Lady No Says Yes

by Jess Michaels

  “Rowan Sinclair,” Hannah repeated, her tone carefully neutral. “I think he’s very handsome. I think that you danced with him at the Applegate ball three nights ago and insisted that it meant nothing to you. Were you not completely honest about that fact?”

  Sophie shifted in her place. Normally she spoke of her concerns to her aunt, but Louisa was not likely to approve of her sharing a scandalous kiss on a terrace, agreement between them or not. Even if she were, Rowan was a friend to Louisa. Sophie couldn’t imagine baring her soul about the man to her.

  “I don’t know,” she admitted through clenched teeth.

  Hannah tossed her needlepoint on the settee next to her and leaned forward with a grin. “That sounds promising. Do tell all, for I know you’ve always liked him!”

  “I have not!” Sophie argued. “I think nothing of the man.”

  “Posh!” Hannah said on a laugh. “You are constantly watching him from the corner of your eye and making little comments about his attire or his comportment.”

  “Gossip means nothing,” she argued.

  Hannah arched a brow. “It wouldn’t mean anything if you ever gossiped about any other man in our acquaintance. But he’s the only one. And why wouldn’t you be interested? He is handsome and dashing and has a bit of a dangerous air about him.”

  Sophie couldn’t argue that fact. Rowan had felt dangerous on the terrace a few nights before. Her thoughts and dreams of him since had been equally so.

  “What happened?” Hannah pressed.

  Sophie sighed. “Fine, since you are insistent. We bumped into each other in the parlor. We had a very…odd conversation there.”

  “About what?” Hannah asked.

  Sophie shrugged. “I don’t know. Adventure. The expectations of men versus women.”

  Hannah’s brow wrinkled. “Heavy topics for a passing conversation.”

  “It didn’t feel heavy. It just felt…normal.” Sophie said with a frown. “Then we danced. But afterward he followed me out onto the terrace and he…kissed me.”

  She said the last two words as one quick, smashed-together sound, but there was no hiding it from Hannah. She gasped, clapping a hand over her mouth as her eyes went wide. “He kissed you!” she squealed.

  Sophie flinched and looked over her shoulder. “Gracious, tell the whole house, will you?”

  Hannah shook her head. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, but that is shocking news. I couldn’t help but react. Heavens, Sophie! He kissed you?”

  Sophie felt the heat in her cheeks, brought about by both the revelation of her secret and her memories of that moment. Of Rowan’s mouth on hers, hot and hard and insistent. Of his taste, mint and sherry and something that was potently male. Of the feel of his strong arms around her. Of her body’s shameful reaction to all those things and more.

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  “What was it like?”

  She shifted in her seat. “It was…I don’t know how to describe it.”

  “Well, try, won’t you? I’m fairly certain my father is about to barter me off to some dreadful man. I want to know what kissing is like before I have to share my first with someone…horrible.”

  Sophie stared. “Hannah, you cannot be serious. Would he do that?”

  Hannah bent her head. “I don’t know.”

  “Oh, Hannah!”

  “I-I can’t talk about it, it’s too terrifying. Please, just give me your news. It is happy, at least, and it takes my mind off of whatever terrifying paths it wishes to take.”

  Sophie frowned. Here she had been swirling around and around in her head about what had happened with Rowan. Something so silly when compared to what Hannah had just described. After all, agreement or not, Sophie still had control over her own future. Her aunt would never force her or barter her away.

  “I wanted to kiss him,” she admitted to both her friend and, for the first time out loud, to herself. “In the parlor I wanted to, but he pulled away and I felt a little foolish. So when he came across the terrace and caught me in his arms, it was like a dream. A—a fantasy.”

  Hannah smiled. “And what was it like?”

  “Sweet,” Sophie said, and turned her face with a blush. “Hard and passionate. Unexpected. Rather like the man who bestowed the kiss upon me.”

  “So what will you do?” Hannah asked. “Does this mean you are courting?”

  Sophie burst out laughing. “Oh, I think not. A kiss might mean something to me, but could it to a person like Rowan Sinclair? He’s known as a rake. A rogue. I’m sure it wasn’t something he put much thought into. A fleeting desire. He likely hasn’t thought of it since.”

  Hannah’s mouth quirked and there was no mistaking the disappointment in her stare. “And here I thought I’d witness a true love story. They’re all the rage, you know.”

  Sophie flinched ever so slightly. “Everyone always appears to be in love at the beginning, Hannah. It doesn’t mean that sentiment will last. Yes, there are a great many supposed love matches in the swirl of Society lately, but if there is one thing I know, it is that looks can be deceiving.”

  Hannah frowned, concern on her face, and Sophie tensed. She didn’t want to discuss this any further. So she forced a falsely bright smile on her face. “Are you coming to the Waterfield ball tonight?”

  Hannah shrugged. “I’m brought to every ball, aren’t I? My father insists. So yes, I’ll be there.”

  “Good,” Sophie said. “It will be nice to have a friend in the crowd.”

  “And if Mr. Rowan Sinclair joins the party?” Hannah teased.

  “Then I suppose he will likely ignore me,” Sophie whispered. “And that will prove my point that whatever was between us was meaningless.”

  But as she said the words, they stung her more deeply than she knew they should.

  Rowan searched the crowd spiraling out before him and sucked in a breath of frustration. He’d been at this crush for over half an hour and he had not yet found Sophie. Not that he was certain he was going to approach her. His mercenary pursuit of her, enabled by inside knowledge of her agreement with her aunt, was feeling more and more ungentlemanly by the day.

  Of course, he hadn’t been thinking of any of that when he kissed her three nights before. No, that had been about pleasure and desire, not a need for anything but to know her taste. And that taste, that feel of her in his arms, was all he’d thought about since.

  Madness, considering he’d known the woman for years and not been driven by such a drumbeat of need.

  “Rowan!”

  He turned to find Lady Louisa coming to his side. His heart leapt, both because he had no idea if his friend knew what he’d been doing with her charge, and also because her presence made it clear that Sophie was indeed in attendance.

  “Lady Louisa,” he said with a smile that suddenly felt too wide. “What a pleasure.”

  “It is,” she agreed. “You look handsome, as always.”

  He laughed at her compliment. “That red suits you well, my lady.”

  She glanced down at her gown. “Thank you. I hesitated in the fabric, for red is awfully bold for a woman of my advanced age, but Sophie insisted. She says life is too short not to wear red.”

  He nodded. “Your niece is wiser than her years would imply. Is she…is she in attendance tonight?”

  He had hoped his question would seem nonchalant, but from the way Louisa jerked her gaze to his face, it would seem it was not.

  Her lips twitched. “She is,” she said slowly. “I believe she just finished dancing with Lord Smithly and has decided to have a breath of fresh air on the terrace. If one wished to find her, that would be a good place to look.”

  Rowan tensed. The terrace. Not the same one where he’d kissed her, of course, but still…

  “Perhaps she would not like to be disturbed,” he suggested.

  She arched a brow. “I’m sure she wouldn’t. But that doesn’t mean company isn’t what she needs, does it?”

  “I wouldn’t know abo
ut that,” Rowan said, though his errant mind took him back to the soft sound of pleasure Sophie had made when he touched her. Need was something he could read quite well in that circumstance.

  Which was, in truth, slightly terrifying.

  “It is up to you, of course,” Louisa said with a slight incline of her head. “Now I see a friend waving—I must go. Lovely to see you as always, Rowan.”

  She slipped off into the crowd, leaving Rowan to his own thoughts. And to stare off across the room toward the terrace doors that would lead him to Sophie.

  Now he knew where she was. And he just had to decide what to do about it.

  Sophie crept down the winding path through the garden, darting her eyes around for other guests. The night was warm and the path lit by lanterns, so she didn’t doubt others might be around. She didn’t want to see others.

  Saying yes was exhausting. She didn’t like any of the men who pursued her. At first it had been the quality of her partners that troubled her, but now more appealing men were circling her. Lord Smithly, the last man she’d danced with, was actually very charming and even handsome.

  The problem was that she compared him to…to…

  “Sophie?”

  She froze on the path at the sound of the warm, deep voice of the very man she now compared all others to: Rowan. She didn’t have to look to know it was him. She didn’t have to see his face. She knew his voice. Worse, she knew the feel of him, the presence of him.

  She didn’t want that. She didn’t want him. She didn’t want to want. And yet he kept popping up, suddenly and unexpectedly, and she couldn’t say no. That had nothing to do with her aunt’s suggestion of a Season of Yes.

  “Sophie?” he repeated, now with more concern to his voice. More question. She couldn’t stand with her trembling back to him all night, much as she’d like to do so.

  At last she slowly turned and looked at him. He was bathed in moonlight—it danced off his dark hair and his lean face, it brightened his eyes. It made him glow like some unattainable treasure in a silly children’s story.

  “Rowan…Mr. Sinclair,” she squeaked out. “I didn’t see you earlier.”

  “Nor I you,” he said, moving closer, almost with caution. Like he was afraid she’d run like a spooked rabbit in the woods. It didn’t seem like the worst response. He was certainly a wolf in this scenario.

  “You were looking for me?” she asked, hearing the tremble in her voice. Hating that it was in her hands and her knees, too, especially when he took yet another step closer.

  He nodded. “I was. All through the crowd and finding myself very disappointed when I didn’t see you amongst the revelers.”

  “I was there,” she said, turning away slightly, for she feared he could read her face. Read her desire for another kiss. Read how afraid she was of him and everything this attraction to him represented. “Dancing, even.”

  “So your aunt said,” he drawled. “Lord Smithly, eh?”

  She darted her gaze toward him. His tone was light, but his mouth was drawn down in a frustrated expression. “Yes,” she admitted. “He is a fine enough man, I suppose.”

  “He is that,” Rowan said, and moved even closer. “Fine enough.”

  She swallowed hard, for he was edging into her space now. Just as he had when he kissed her all those nights ago. She found herself staring up at his lips, picturing them sliding over hers again until she could no longer bear her own weight from the pleasure of it.

  His hand reached out and he cupped her cheek gently. She shivered out a breath she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding.

  “Why are you running?” he asked, his voice so low now. Rough.

  She shifted which made his fingers slide across her skin, sending waves of sensation through her entire body. “I-I’m not running.”

  “Oh, yes you are,” he corrected. “I know the look of it. Why, Sophie?”

  “Because he wasn’t…they aren’t…he wasn’t…” she stammered, finding herself unable to complete any of those sentences. Finding they all ended with one word: you. She ran because none of those men was Rowan.

  And he seemed to understand that, read it in her expression or her mind. His eyes went wider, his fingers bunched against her cheek, and then he wrapped an arm around her waist. He tugged and she fell against him, lifted her hand to his chest to support herself as she looked up into his eyes.

  He held her there for just a moment and then he bent his head, closer and closer, until his lips brushed hers. Unlike the first time he kissed her, when there was something vivid and wild and out of control in the act, this time he was gentle. Almost too gentle. He was teasing, and frustration grew in her at the knowledge. She wanted more. She wanted that animal desire that had coursed between them the last time.

  She wanted to feel again, but she was so inexperienced that she had no idea how to manage the kiss in that direction. But she thought of that night when he’d first kissed her. He had put his tongue inside her mouth and it had felt so good.

  So she slowly parted her lips and then traced the crease of his mouth with her tongue. He jolted in surprise, but his mouth came open and she took the opportunity. Once again he tasted of mint and sherry, of desire and danger, and she tilted her head to get more of it. More of him.

  He made a low, animal sound in his throat and then he gathered her closer before he drove his tongue against hers, the wolf reawakened by her boldness. She lifted into him, going on instinct, going on pleasure, and felt one of his hands trail down her side, across her hip, and then he shockingly grabbed her bottom and ground her against him.

  Sensation exploded through her and she let out a cry against his mouth. And in that moment there was another sound in the air. Voices.

  He pulled away, all but shoving her behind his back to offer her protection with his body as they both stared in the direction of the sound. People were coming down the walkway toward them. Far enough away that they very likely hadn’t seen the shocking things they’d been doing. Close enough that an interception was only moments away.

  Sophie stared up at him, at his jaw clenched tight and his eyes focused on those who would intrude upon their moment. He looked dangerous. He looked perfect.

  “Please, I can’t…I can’t…” she whispered.

  His focus jerked back to her. He held her stare for what felt like an eternity, then nodded, caught her hand and drew her away from the path. She followed wordlessly, trusting him to take her someplace safe. Someplace quiet. Someplace where she could regather herself before she was forced to return to being Lady Yes.

  They twisted and turned, and at last he came to a stop in front of the hothouse situated in the back corner of the estate grounds. He glanced toward her, uncertain, it seemed, in this moment.

  “Is this…all right?” he asked.

  She nodded. “I only need to regather myself.”

  He said nothing more, but pushed the door open and motioned her inside. The evening air had been cool and dry, and she gasped at the muggy heat inside the glass building. All around them were flowers, tended by Lady Waterfield, herself, if gossip was to be believed. Sophie sucked in a deep breath of fragrant air before she heard the door behind her shut softly.

  And now they were alone.

  She turned toward him. He was standing five feet away, just at the door, and all he was doing was watching her. Careful, cautious…but also heated.

  Inescapable.

  “Perhaps this was a mistake,” she said, more to herself than to him.

  He arched a brow. “You didn’t want to be in the garden, did you? Nor return to the party? Why question yourself now?”

  She clenched her teeth. “Because I’m expected to be there.”

  He shrugged. “Expectation is overrated.”

  She narrowed her gaze at him. “Says the man who lives up to his own reputation of perfection.”

  “My reputation?” he repeated, amusement in his tone.

  “Yes,” she said. “You are the bored,
lay-about third son of an earl, aren’t you? Off seducing women in gardens?”

  Now his lips pursed. “I don’t recall seducing you, my dear. Yes, I kissed you, but you haven’t exactly pushed me away, have you?”

  She shifted and turned her back on him. Looking at him was so dangerous. He drew her in when she did. He made her…want.

  “I-I should have. Pushed you away, I mean.”

  “Why are you so afraid of what is between us?” he asked softly. “It goes beyond the normal simpering that young ladies are taught when it comes to what men desire.”

  She worried her lip, still not looking at him. “I-I’m not afraid,” she said. Lied. She lied.

  “Your voice trembles,” he said. He was moving on her, but she was still too nervous to look at him. “And it belies any denial you make. You’re afraid.”

  She turned and found him right behind her, so close that she nearly careened into his broad chest. She lost her breath as she looked up at him, lost any ability to argue.

  “But you also like it when I kiss you,” he continued, his voice hypnotic. He was reaching for her again, smoothing a hand across her cheek, down to cup her neck. “You want to deny it, but you can’t. Can you?”

  She struggled, trying to find the denial but unable to. Because he was right. Finally she sighed. “I can’t.”

  He leaned in and kissed her once again. Immediately she lifted into him, her arms coming around his neck, his hands pulling her tighter, closer. Their mouths crashed together in reckless, abandoned desire, and her body began to pulse with feeling she’d never felt, sensations that were both fascinating and terrifying.

  She broke the kiss with a harsh cry, but couldn’t bring herself to leave his arms. She stared up into his face, so close, so handsome, so focused on her.

  “I-I don’t know what this is,” she gasped out. “I don’t know what to do, Rowan.”

  He tilted his head, his expression gentling. “It’s desire, Sophie. Need. Pleasure. Those things aren’t wrong, no matter what someone has told you in the past.”