Sophie stood off to the side at the Applegate ball, wishing the floor would open up and devour her whole. She had never minded a ball before. She liked catching up with friends and listening to the music and admiring the dresses worn by others in attendance.
But now that she had to say yes to any man who asked her a boon, she felt tight, anxious. Like she was waiting for some horrible thing to drop out of the sky and crush her. Already tonight she had danced four times, and each partner was more stifling than the last.
She sighed as one of her dearest friends, Hannah Blankenship, approached. Hannah threaded a hand through her arm and looked out over the crowd with her. “It’s a sorry lot, isn’t it?”
Sophie smiled at the question. Hannah was the toast of Society at present. She was so lovely that every man wanted her. So Sophie knew she understood the quandary she faced.
“I wish I could say there were good prospects here, but I have not enjoyed my dances thus far.”
Hannah shook her head. “I still don’t know why you are partaking in dances. If I didn’t have to, I certainly wouldn’t.”
Sophie hadn’t told Hannah or any of her other friends the truth about why she was suddenly saying yes. On some level, she feared their reaction since all of them admired her so much for her ability to retain her independence.
“Oh no, it’s Lord Witherspoon,” Hannah whispered, elbowing Sophie.
Sophie flinched, not from the gentle thud of Hannah’s elbow against her ribs but because Viscount Witherspoon was thirty years older than her and he burped whenever he spoke. Not to mention he was coming right for them.
“Our best chance is to split up,” Sophie hissed. “Good luck!”
Hannah scurried to the punch bowl and Sophie took off through the crowd, toward the entrance to the ball. She intended to go to the ladies retiring room, but as she exited the ballroom and turned toward the side parlor, she saw yet another group of men standing about, clearly waiting for the ladies to exit. None of them were gentlemen she wished to spend time with, so she veered away, up the opposite side of the hall and to an open door at the far end.
She moved inside and closed it behind herself, leaning back as she caught her breath. The fire had burned down low and the room was dim, not meant to be intruded upon by guests. Which made it the perfect escape from prying eyes and seeking men.
“Wretched, wretched things,” she murmured aloud.
And just as she did so, a person sat up from a reclining position on the settee that faced the fire. He turned toward her, and she caught her breath in surprise.
“Good evening, Sophie,” Rowan Sinclair drawled, leaning his arm across the back of the settee in a casual manner.
“Rowan!” she burst out, too shocked to refer to him more properly. “Blast it all, you scared the dickens out of me.”
He chuckled, a rich sound that filled the room and settled in her blood. It also made those deep dimples pop up in the hollows of his smooth cheeks. The appearance made her stomach do funny things. Things she didn’t like. Things that were the very reason she avoided this man whenever possible.
She folded her arms. “Itisn’tfunny. I didn’t realize you were here, I’ll leave you to your…well, whatever you were doing.”
She pivoted to escape him when he said, “Won’t you stay?”
She froze. He was asking her a question. One shecouldsay yes to. One that according to her bargain with her aunt, shemustsay yes to.
Damn and blast it all.
She gritted her teeth and fisted her hands at her sides, keeping her gaze firmly on the door as she ground out, “Yes.”
She turned and found he had pushed to his feet and was now leaning over the fire, stoking the flame so they were no longer in half-darkness together. Not that being alone with the door shut was proper at all, but at least with light it felt less…scandalous.
“May I get you a drink?” he asked, motioning to the sideboard and its bottles arranged in a line.
This time Sophie didn’t have to be tricked into nodding her head and responding, “Yes, please.”
He smiled as he moved to pour them each a sherry. His back was to her as he said, “I can only hope this will be a vast improvement from the watered down wine inside that insufferable party.”
She couldn’t help a half-smirk at his comment. “It’s more water than wine, that is for certain. Honestly, I think it might just be cordial. There is no sting to it.”
He faced her, holding out the glass for her. “I like a bit of sting. It makes life more interesting.”
“Some would disagree,” she said with a shrug. “Somelikea watered down existence.”
“Not you?” he pressed, motioning to the settee.
