Page 89 of My Dearest Duke

“My deepest condolences.” Morgan’s countenance sobered as he offered his respects.

“Thank you.”

“And the funeral is tomorrow night?” Morgan asked just as his sister had a few moments before.

“Yes, and Joan has asked to attend.” Rowles turned back to Joan, whose stare was steady on her brother, as if daring him to challenge it.

“Why am I not surprised,” Morgan drawled. “I wouldn’t expect anything less from her, I suppose. It’s better to take her than to wait for her to sneak out on her own, eh, Joan?”

Rowles turned to Joan, a question on the tip of his tongue before she cut in.

“If my brother had taken me to the funeral he’s mentioning, I wouldn’t have needed to resort to such measures. Besides, I was perfectly safe. I dressed as a paid mourner, and when I found Morgan, I stuck by his side.”

“Ah, that’s where you got the widow’s garb, and here I thought you kept an arsenal of disguises,” Rowles teased.

“A woman never knows when she’ll need to blend in,” Joan replied with a haughty tone. “Regardless, my brother learned from his mistakes and took me to the next one.”

“It’s a sorry thing indeed that we’ve had to attend so many, Joan,” Morgan added, his expression sad.

“Indeed, it is,” Joan agreed softly. “It is.”

“And one more, and let us pray it’s the last for quite some time,” Rowles finished.

“Will the procession begin at your house or…?” Morgan waited for Rowles to answer.

“Her body is resting at the house I set up for her, so we will travel from there to the grave site,” Rowles stated.

“We will meet you at the house an hour before the procession begins.” Morgan came to stand beside Rowles and placed a hand on his shoulder. “You’ll not walk through this alone.”

“Thank you,” Rowles said with feeling. A new understanding flowed through him. This…this was his new family. The realization burned bright. They were his family, and he was theirs.

“Well, I need to attend to some paperwork,” Morgan stated, as if the emotional atmosphere was too much for to him.

“Thank you for your condolences,” Rowles said in parting as Morgan took his leave. With a pause, Morgan turned back and nodded, closing the door partway. Then his face appeared in the opening, and he made a point of narrowing his eyes as if communicating a threat.

Rowles nodded, understanding that the few minutes of privacy were a gift. But with limits, within which he was fully expected to operate.

“Well, that was surprising.” Joan blinked at her brother’s disappearing back and turned to Rowles.

“I am forever in his debt,” Rowles said as an answer and turned his attention to Joan. “Heaven knows how long I have till the tea arrives.” He chuckled. “So, dear Joan, may I kiss you?” he whispered, his countenance softening as he took in the quick parting of her lips, the soft gasp of her breath, and the blush that highlighted her cheeks.

With a small nod, she lowered her gaze shyly.

He placed a finger under her chin, lifting it till her eyes met his. “I see you.” He breathed the words, promised them. “I see your strength, your determination, your stubborn nature and fierce devotion. I see your capabilities, your kind heart, and the honesty that flows through your veins. I see the love you have for others, for your family, and beyond all my understanding, the love you have for me, and it touches my soul in ways I never knew existed.”

Her green eyes widened, softened, and with the gentlest touch, her lips met his. Her hand cupped his chin, drawing him in as she deepened the kiss.

Rowles was undone.

He made love to her mouth, with every stroke of his tongue and graze of his lips; he worshiped her. His soul fused with hers, his heart matched her cadence as he pulled her in closer, his arms banding around her shoulders as his fingers traced down her arms, only to dance up and down her back, mapping every soft inch he touched.

“I love you,” he whispered as he paused between kisses, needing to say the words, hear them in his own voice, speak them over her.

Without breaking contact, Joan said, “I love you.”

The clinking of china filtered through Rowles’s fevered mind, and after a moment, he kissed her one final time and reluctantly withdrew. He allowed his fingers to trace down her arms, savoring one last touch before he noted with approval her bee-stung lips.

Joan frowned as if confused, but as the maid came in with a tray of tea things, her eyes dawned with understanding as her cheeks bloomed with color anew.

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