The Rogue Not Taken by Sarah MacLean
She didn’t want him to judge her.
Embarrassment flared hot and unwelcome.
She wanted him to leave.
He stayed, sadly, turning back to starry-eyed Jane, and said, “But she was so eager to see her old friend”—he leaned in conspiratorially—“and, between us, to have one of these legendary buns, that she forgot to ask for one for me.” He looked to Robbie. “Of course, we’ve been traveling for days, so I forgive her. Exhaustion takes a toll on such a delicate lady.” Sophie resisted the urge to roll her eyes.
“Of course, my lord,” Robbie said, reaching for a second bun and a length of cotton in which to wrap them.
“Are you a lord?” Alice asked, the arrival of an aristocrat apparently more interesting than breakfast.
“I am indeed.” King bent down to meet her. “How do you do, Miss—”
Alice did not understand the prompt, so Sophie interjected. “Alice.”
“Alice is a lovely name. For a lovely young lady.”
Alice laughed. “I’m not a lady.” She looked to Sophie. “But she is.”
“She is,” Jane replied. “She’s to be a marchioness. And then a duchess.”
Alice’s eyes went wide. “Cor!”
“Alice!” Jane hushed her, turning an apologetic gaze on Sophie. “She doesn’t meet many aristocrats.”
Sophie smiled down at King, hating the way seeing him with little Alice made her feel as though she’d like to see him with other children. With his own. She pushed the thought out of her mind. “I rather wish I met fewer aristocrats myself.”
King laughed and stood, looking to all the world like a doting suitor.
Sophie wanted to kick him in the shin, and might have if Robbie hadn’t interrupted, extending a package of pastry to King. “Two buns, my lord.”
“Thank you. Is there any way you might spare a third?” King asked, smiling down at Sophie, obviously enjoying the part he played, “The coachman will no doubt be peckish.”
“No doubt.” Sophie said, barely containing her irritation. Was he never planning to leave this place? “You are very kind.”
He leaned close, his words whispering at her ear, loud enough for the whole town to overhear. “Only when I am with you.”
Still, she blushed, hating herself for it. For wishing it was true.
Hating him for it.
He was making everything worse.
“Thank you,” he said to Jane as she packed the buns and finished the transaction, slathering on the outrageous. “You both must come to the wedding brunch. As Sophie’s friends and my guests.”
Embarrassment and uncertainty were instantly replaced with fury. It was one thing to tease her, quite another to extravagantly, boldly lie. There would be no wedding brunch. Indeed, in minutes, they would part ways. Forever.
“We really must take our leave, my lord. Mr. and Mrs. Lander are just starting their day.”
“And me!” Alice said.
“Alice, as well,” Sophie said, grateful for the additional assist.
King crouched down to speak to Alice, as though it were thoroughly normal for a marquess to attend to a child. “I apologize for interrupting your very busy day, Miss Alice.”
The little girl nodded. “Mama said I could have two buns.”
He smiled, and Sophie hated the way her heart constricted. Surely, she would respond to any man’s kindness to children. It was a lovely tableau.
Made lovelier by him.
Nonsense.
“My lord,” she said.
He stood. “Lead the way, my lady.”
And so it was that she did lead the way, across the street and around to the far side of the carriage, before she turned and found him immediately behind her. She drew closer, toe to toe, nose to nose. Narrowing her gaze, she said, “I suppose you think that was amusing?”
His brows rose in feigned innocence. “I don’t know what you mean.”
She narrowed her gaze and spoke in a low whisper, keenly aware of the coachman halfway across the greensward. “You know precisely what I mean. You marched yourself into that bakery and saw me thoroughly humiliated.”
“Humiliated? I saw you engaged to a marquess. I saw you made a future duchess!”
She blinked. He was mad. It was the only explanation. Either that, or he was simply cruel. “Except I am no such thing! What will happen when you don’t marry me? When I am nothing but the woman the Marquess of Eversley tossed over? I realize you’ve ruined a fair number of women in your day, you scoundrel, but that doesn’t give you the right to ruin me, as well.”
“If we want to be specific, you were ruined the moment you donned livery and stowed away in my carriage.”
He was right of course. “I don’t want to be specific.”
He smirked. “I don’t suppose you do.”
“I imagine you are enjoying this? Your perfect win—one more to add to a lifetime of successes?” He opened his mouth to reply, but she continued, furious. “Of course you are enjoying it, because you have enjoyed every one of my errors since the beginning of our acquaintance. You have spent the last few days mocking me, so why not add another, final opportunity?” She stepped away, spreading her arms wide. “Don’t stop now, Your Highness. Isn’t this what you live for? To tell me how wrong I’ve been from the start? How right you’ve been? To make me feel a dozen times a fool?”
“No.”
She didn’t care about the reply. “You needn’t have worked so hard, charming the child, smiling your handsome smile for the wife, chumming about with Robbie. I was already feeling the fool. You think I do not realize that I have been wrong? That I should have stayed in Mayfair? That Society’s censure was at least a known outcome? Or is it that you wish me to say it? You won,” she spat. “You get your forfeit. Congratulations. Sadly, I’ve nothing nice to say about you. Not today. Not ever. I renege.”
With a huff of anger, she turned to leave, to find the pub. To rent a room. To be rid of him forever.
“Don’t blame me for this,” he said, and she stopped in her tracks, turning back as he continued. “I’ve done nothing but follow your directives as long as we’ve been together.” He approached. “You are the one who wanted to leave London. Who wanted to come to Mossband, as though this were a life you would ever be able to have again, as though a decade in London wealthy and titled could be erased with a damn sticky bun.”
“You don’t know anything about me,” she lied.
“I know you fabricated that boy.”
Her brows shot up. “Fabricated him! You saw him, my lord, flesh and blood.”
“You fabricated everything about him, your perfect baker, pining away for you. And for what I don’t know, because he was never for you and you knew it. Hell, I knew it, and I didn’t even know the boy.”
“I wanted—” She stopped herself.
He came closer, and they were toe to toe. “Finish it. What did you want, Sophie?”
“Nothing.”
He watched her for a long moment, so close that she could see the little specks of silver grey in his brilliant green eyes. And then he said, “Liar.”
“Better a liar than an ass,” she said. “You simply had to prove yourself right. Couldn’t leave well enough alone. Couldn’t leave me alone. You had to prove that I was wrong. That I wouldn’t find the home I thought I would.”
“I wanted to be sure you were all right,” he said, the words clipped and irritated. “I thought you might be grateful for the chance to show Robbie that your life turned out well. Better than expected.”
“Oh, yes. Very well indeed. I’m stuck in Mossband with no money and absolutely no idea of what I’m going to do with myself.” She paused, then said, softly, “I thought I would be welcomed. I thought I would be . . .”
She trailed off, and he wouldn’t allow it. “What?”
“I thought I would be happy.” Except, instead of happy, she felt more alone than she’d ever felt in her life. “I thought I would finally be home. An
“I’m sorry, Sophie.”
She snapped her gaze to his. “Don’t. Don’t lie to me. I may be rash and I may be stupid, but you haven’t lied to me yet, and at least there’s that.” The tears came then, and without hesitation, he reached for her, pulling her into his arms, not seeming to care than they stood on a public road in the center of a public town.
She didn’t care, either.
She leaned into his warmth and let the tears come, filled with disappointment and frustration and the knowledge that she’d ruined everything and she might never be able to right it.
He let her cry, murmuring softly, soothing her, promising her all would be well. And she let herself believe, for a heartbeat of time, that his comfort was more than fleeting. He was so warm. So warm and so welcome, if she didn’t know better, she’d think he felt like home.
Until she remembered that he wasn’t. That he’d never be.
She pulled back, straightening and wiping the tears from her eyes. When she looked up at him, it was to discover that he looked as uncomfortable as she felt. “I’ve relied too much upon you, my lord. You’ve really been a remarkable guard through this adventure. But it is over now. I shall rent a room at the inn. When my father’s men find me, I’ll return with them. This entire journey was a mistake.”
“Bollocks,” he said softly, surprising her. “This was a dream. It was the life you thought you’d have. And now it’s not the life you will have. But that doesn’t mean you can’t still have the freedom.” He watched her for a long moment before he shook his head. “You’re not staying at the inn.”
“I don’t have a choice.”
“You are coming to Lyne Castle. With me.”
Confusion flared, along with something else—something like desire. Not that she’d ever admit it. “Why?”
He shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “I can think of two good reasons. First, because if you come with me, I can keep you safe until you decide your next path. We didn’t run from your father’s men so you could change your mind once things go slightly amiss.”
It didn’t feel slightly amiss. It felt as though she’d made a terrible mistake. “And the second reason?”
“Because I’ve a proposition for you,” he said. “One that won’t take long, but will pay handsomely.” Her brow furrowed, and he continued. “Give me a few days, and I’ll give you enough money to buy that happiness you so desperately want.”
She blinked, the promise exceedingly tempting. “That seems like a great deal of money.”
“Lucky for you, I have a great deal of money. And I’m about to have more.”
“Enough for me to never have to return to London?”
He inclined his head. “If that’s what you like. Enough for your bookshop. Wherever you want it to be.”
Desire and doubt warred within her. “Why would you help me?”
For a long moment, she thought he might say something lovely. Something that revealed that he was coming to like her. Hope flared, quick and dangerous. But when he replied, he said no such thing. “Because you are my perfect revenge.”
She narrowed her gaze on his, dread pooling. “What do you want from me?”
“It’s quite simple, really.” He opened the door to the coach and indicated she should enter, not knowing how much his next words stung. “I’m going to present you to my father. As my soon-to-be wife.”
She stilled. “You are serious.”
“Quite. We’ve been fabricating a marriage for the last week; an engagement shouldn’t be so very difficult. We’ve already started.”
“You didn’t tell Robbie we were engaged for me. You did it for you.”
He shook his head. “For us. It works for both of us.”
She ignored the pang in her chest at the words. “You’re asking me to lie to a duke.”
“To my father.”
She blinked. “I thought you planned to convince him that you’d never marry.”
“And I won’t,” King replied. “I’ve no intention of marrying you.”
He said it as though it wouldn’t hurt. And it shouldn’t, she realized. There was never a moment when he’d given any implication that they were more than traveling companions.
Except for last night, in the carriage.
She pushed the thought away. It wasn’t as though she would marry him, anyway. But still. “It’s a wonder any woman in Christendom finds you charming.”
He added, as though it would help, “I’ve no intention of marrying anyone, Sophie. You know that.”
“Have you changed your mind then? Do you wish to make a dying man feel better?” She asked the questions even though she knew the answers.
“No.”
You’re my perfect revenge.
“Because I am a Dangerous Daughter. God forbid anyone with fortune and title marry a Talbot sister.”
He stilled at the words, and she wondered if her frustration was clear. If her hurt was. “Sophie—”
She cut him off. “No, no. Of course. Your great, aristocratic father will no doubt be horrified that you’ve stooped to marry me. I lack breeding, bloodline, and class. My father won his title at cards—making us at best usurpers of title and privilege.”
“He believes those things.”
“Just as his son does.”
His eyes went wide, and then narrowed with anger. “You know not what you speak of.”
“No?” she asked, suddenly feeling very brave. “I think I know precisely that of which I speak. You didn’t linger here out of concern for my future. You didn’t sally into the bakeshop to rescue me out of the goodness of your heart. You don’t offer me this arrangement because you wish for me to have freedom.”
“That’s not true.”
“Really? So if I were another woman, with sounder reputation, with bluer blood, you would have proposed this?” She paused and he did not speak. “Of course you wouldn’t have, because those women wouldn’t anger your father so much.”
“Sophie—” King had the grace to look chagrined.
She was having none of it. “But those women also wouldn’t have the opportunity I have. I wasn’t raised to marry well, Lord Eversley. I wasn’t born with the silver spoon that allows you to be so utterly deplorable. So, fine. You want a Soiled S to trot before your father? You get one.”
She took hold of the edge of the coach and hoisted herself in without his help.
Chapter 14
ROYAL ROGUE AND SOILED SOPHIE—
WAR? OR MORE?
He followed her into the carriage without hesitation, closing them into the tight, small space, and waiting for the vehicle to move before he spoke, frustration and anger and no small amount of embarrassment driving his words.
“It seems, my lady”—he drawled the honorific, knowing she would loathe it—“that you have forgotten how very much I have done for you in the past week.”
Her gaze shot to his, furious. “Do edify me.”
“I had plans of my own, you might consider. I was hieing north on a rather time-sensitive matter.”
She raised a brow. “Oh, yes. To find one final way to punish your father on death’s door. Very noble.”
“If you knew my father—”
“I don’t,” she said, all casualness, reaching into the basket on the seat next to her and extracting a book. “But frankly, my lord, I am not feeling very kind toward you at this particular moment, so if you’re angling for my sympathy, perhaps save your stories for another time.”
She was the most infuriating woman he’d ever met. “I gave you everything you wished. I brought you to damn Mossband instead of packing you back to London, as I should have the moment I discovered you, like the baggage you are. I protected you from your father’s damn hunters. Oh, yes. And I saved your damn life.”
“It’s hard to believe that a Dangerous Daughter’s life was worth the troubl
He sat back on the seat, watching her. Shit. It wasn’t a waste. None of it. Indeed, he wouldn’t give up a moment of the last week for anything. Even though she was the most difficult woman in Christendom. “Sophie,” he said, trying to change tack.
She wasn’t having it. Turning a page, she said calmly, “Do not worry, my lord. Your ailing father will loathe me. I shall make him wish death would come sooner. And when you get your perfect revenge, we’ll be through with each other. Blessedly.”
King watched her for a long moment before he said, quietly, “I don’t think less of you, you know.”
She turned another page. “For being too common for your perfect life? For being so common the mind will boggle at the possibility that I might make a decent wife? For being so common that you can hardly deign to breath the same air I breathe?”
Damn. That wasn’t what he meant at all. “I don’t think you are common.”
She turned pages more quickly now. “It’s difficult to believe that, I must admit, as you have spent the entirety of our acquaintance reminding me of my common appearance.” Flip. “My common background.” Flip. “My common past.” Flip. “My common family.” Flip. “My most common character.” Flip. Flip. Flip. “Indeed, my lord, you have been very clear on the matter. Clear enough for me to think you’re something of an ass.”
He stilled. “What did you call me?”
“I feel confident that your hearing is in full working order.”
Flip.
He reached across and snatched the book from her hands.
She scowled at him, then sat back, crossed her arms over her chest, and spat, “I shall be very happy to see the end of this carriage.”
“I cannot imagine why,” he retorted. “As I rather adore it.”
The words weren’t as sarcastic as he wished. Indeed, when he thought of this carriage, it gave him a great deal of pleasure. More than any carriage he’d ridden in since the last time he was here, in Cumbria. More than any carriage he’d been in since he was a young man.
Except it wasn’t the carriage.