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“That was never a proper offer.” Her own voice was low and husky. “Though I believe I could have made no other choice. Those were not lost years, Rowden.”

She combed her fingers through the hair at the back of his neck. “You had your education and your tour and now you have your stake in the Albion. You would have none of those things had you shackled yourself with a wife at eighteen years of age. And I made a terrible wife at any rate. It took Henry years to train me properly.”

He slid his hands from her arms to her sides, fingers skimming her breasts. “They might not be lost years, but I resent every one that he had to share with you and I didn’t.”

“You could have come back at any time, Rowden.”

“No,” he said, “I couldn’t.”

She held his gaze for an interminable moment. The lamp caught a stray draught and flickered, showing the uncertainty on her face. “Are you making me an offer now?” she whispered.

He slid his hands to her back, drawing her firmly against him. “I am claiming the winnings from our bet. Choose me my bride. Come home with me, come to my bed, and we will consummate our marriage.”

“We are not married yet.”

“I want to anticipate our vows, then. With great fervor.”

He kissed her then, finally, and she opened to him without reserve. She tasted of cream and berries and every delicious thing he had longed for in his life. When he pressed her body to his, she fit against him perfectly. He’d known she would. The smolder in his veins turned into a bonfire.

“That is highly improper. To anticipate the vows,” she whispered against his mouth. She cradled the back of his neck with her palms, holding his head close to her.

“That is what you get for being a fast woman who gambles for high stakes.” He stole another kiss.

“I won our bet,” she reminded him, panting.

“I did,” he answered. “Your plan for Lily and Giles brought you back to me.”

He slid his tongue into her mouth, claiming her, and she surrendered. She had always been his, and at last he could claim her. The heat burned through him, fierce and powerful. His love for her would burn him to the ground, again, but a new man could rise again from the ashes. The man she would choose, this time.

A knock sounded from the door. The series of taps suggested impatience, as if the knocker had been trying to get their attention for some time.

Sophronia’s eyes were glazed with passion. She sagged against him, and the urge rode him to take her here, press her into one of the upholstered chairs and toss her skirts aside and remove every last barrier between them. Make his claiming complete. He wasn’t in the habit of debauching women in parlors, but this was Sophronia. She turned him primal, stripping through the façade he’d cultivated as a gentleman to the raw man beneath.

The knocking persevered. Rowden cleared his throat. “Yes?”

“Mr. Rowden, sir.” Bosley’s voice floated through the portal. “A boy has come with a message from your household. You’re asked to return at once.”

Rowden sighed, resting his forehead against Sophronia’s. “I suppose Giles had to be hauled home from somewhere again. I forbid the Albion staff to bring him opium, so he’s gone elsewhere.”

“He promised us he would mend his ways.” Sophronia deftly straightened the bodice Rowden had disarranged during their embrace, then followed him out the door into the hallway where Bosley stood, wearing the version of his impassive expression that communicated deep concern.

A pit opened in Rowden’s gut, an empty hole amid the sense of completion that had filled him with Sophronia in his arms. What had Giles done?

Every window on the first two floors of the house in Clarges Street showed light within, from the ground floor parlors to the family rooms on the first floor. Either the house was full of visitors, or people were rushing from room to room.

Sophronia held Rowden’s hand tightly as they stepped inside, and she felt his worry bite deep, along with her own. Rowden had always been careful and protective of his cousin. Giles had never been their playmate, being a sickly boy, and Rowden had always wanted to be away from the Baron’s house as much as possible, while the Baron was anxious to keep Giles close and guarded indoors.

But Rowden would do anything to keep Giles safe and well. Just as he had gone out of his way, risking his place at the Albion and spending thousands of pounds of his personal fortune, all to remedy the wrong Bint had done her.

He was a wonderful man, protective, loyal, fierce, and honorable. And she so, so utterly loved him.

Lily stood in the family parlor, her face showing the print of tears, her hands white from wringing her hands. As soon as she saw Sophronia, she burst into sobs and rushed into her arms.

“He’s in a terrible state, Sophronia. The physician says he imbibed too much. He’s bleeding him now.”

“Giles?” Sophronia said into Lily’s hair.

“Opium,” Rowden said. The set of his mouth was terrible. “Who brought him?”