“Isn’t it?” he growled as he stepped in front of her, forcing her to glare up at him. “I think I could make a good argument that I have every right, considering.”
Her lips parted. “Considering what?” He arched a brow and she gasped. “Howdareyou! You would throw up what happened between us in my face?”
When she said the words, shame filled him. She was right.
“I-I’m sorry,” he stammered. “That was incredibly ungentlemanly. Worse, it was unkind. You don’t deserve that.”
Her expression softened. “I didn’t expect your apology.”
He shrugged. “You should. I can admit when I’m wrong.”
“Then why say what you did in the first place, if you knew it was wrong?” she whispered.
He took a small step toward her, closing almost all of what distance remained between them. Her breath hitched and that tiny sound hit him in the groin. His cock began to throb, harden, making his lust very known.
“Because the last time I saw you, you were shuddering beneath my tongue. And the first thing you did today was walk away from me. And I hate that. I shouldn’t care, Sophie, but I do care very much what you do. And with whom.”
“Rowan,” she whispered.
He smiled. She had said his name so many ways in the past few weeks. He loved each one. Just as he loved…
He loved her.
He drew back a fraction as that realization hit him. Helovedher. That was why she was all he could think about, that was why he needed to be near her at all times, that was why he was so uncomfortable with the idea of using her or the knowledge he had about the bargain she’d made with her aunt.
He loved her, and it had nothing to do with what he might gain from a union with her. All he wanted from that union was the right to call her his. To share his life with her.
Allof his life. Now he just had to convince her to open up and see the same future that flashed so beautifully before his eyes.
“Will you come with me?” he asked softly.
She tilted her head. “Now?”
He nodded and extended his hand to her. “Please.”
She hesitated, but only for a beat of time. Then she took the hand he offered and followed him.
Sophie didn’t truly understand what was happening, but she could feel that something had changed. Rowan had been angry, and then his stare had shifted and it was like the weight of all her problems had been pulled away. There was only him.
He squeezed her hand gently as he took her to a closed door far from the parlors and the party. “I have no right to ask you to share any part of yourself until you seeme,” he said.
She shook her head. “What do you mean?”
He didn’t answer, but simply turned and opened the door. He motioned for her to enter, so she released his hand and did so. She caught her breath. This room had very likely once been a parlor, but it had been transformed. There was a little furniture within and an easel in the middle with a canvas covered in cloth. Other paintings leaned against the walls.
Every one was more beautiful than the next.
She turned toward him as he entered the room and watched her. “What is this, Rowan?”
“My—my studio,” he said, and color filled his cheeks as his gaze darted away.
She took a sharp breath and looked again at the art, thinking of the other paintings she’d seen on the walls about the estate.
“Yours?” she whispered. “Are you saying that you painted these?”
He nodded slowly. “I did.”
She couldn’t help it—she staggered forward and bent to examine the pieces more closely. “Rowan,” she breathed as she took in the expert brushstrokes, the fine composition and color choices and the emotion that brightened each scene. “My God, they arewonderful.”
