“Afraid of what?”
Percy hesitated, and then he said, “Actually losing something you care about. Like you did your father.”
Rowan walked away. Percy’s words cut so close to the bone. Far closer than he’d ever thought they could. Probably because there was truth to them.
Yes, he’d watched Sophie over the years. He’d admired her spirit and her wit far more than her beauty and her dowry. But he’d never come too close. Neither had she.
And now he knew what it was like to lose something he’d had and loved more than anything. His father had been Rowan’s lifeline, his calm ear and advice, his sharp conscience when he needed that. Losing him had been devastating. It still was. Perhaps it always would be.
And perhaps there was some truth to the idea that it made him reach for Sophie. So that he wouldn’t lose her without even trying for more.
So where did that leave him?
“She’s afraid of something deeper,” he admitted softly.
“So are you.” Percy folded his arms, daring Rowan to deny it.
“Perhaps I am at that.” Rowan let out a long sigh. “Perhaps that’s why it will never work.”
Percy cocked his head. “I hate to hear that,” he said softly. “That you would walk away from something because it felt too…real. That sounds like a deathbed regret I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy.”
Rowan shrugged. “It’s something to think about,” he conceded slowly.
“Indeed. And I assume you are now going to excuse yourself to consider it at length.”
“You know me too well,” Rowan said, squeezing his friend’s arm. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Percy called after him as he exited the parlor. “Call on me if you want to drink some of your troubles away during the thinking part.”
Rowan laughed as he left his friend behind, but there was nothing joyful in his heart. It was now a jumble that he had to sort out or else risk hurting everyone involved in the situation. Something he very much didn’t want to do. For himself. For her.
Chapter Seven
“I’m worried about you, dearest.”
Sophie looked up from her book and smiled as Louisa entered the parlor. “Oh, you needn’t.”
Her aunt arched a brow. “You have been sick enough to avoid all Society functions for aweek, Sophie. Don’t tell me I needn’t worry.”
Sophie pursed her lips. She felt guilty for her subterfuge in telling Louisa she didn’t feel well. It had been true when she’d convinced Louisa to leave the ball a week before. After her encounter with Rowan she’d truly been out of sorts, body and mind.
Now her continued “headache” was a ploy. One she could clearly not continue if she didn’t want her aunt calling on doctors to bleed her.
“Do you feelanybetter today?” Louisa said, taking the seat beside her and pressing the back of her hand to Sophie’s forehead.
“I am, Aunt Louisa. My head is certainly clearer.”
Of course, that was a lie. A week away from Society had given Sophie room to breathe and to think, but the results had been less than perfect. She couldn’t stop thinking about Rowan. About what they’d done and how it made her feel. Nothing could clear those thoughts from her mind, not even when she shamefully touched herself at night, bringing a shadow of the pleasure he had drawn from her.
It only made it worse.
“Do you think you might be up for an event tomorrow?”
Sophie sighed. She couldn’t hide forever. And she knew that Louisa truly enjoyed Society. When Sophie stayed home, her aunt often did as well, so she was selfishly denying her guardian that simple pleasure.
“Of course,” she said with a forced smile. “What are the invitations?”
“Lady Terrington is having a garden party tomorrow afternoon at two at Mr. Sinclair’s residence.”
