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“Your cousin is in the gaming parlor with Fanny,” he said. “Losing money, I think.”

Her eyelids tightened, and she pressed her full lips together. “I would very much like to say that Humphrey’s financial losses are no concern of mine, but I cannot believe he will not try to make it my concern.”

“I fear the same. Shall I turn him out?”

“That would merely give him the opportunity to complain about you and the Albion, which we cannot wish.”

He adored how she said we. How she was allowing his concern for her, and sharing concerns for him. That meant she felt something for him, did it not?

“He said something else I did not like.” He was moving closer to her, unconsciously, it would seem. Her skirts brushed against his stockings and the ties of his knee breeches. “He hinted that he has some power to influence whether the partners at your husband’s bank release the funds that are owed you.”

Her brow furrowed in a frown. “That cannot be. He does not hold the power to bend the terms of Henry’s will, and I cannot think he has any hold over the associates at Hinton’s, either.”

“He seemed to think he did. I thought you should know.”

She watched him steadily, her gaze focusing on one of his eyes, then the other. He feared she could see too far into him, find all his deepest thoughts—and shameful secrets—laid bare.

“You drew me from my conversation about my girls’ school to tell me Humphrey is boasting of some influence over Mr. Bint and Mr. Withers?”

“No,” he said, sliding his palm over her arm. “I drew you away because I cannot bear not to be close to you.”

“Rowden,” she breathed, and the sound was a sigh and a moan, but an invitation rather than a scold. When he folded his fingers around her forearms, she leaned into him, and this time it was she who sought his mouth, she who closed the distance.

She tasted of sugared fruit and herself, some essence of Sophronia that drove him mad. “Rowden,” she murmured again, sagging against him.

He slid his tongue into her mouth and claimed her, searching out all the sweet corners and crevices. The top of his head swelled and threatened to burst. A hot ache raced down his spine, feeding a heavy heat in his nether regions.

“I know you said you cannot,” he muttered against his lips. “But cannot what? And why not? Sophronia, you are driving me mad.”

In response she anchored her hands on either side of his face and kissed him more firmly. This time she slid her tongue inside his mouth, a tentative exploration, and he groaned and crushed her closer, hauling her body tight against his.

“You want me,” he accused her.

She gasped for air when he lifted his head. Her eyes were glazed with passion and glowed with deep green lights. “I do, I do.” The words were nearly a sob.

“Then why not lie with me? Come to my bed tonight, Ro.” He took her mouth and drank deeply, as if he could tease out her will, her surrender.

“Oh,” she moaned as he dragged his mouth down the slim line of her neck and kissed across her collarbone, drawing closer and closer to her breasts. Her fingers curled in his hair, tugged him closer. “Rowden—I won’t.”

“Why not? Would you rather I come to you?”

He licked the top of a breast, and she whimpered, clutching his head to her. “No. We cannot—I cannot have that, either.”

“Why not?” he demanded. “Do I not please you?”

He reached a hand into the bodice of her gown and scooped one firm breast out of her stays. The globe popped free, the nipple dark and prominent. He closed his mouth over it, pulling with his tongue and lips.

She panted and pressed against him, wild, wanton. “Rowden,” she sobbed.

He lifted his head to stare at her. Their bodies were pressed so close, a skein of silk wouldn’t fit between them. He nipped at her lip. “Don’t you feel this?” The desire between them was undeniable. He knew her answer by the way her hips melted against him, by the way she bent her knee so she was cradled against him, and he against her. The walls of the room closed in around them, a quiet severance from the rest of the world, a place where only passion ruled.

She met his burning gaze, but he could not read those unfathomable depths. “I do feel it.” Her words wisped over his lips, their faces were so close together.

He clamped his arms around her back, holding her tightly to him. “Then why not follow this to its end? Don’t you believe it would be good?”

“I—I wouldn’t know.” Her fingers dug into his shoulders as if she were holding on to him like he was a sturdy post in a river current, the one remaining anchor to shore. “Rowden—I’ve never felt this.”

“Because it is us,” he said roughly, bending his head to her other breast. He would make her see. He would make it impossible for her to deny him, to deny them. He would bite with his teeth through every last fear until all her restraint was gone.