Sophie nearly snorted at the dry delivery of her aunt’s question. “I think I made a very bad bargain with you,” she said.
Louisa smiled into her cup as she took a slow sip. When she’d swallowed, she said, “It’s only been ten days. Are you reneging already?”
“It may have only been ten days, but it feels like a lifetime,” Sophie said, setting her teacup aside and rising to her feet to pace to the window. “I have danced with buffoons, walked in gardens with utter idiots and had everything under the sun explained to me as if I were a fool who could barely feed myself. It is exhausting!” She pointed to her slippers. “Also, I’d like to point out that I can hardly feel my toes today thanks to them being trod upon by that horrible Duke of Landonburg at last night’s soiree.”
“That horrible Duke of Landonburg is the most sought after bachelor in Society,” Louisa said gently.
Sophie huffed out a breath. “If he didn’t have gads of money, he wouldn’t be, I assure you. He is dull as dry toast, Aunt Louisa! I thought I might die of boredom right there on the dancefloor.”
“Well, that is a bit dramatic, isn’t it, my love?”
Sophie sighed heavily and retook her seat. “Perhaps a little, I admit. But I do not need his funds, so it is so frustrating to have to feign interest when he went on about the benefits of crop rotation for the entire duration of our dance.”
“I suppose one could argue it is positive that the man is interested in his country duties, for they impact a good many people,” Aunt Louisa offered weakly.
Sophie narrowed her gaze. “Are you trying to marry me off to the Duke of Landonburg?”
“No!” her aunt replied with a laugh. “Of course not. I only don’t want to see you give up. Your sudden acquiescence to dance and interact with gentlemen has stirred a great deal of interest, my dear. You are not seeing the best quality of men yet, that is all.”
Sophie pursed her lips. She would not say it to her aunt, but she was disappointed as much as frustrated by just that fact. Somewhere in her heart she’d dreamed of being surrounded by eligible, interesting men who might set her heart to beating faster.
“You look sad, dearest,” Aunt Louisa said softly.
Sophie shrugged. “It is only that it seems like those who have approached me are only interested in my money. Or think I should be willing to settle for theirs. I suppose I thought there might be more…sparkin this endeavor.”
“I know it’s difficult, but please keep trying,” Louisa encouraged as she reached out to take Sophie’s hand.
Sophie nodded. “I will continue the bargain, aunt, but only because I adore you. I hope I won’t disappoint you, though, when I say that I cannot imagine any man striking my interest this Season.”
“You could never disappoint me, dearest. Now, I am about to have a guest for tea. Would you like to join us?”
Sophie shook off her problems. “Who is joining you?”
“Rowan Sinclair.”
Her aunt continued speaking, but Sophie didn’t hear anything more. Once Sinclair’s name was spoken, it was as if the air was drawn out of the room. She sat calmly, but inside she was clawing for breath, for purchase.
The dashing third son of the Earl of Terrington had always been a friend to Louisa. She appreciated his independent streak and his somewhat inappropriate humor. But in Sophie, he inspired quite a different reaction.
He terrified her.
He was too handsome, too certain of himself, too…justtoo. She didn’t like that when he was near her, she wanted to just look at him, with his dark hair and bright blue eyes and dimples that only brought attention to his full lips. She didn’t want to notice his broad shoulders and his fine physique and the way he moved with such certainty and grace.
Men like Sinclair were not safe. They swept a woman up. They made a woman’s heart beat faster, like she’d claimed to want if only in her own mind. But it was an out-of-control quickness. One that meant she was surrendering reason.
And Sophie wanted no part of that kind of madness.
“I have a bit of a headache, actually,” she said, rising in the middle of whatever her aunt was saying. “Too much bad wine and dance partners, I suppose. I think I will not join you and Mr. Sinclair.”
Her aunt kept her gaze on her for a beat too long, then she stood, as well. “Certainly, my dear, I will make your excuses. Go up and rest yourself. I’ll come check on you after he’s gone.”
Sophie forced a smile and leaned in to bussher cheek. “You are too good to me, Aunt Louisa. I hope I’m not too much of a trial for you.”
Louisa touched her face gently. “Never, love. Now run along.”
Sophie followed the instruction and turned from the room. But as she headed up the stairs toward her comfortable bed and away from the threat of the storm that was Rowan Sinclair, she couldn’t help a sense of unease. About the bargain she had made with her aunt. About the man who would now enter her parlor and intrude upon the sanctum she found such peace in.
Rowan stood in Lady Louisa’s parlor, waiting for his hostess to join him as he stared up at a portrait that hung on the parlor wall. It was of Louisa and her niece, seated close together, their hands intertwined. They shared the same green eyes, though Louisa’s hair was a fading blonde. And the older woman was, of course, more lined with age, though she remained quite handsome.
