to make the choice for her.