Her sweet smile did nothing to dissuade them, especially knowing that it was far from genuine. Did Rowan Yaxley even possess the ability to give a genuinely sweet smile? He doubted it. By the age of thirty-five she'd start having forehead wrinkles from frowning so much.

"Clearly you do care," he challenged, leaning an elbow against the wall next to where she stood to minimize the space she'd have to scoot past him. He wasn't a fan of being walked away from, nor being prevented from having the last word. "Else you wouldn't have taken note of it. But it doesn't really matter." Not the name, though he found a small joy in knowing that she'd heard he'd been flirting with someone—some girl, somewhere—and had paid enough attention to remember it.

"Where are you off to in such a hurry, anyways? Getting ready for the party?" He deliberately scanned his eyes down her body, acutely aware that she wouldn't be going near any ballroom dressed as she was. "Be sure to jot my name down on your dance card, won't you? I wouldn't miss it for the world," he added. He'd meant it more as a taunt, but it dawned on him almost immediately after he spoke it that he wouldn't miss the opportunity to dance with her... but just to poke fun at her dancing skills, of course.

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