Lady No Says Yes

by Jess Michaels

  Rowan wrinkled his brow as Louisa then explained a shocking challenge laid out to her niece. When she leaned back in her chair, he stared at her in utter shock and disbelief.

  “So she must say yes to any offer that comes her way,” he repeated, trying not to let his mind wander to the wicked things that would allow.

  Louisa twisted her mouth. “Within reason. She doesn’t have to accept any marriage proposal she doesn’t truly desire. And of course she wouldn’t do anything…untoward.”

  Rowan clenched his fists at his sides. It was hard not to picture the lovely Sophie doing quite a few untoward things in that moment. “Why tell me this?”

  “Because if you know, you may take advantage of the situation,” Louisa said. “Use it to get past Sophie’s walls, to get to know her. To allow her to know you. After that, it would be up to you two to see where it went.”

  Rowan considered the facts. Louisa had no idea of his financial motive when it came to Sophie. A deception that didn’t feel very good when she was looking at him with such hopefulness in her stare.

  But Sophie could solve his problems. And they could be a good match.

  Louisa had certainly opened a door with this secret.

  “Does she know you’re telling me this?” he asked.

  Louisa burst out laughing. “Gracious, no! And I expect you will not tell her, nor anyone else, about this. But will you use what you know?”

  He thought again of his mercenary needs and sighed. “I wouldn’t be opposed.”

  Louisa clapped her hands together. “Most excellent! Then I would suggest you find yourself an invitation to the Applegate ball tomorrow. Sophie will be there.”

  “You don’t think I should press my suit today?” he asked.

  “She needs a day off from gentlemen,” Louisa explained. “And you need time to plan your attack.”

  Rowan shook his head. “You sound as though I’m about to enter into a war with her.”

  Louisa arched a brow. “Darling, don’t you know? Love is a war. But I’ve given you all the tools you need to win. I just hope you’ll utilize them well.”

  Chapter Four

  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. “It isn’t funny. 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 she could say yes to. One that according to her bargain with her aunt, she must say 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. “Some like a watered down existence.”

  “Not you?” he pressed, motioning to the settee.

  She hesitated before she took a place there and watched him take his own. Not too close to her. Not quite far enough.

  “It seems we have few enough years on this earth not to experience as much as we can,” she replied with a shrug.

  She waited for his expression of shock, for an admonishment. After all, most men didn’t approve of her desire to truly live. Ladies were not supposed to crave adventure or excitement or…anything.

  But he didn’t scold or sniff. If anything, his smile grew wider. “Then you and I are of a mind,” he said. “I feel the same way.”

  “Yes, but you are allowed to pursue life’s pleasures,” she said with a sigh that wracked her from head to toe. “As a woman, I’m not. My options are far more limited.”

  He seemed to ponder the words for a moment. “I suppose I haven’t thought of it in those terms.”

  She glared at him. “Of course you haven’t.”

  “You know me so well, do you?” he asked.

  She turned her gaze away. “I know your type,” she said. “Rakes with no troubles who do as they like and never have to deal with the consequences.”
/>
  He leaned back. “Did I harm you in some way that I am not aware of? I do not think I deserve such censure.”

  She jerked back toward him. She had said too much, let her rumbling feelings overflow in the presence of someone she didn’t exactly trust. And now he stared at her like she had grown a second head or begun speaking in tongues.

  He also had a look of…hurt. Like she’d actually said something that pricked him.

  She sighed. “I’m…I’m sorry, Mr. Sinclair. I’ve been out of sorts tonight and I shouldn’t have spoken to you in such a fashion. You’ve always been a friend to my aunt. And I certainly don’t know you well enough to accuse you of anything, do I?”

  “Why don’t you know me well enough?” he pressed, scooting just a touch closer.

  She blinked in confusion, both caused by his question and his proximity. Something about him set her on her head. “I beg your pardon?”

  He leaned in a bit closer, his masculine scent winding its way into her nostrils. Pine, leather, warm skin. “Why don’t you know me, Sophie? As you say, I’ve been a friend to your aunt for many years. And yet you avoid me.”

  “You are forward, sir.”

  “I’m honest. And I’m asking you to be. Do you not like me?”

  She bit her lip. “Yes. No.”

  He laughed gently. “Which is it?”

  “I don’t dislike you,” she conceded. “I like that you are kind to my aunt. But I don’t know you. I…I avoid knowing you because you make me…make me…”

  “Yes?”

  “Nervous,” she squeaked out at last, turning her face as heat flamed in her cheeks.

  He didn’t say anything for what felt like an eternity. She felt his stare on her even though she didn’t dare look at him. Not when she’d said something so…true.

  “I see,” he said softly. He reached out and his fingertips brushed her chin, tilting her face back until she was forced to look at him.

  He felt so much closer now. So much bigger in the small room on the small settee. And she swayed toward him ever so slightly.

  “You don’t have to be nervous,” he said, his deep voice low and hypnotic in the otherwise silent room. “You can trust me.”

  She shook her head. “No, I think that is not true.”

  His lips twitched in another hint of a smile. “My reputation precedes me. Perhaps trust is too strong a word. But you needn’t fear me, Sophie. You never need fear me.”

  They sat like that, too close together, for what felt like an eternity. And Sophie realized, in that moment, that she wanted this man to kiss her. To touch her. She found her eyelids dipping closed and her lips tingling as she tilted her face up ever so slightly.

  But instead of brushing his mouth to hers, Rowan cleared his throat and stood up. She stared at him as he turned his back to her. “We’ll be missed if we don’t return to the ballroom soon.”

  She shook her head. Oh yes, the ballroom. She’d all but forgotten that they were in someone else’s home, at someone else’s ball. Slowly, she stood, her knees trembling enough that she reached back to steady herself on the settee arm. “You are correct, of course.”

  He turned toward her again. “Perhaps you’d do me the honor of dancing with me, Lady Sophie.”

  She jerked out a nod. “Y-yes,” she whispered.

  He smiled again and offered her his arm. But as she took it, she realized she hadn’t said yes to him because of the agreement she’d made with her aunt. She’d said yes because she wanted to dance with this man.

  And that was both shocking and utterly terrifying.

  Rowan was keenly aware of every one of his fingers as they curled around Sophie’s hip while the two of them turned about the dancefloor together. He had approached her with mercenary thoughts in his head, but now that they were together, he was truly enjoying the moment.

  Sophie was unlike any woman he’d ever known. Her independence afforded her the option to say what she truly thought, and he found her honesty refreshing. That she wanted adventure and excitement and a future that wasn’t bland and regular was even more attractive to him.

  But what he thought of more than anything, as he guided her around the floor, was the look on her face when she’d been sitting with him in the parlor. He was no monk. He knew desire and pleasure. And Sophie had wanted him to kiss her.

  More to the point, he’d very much wanted to kiss her. More than kiss her, truth be told. But since that hadn’t been his intention in that moment, he’d been taken aback by the powerful desire and had turned away from it.

  Now he was regretting that action. Or inaction.

  “Why did you become friends with my aunt?”

  He shook off his thoughts and looked down at her. She had a contemplative look on her face. Like she was trying to figure him out. “Why?”

  She nodded. “Don’t mistake me, my aunt is wonderful. I don’t doubt that anyone who meets her is bound to adore her. But you are not of an age with her. It’s a strange friendship.”

  “Perhaps it seems so,” he conceded softly, and he found Lady Louisa in the crowd. “Your aunt and my mother are friends, of course, so as a young man I knew a bit about her. But I was seated next to her at a supper party at a very…difficult time in my life.”

  “How so?” she pressed.

  He shifted, for he never spoke of his troubles, or very rarely so. But Sophie was soft and quiet and not demanding. Not digging. At least not for any cruel purpose. He found himself wanting to tell her.

  “My father died six months ago, but he had been sick off and on for a very long time,” he said past the sudden lump in his throat. “He first fell ill around the time I was seated beside your aunt. And she…she was very kind to me. Not the false kindness that is often shown by those in the ton, but something very real.”

  Sophie seemed to ponder that a moment as they spun in time to the music. “I am sorry about your father,” she said.

  “Thank you. I know you’ve experienced the same kind of loss,” he said.

  Her mouth turned down. “Only you loved your father,” she murmured.

  His eyes went wide. “I’m sorry, I had no idea that your relationship with yours was strained.”

  “That is one way to put it,” she said, stiffening in his arms. “That he was an untrustworthy bastard who was cruel to my mother until the day he killed her in the accident that took them both is another.”

  Rowan caught his breath. Everyone knew of the story of Sophie’s parents. They’d been riding in a phaeton together in the park fifteen years earlier, too recklessly, it turned out. The vehicle had crashed, killing them both instantly and orphaning the young woman in his arms. A tragedy that was whispered about, clucked about, from time to time. He had never really considered what she thought of it. What she felt about it.

  Certainly he’d never imagined it was anger that burned in her when the memory struck.

  Sophie shook her head and muttered, “I should not have said such a thing. I do not speak of it—I have no idea why I was suddenly inspired to do so.”

  “I’m not sorry,” he said softly, and found it was true. “I would like to be friends with you, Sophie.”

  “Why?” she asked, her attention returning to his face.

  He cleared his throat. “Because you make me nervous, too. Which means you are an adventure waiting to happen.” He leaned a touch closer as the strains of the music ended. “Would you be friends with me?”

  He saw the struggle across her expression. The fleeting moment where she seemed to want to run. The fight to find an answer. Then she nodded. “Y-yes.”

  He smiled, though there was something unsatisfying about her single-word answer. Was she saying yes merely because her aunt had forced her into a bargain, or did she truly want to be a friend to him? To get to know him?

  It was a jumbled situation, that was certain.

  She pulled her hand from his, her cheeks suddenly flushed with color. “I-I should go.”

  She didn’t wait f
or him to respond, but rushed from his side. He watched her careen through the crowd, past her aunt and her friends and all the mercenary gentlemen who were waiting to press their suit. She passed it all and exited directly onto the terrace.

  He didn’t recall making the decision, but he found himself striding after her. He pushed through the terrace doors and found her standing at the stone wall, staring up at the moon above. He caught his breath at how lovely she was in the moonlight, and there was nothing in the world that could have stopped him in that moment.

  She gasped as she turned toward him, watched him approach her wordlessly. She gasped again when he put his arms around her, bent his head and brushed his lips to hers. She was supple against him, molded to his chest as her trembling hands lifted to grip the lapels of his tailored jacket.

  Her lips were impossibly soft, and he tilted his head for better access as he lightly traced the bee-stung swell of them. She caught a breath and he delved deeper, tasting the hollows of her mouth as she made a low moan in the back of her throat that hardened his cock and boiled his blood in his veins.

  Reluctantly, he drew back, steadying her gently before he stepped away. They stood panting, staring at each other, for what felt like an eternity before he said, “That is what I should have done in the parlor, Sophie.”

  Her lips parted in what appeared to be shock, and he could see her mind racing again, just as it had in the ballroom. He didn’t wait for her reaction, for her arguments, for her decisions about what she should or shouldn’t do. He merely smiled at her. “Until we meet again, my lady.”

  Then he turned on his heel and left the terrace, left the ball, left her standing there to ponder what had just happened between them. And knew that he would do exactly the same thing.

  Chapter Five

  “What do you think of Rowan Sinclair?” Sophie asked, hearing the tremble in her voice even as she continued stitching on her needlepoint.

  Without looking up, Sophie was well aware of Hannah’s gaze. There was a beat of silence, then another, and heat flooded her cheeks, much as it had on the terrace after he kissed her so shockingly and thoroughly.