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“I tore my own heart to marry him,” she whispered. “But I had to, Rowden. There was no other way.”

“We could have found one together. You didn’t even try, Ro. You just…broke us.”

It broke her, hearing his old girlhood name for her on the lips of this stern, accusing man. With a small sob she slid her hands along his cheeks and pulled his face down to hers.

She hadn’t allowed herself to imagine what it would be like to kiss Rowden, or at least, not very often. As a girl, she’d sensed that it would shift their easy familiarity, and something would be lost if she gave in to the occasional idle fantasy. She’d wanted her friend and supposed kissing and such could wait until they were married.

Then, when Henry was courting her in his efficient, bloodless way, and she realized she would not be marrying Rowden after all, imagining his kisses had seemed no more than a way to flail her already serrated heart. In her marriage, she had learned to set idle fantasies aside altogether, a way to save herself from useless longing or regret.

But now. He was no longer the boy she’d known so thoroughly, and she was no longer that girl who had known him. She didn’t know what to expect from kissing this Rowden, and nothing could have prepared her for the enormity of his presence, the overwhelming sensations of his touch, and the tidal wave that crashed over her when his lips at last met hers.

His mouth was soft and warm, a surprise when his lips could look so hard when he sneered at her. His breath smelled of clove and he tasted like brandy, deep, rich, intoxicating. She was tentative, exploring, ready to pull away at the first sign of rejection, but there was nothing tentative in the way he fit his mouth to hers and then drank her in—there was no other word for it. His mouth pressed to hers was a seal, and through it she delivered up her soul.

He slid his hands from her shoulders down her back, gripping her waist, pulling her close. His body was long and firm and heated. She tipped back her head with a little moan of wonder, astonished that a kiss could feel so charged and reassuring at the same time, the heady swirling heat of his mouth pressed to hers, and the bone-deep knowledge that she was fulfilling some destiny she had been born for. She had been created to kiss Rowden, slip her arms around Rowden and cling to him, hold him to her as if he were an anchor and she could never be pulled out to sea again.

The kiss shifted, his tongue plunging into her mouth, and she gave a little whimper of surprise at the rush of sensation, the weakness that flooded her limbs in response to that sensual invasion. It was too much, the torrents too overpowering, the waves battering too much at her senses, and she was going to be lost, wrecked, pulled out to sea and drowned. She couldn’t let go and surrender, give herself over to the torrents, for what would become of her if she did?

Slowly, straining, she swam up from the currents and pulled her head away, gasping for air. Rowden stared into her face, his breath as ragged and uneven as hers, the color in his eyes swallowed by darkness. She clung to him, swaying, trying to find her balance in the surging tide.

“So,” she said, her voice coming small and far away. “That.”

His voice was a tumble of gravel on the shore. “That.”

He touched her cheek, sweeping his thumb over the skin, and it shocked her how much she wanted to lean into his touch, rest her cheek in his palm, rest her whole head against him. She never rested on anybody.

She instructed her hands to unclench, to untangle, then stepped back, forcing air between them. “I—I believe it is time I went home.”

His eyes flared, then narrowed. “I will take you.”

“Nate can take me. I’m sure you are needed here.”

“I can leave on a moment’s notice.” He hadn’t uncurled his hands from her waist. His fingers were a taut brand through the fabric of her gown, his grasp a cradle she didn’t want to leave. “Will I find you in my bed?”

The husky growl thrilled her. Rowden desired her. Rowden desired her. She didn’t know how to make sense of this new reality.

Yet she knew that if she went into this without consideration, she would be walking into a fire that might immolate her. She would be burned to the ground and disappear, and she had only begun to find herself again.

“I—I think that would be unwise.” Unbidden, an image of Fanny Glass floated through her mind’s eye. The woman’s keen, hurt expression as she watched Rowden when he wasn’t looking at her. That would be Sophronia, set aside and overlooked, if she did not take care.

“I think there could be nothing wiser.”

“Than for us to have an affair? No.” She forced another step back, putting herself beyond his reach. His hands fell away. “I am a guest in your uncle’s home. It would be in poor taste.”

“It is my house,” he growled.

Yes, he dwelled there too, but he was missing the point. “It would set a bad example for Lily. Were your uncle to discover our indiscretion, he would turn us both out.”

His eyes narrowed to slits. “Thus scotching Lily’s chances to secure Giles. It is all about winning this bet for you, isn’t it?”

“I won’t have anyone else choosing a husband for me. Not again.”

He stepped closer, but he didn’t touch her. Her knees trembled. His scent reached out to encircle her, spice and raw man. Rowden, desiring her as a man desires a woman. The world had tilted on its axis and she could not find purchase.

“Don’t you want to know what you missed out on, so long ago?”

She closed her eyes against the elemental pull. That way lay danger. Madness. Obliteration. She opened her eyes, trying to see him clearly.

“We can’t go back to that, Rowden. We are different people now.”