But instead of brushing his mouth to hers, Rowan cleared his throat and stood up. She stared at him as he turned his back to her. “We’ll be missed if we don’t return to the ballroom soon.”
She shook her head. Oh yes, the ballroom. She’d all but forgotten that they were in someone else’s home, at someone else’s ball. Slowly, she stood, her knees trembling enough that she reached back to steady herself on the settee arm. “You are correct, of course.”
He turned toward her again. “Perhaps you’d do me the honor of dancing with me, Lady Sophie.”
She jerked out a nod. “Y-yes,” she whispered.
He smiled again and offered her his arm. But as she took it, she realized she hadn’t said yes to him because of the agreement she’d made with her aunt. She’d said yes because she wanted to dance with this man.
And that was both shocking and utterly terrifying.
Rowan was keenly aware of every one of his fingers as they curled around Sophie’s hip while the two of them turned about the dancefloor together. He had approached her with mercenary thoughts in his head, but now that they were together, he was truly enjoying the moment.
Sophie was unlike any woman he’d ever known. Her independence afforded her the option to say what she truly thought, and he found her honesty refreshing. That she wanted adventure and excitement and a future that wasn’t bland and regular was even more attractive to him.
But what he thought of more than anything, as he guided her around the floor, was the look on her face when she’d been sitting with him in the parlor. He was no monk. He knew desire and pleasure. And Sophie had wanted him to kiss her.
More to the point, he’d very much wanted to kiss her. More than kiss her, truth be told. But since that hadn’t been his intention in that moment, he’d been taken aback by the powerful desire and had turned away from it.
Now he was regretting that action. Or inaction.
“Why did you become friends with my aunt?”
He shook off his thoughts and looked down at her. She had a contemplative look on her face. Like she was trying to figure him out. “Why?”
She nodded. “Don’t mistake me, my aunt is wonderful. I don’t doubt that anyone who meets her is bound to adore her. But you are not of an age with her. It’s a strange friendship.”
“Perhaps it seems so,” he conceded softly, and he found Lady Louisa in the crowd. “Your aunt and my mother are friends, of course, so as a young man I knew a bit about her. But I was seated next to her at a supper party at a very…difficult time in my life.”
“How so?” she pressed.
He shifted, for he never spoke of his troubles, or very rarely so. But Sophie was soft and quiet and not demanding. Not digging. At least not for any cruel purpose. He found himself wanting to tell her.
“My father died six months ago, but he had been sick off and on for a very long time,” he said past the sudden lump in his throat. “He first fell ill around the time I was seated beside your aunt. And she…she was very kind to me. Not the false kindness that is often shown by those in theton, but something very real.”
Sophie seemed to ponder that a moment as they spun in time to the music. “I am sorry about your father,” she said.
“Thank you. I know you’ve experienced the same kind of loss,” he said.
Her mouth turned down. “Only you loved your father,” she murmured.
His eyes went wide. “I’m sorry, I had no idea that your relationship with yours was strained.”
“That is one way to put it,” she said, stiffening in his arms. “That he was an untrustworthy bastard who was cruel to my mother until the day he killed her in the accident that took them both is another.”
Rowan caught his breath. Everyone knew of the story of Sophie’s parents. They’d been riding in a phaeton together in the park fifteen years earlier, too recklessly, it turned out. The vehicle had crashed, killing them both instantly and orphaning the young woman in his arms. A tragedy that was whispered about, clucked about, from time to time. He had never really considered what she thought of it. What she felt about it.
Certainly he’d never imagined it wasangerthat burned in her when the memory struck.
Sophie shook her head and muttered, “I should not have said such a thing. I do not speak of it—I have no idea why I was suddenly inspired to do so.”
“I’m not sorry,” he said softly, and found it was true. “I would like to be friends with you, Sophie.”
“Why?” she asked, her attention returning to his face.
He cleared his throat. “Because you make me nervous, too. Which meansyouare an adventure waiting to happen.” He leaned a touch closer as the strains of the music ended. “Would you be friends with me?”
He saw the struggle across her expression. The fleeting moment where she seemed to want to run. The fight to find an answer. Then she nodded. “Y-yes.”
