She needed to stop this. Being around Rowan could not make her a ninny. What had happened between them was a mistake, but she could rectify it. There was no need to allow herself to be forever changed.
Shewouldn’tallow that.
As she made that vow to herself, she watched as Lord Benton walked toward her through the crowd. He was a young man, not unhandsome, with an earldom to come to him when his father passed. She’d never thought much of the man, in truth, but now she forced a smile as he joined her and thankfully truncated her spiraling thoughts of Rowan.
“Good afternoon, my lady,” he said.
“Good afternoon,” she returned. “And what a lovely afternoon it is.”
He nodded. “I agree. It is why I came to ask you if you might walk with me in the gardens below.”
Sophie stiffened. Her duty was to say yes to this man even though she had no desire to do so. She was exhausted after all her sleepless nights and troubling thoughts during the past few days.
But as she pondered that, she caught a glimpse of Rowan coming back through the crowd, drinks in hand. His smoldering gaze fell on her, and there her body reacted again. Out of control, thrilling and so inappropriate.
She caught her breath. “Yes,” she burst out, the loudness of her tone making both her and her companion jump a little. “Yes, I’d like that.”
The viscount smiled and offered her an arm. As she took it, she watched Rowan’s expression shift a bit. His smile fell, replaced by a scowl, and his expression pinned her. Now not seductive, but accusatory.
She ignored it and pivoted, all but dragging Lord Benton from the terrace and down the stairs toward the gardens. She refused to look over her shoulder to see what Rowan was doing. She didn’t care. She shouldn’t care. She was not going to care.
If it took a hundred viscounts to make that clear to herself, then she would walk with a hundred viscounts.
Andnoneof them would move her as much as Rowan Sinclair did.
Chapter Eight
Rowan couldn’t help but narrow his gaze as he watched damned Lord Henry Benton reach out to pluck what looked to be a petal from Sophie’s hair. And she smiled. Shesmiledat him. Henry Milquetoast Fucking Benton, who had never said anything interesting to anyone in his entire damnable existence.
The jealousy that burned in Rowan’s chest was hard enough to handle. He wasn’t used to such a strong, angry, twisting emotion. But it was that he didn’t deserve the jealousy that cut him all the deeper. Aside from stolen ecstasies in the hothouse, he had no claim on Sophie. He’d made none yet. She was making it very clear she didn’t want those advances.
Except that every once in a while she glanced up toward the terrace, toward him, and he saw the flicker across her face. The reflection of his own desire, the conflict that matched the one in his throbbing heart.
At last, the pair turned toward the stairs and ascended back to join the rest of the party. Benton leaned over her hand and kissed it before he stepped away. Rowan had never wanted to punch a man more.
The moment Benton stepped aside, Rowan moved. He didn’t plan to move, it just happened as he strode across the distance between him and Sophie. She stiffened, folding her arms and straightening as he reached her.
“Come with me,” he ground out through clenched teeth as he clasped her arm in his hand and drew her across the terrace. He felt the curious eyes on them as he took her through the doors, through the parlor, into another where no one could see or hear them.
She wrenched away from him and watched as he inappropriately shut the door behind him. He leaned against it, trying to regain a bit of control and composure before he spoke.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she snapped.
He blinked. In truth, he had no answer for that very valid question. He’d dragged her from a party in a most public way over jealousy he had no right to.
Except he felt it, just as he felt the connection that was so powerful between them.
“Benton?” he snapped out.
The color left her cheeks and she spun away from him. “What about him?”
“You would walk with him, Sophie?” he asked.
Her shoulders lifted, tension filling her every fiber. She didn’t look at him. He wanted her to look at him.
“What I do is none of your affair,” she said softly.
He moved on her then, without meaning to, just as had happened on the terrace. It was like he couldn’t stop himself. She stole his control.
