The Rogue Not Taken
Page 14
The duke tilted his head. “You would know about avoiding unpleasant locales.”
Eversley grinned at that. “I am an expert at it.”
At that, Warnick reached into his open coat and extracted a coin. “Your winnings.”
He tossed the coin and Eversley snatched it from the air, pocketing it. “I do enjoy taking your money.”
“Money,” the duke scoffed. “You don’t care about the ha’penny. You care about the win.”
Sophie resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Of course he only cared about the win. She had no doubt that the Marquess of Eversley cared for nothing but winning.
She should like to ensure that this man lost, and roundly.
Before she could enjoy her private fantasy of the marquess’s loss, however, the duke lobbed his final barb. “Not that it will get you anywhere near the cost of your missing boot. Tell me you left it as a souvenir at the site of your latest assignation.”
Sophie’s heart began to pound at the words, at the reminder of Eversley’s reputation, at the reminder of her own idiocy in turning up here, wherever they were, far from home, and with no plan to speak of.
What came next?
She was going to have to rely upon the kindness of someone in the inn to get herself home. She was going to have to beg a journey to London, which would not be easy. She would have to promise someone the funds upon arrival, and she knew how difficult that would be.
“I think the boot will be easily recovered.”
The words pulled her from her thoughts, their meaning sending her gaze flying to find his, shrouded by the brim of his cap. Was it possible he recognized her?
“Perhaps I’ll send the boy to fetch it.”
She stilled, even her breath caught in her lungs.
He recognized her.
The duke laughed, unaware of what had happened before his eyes, and returned to his curricle, tossing back, “The boy might get an eyeful stealing into the lady’s boudoir.”
Sophie couldn’t help her little huff of indignation. Of course, Marcella was criticized for her actions as the marquess was lauded by his brawny, boorish brethren.
Eversley cut her a look at the sound. “I hope my boot is inside that carriage.”
She resisted the urge to tell him precisely what he could do with the boot in question, instead playing the perfect servant. “Unfortunately not, my lord.”
He raised a brow. “No?”
She wished she could meet his gaze. Granted, his brilliant green eyes were unsettling in the extreme, but at least if she could see them, she would be able to glean something of his thoughts on the situation. Instead, she soldiered on, lifting her chin, and he noted the defiance in the gesture. “No.”
He lowered his voice. “Where is it, then?”
She lowered her voice to match his. “I imagine it is where I left it. In the Liverpool hedge.”
She rather enjoyed the way his throat worked in the moment of silence following her announcement. “You left my Hessian in a hedge.”
“You left me in a hedge,” she pointed out.
“I had no use for you.”
“Well, I had no use for your boot.”
He considered her for a long moment, and changed the topic. “You look ridiculous.”
Of course she did. She lifted one shoulder, let it drop. “It’s your livery.”
“It’s for a footman! Not some spoiled girl looking for a lark.”
Anger flared at the words. “You know nothing about me. I am not spoiled. And it was not a lark.”
“Oh? I suppose you have a perfectly reasonable explanation for why you stole my footman’s livery and stowed away in my carriage.”
“I do, as a matter of fact. And I was not in your carriage. I was on it.”
“Along with my blind coachman, it seems. Why were you up there?”
She smirked. “Footmen don’t ride inside carriages, my lord. And even if they did, the carriage in question is filled with wheels. Why is that?”
“In case I need a replacement,” he said without hesitation. “Where is my footman, anyway? Did you knock him unconscious and leave him naked in the hedge alongside my boot?”
“Of course I didn’t. Matthew is perfectly well.”
“Is he wearing your dress?”
She blushed. “No. He bought a set of clothes from one of the Liverpool stableboys.”
He did not pause in his questions. “And you? Did you strip in front of all London?”
“Of course not!” She was growing indignant. “I’m not mad.”
“Oh, no,” he said, “Of course not.”
“I’m not!” she insisted, hissing the words so as not to draw attention to them. “I changed clothes in my family’s carriage. And I paid Matthew for his livery before sending him to my father for another position.”
He stilled. “You stole my footman.”
“It wasn’t stealing.”
“I had a footman this morning. And now I don’t have one. How is that not stealing?”
“It was not stealing,” she insisted. “It’s not as though you owned him.”
“I paid him!”
“It seems I paid him better.”
He went quiet, and she could see the frustration in his gaze before he offered a single, perfunctory nod and said, “Fair enough.”
He turned away.
Well. That was unexpected. And not at all ideal, as she had no money, and he was the only person in the place who might be inclined to help her get home, assuming it meant that she was gone from his life.
She ignored the fact that stowing away on his carriage might have worked against her.
Eversley grinned at that. “I am an expert at it.”
At that, Warnick reached into his open coat and extracted a coin. “Your winnings.”
He tossed the coin and Eversley snatched it from the air, pocketing it. “I do enjoy taking your money.”
“Money,” the duke scoffed. “You don’t care about the ha’penny. You care about the win.”
Sophie resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Of course he only cared about the win. She had no doubt that the Marquess of Eversley cared for nothing but winning.
She should like to ensure that this man lost, and roundly.
Before she could enjoy her private fantasy of the marquess’s loss, however, the duke lobbed his final barb. “Not that it will get you anywhere near the cost of your missing boot. Tell me you left it as a souvenir at the site of your latest assignation.”
Sophie’s heart began to pound at the words, at the reminder of Eversley’s reputation, at the reminder of her own idiocy in turning up here, wherever they were, far from home, and with no plan to speak of.
What came next?
She was going to have to rely upon the kindness of someone in the inn to get herself home. She was going to have to beg a journey to London, which would not be easy. She would have to promise someone the funds upon arrival, and she knew how difficult that would be.
“I think the boot will be easily recovered.”
The words pulled her from her thoughts, their meaning sending her gaze flying to find his, shrouded by the brim of his cap. Was it possible he recognized her?
“Perhaps I’ll send the boy to fetch it.”
She stilled, even her breath caught in her lungs.
He recognized her.
The duke laughed, unaware of what had happened before his eyes, and returned to his curricle, tossing back, “The boy might get an eyeful stealing into the lady’s boudoir.”
Sophie couldn’t help her little huff of indignation. Of course, Marcella was criticized for her actions as the marquess was lauded by his brawny, boorish brethren.
Eversley cut her a look at the sound. “I hope my boot is inside that carriage.”
She resisted the urge to tell him precisely what he could do with the boot in question, instead playing the perfect servant. “Unfortunately not, my lord.”
He raised a brow. “No?”
She wished she could meet his gaze. Granted, his brilliant green eyes were unsettling in the extreme, but at least if she could see them, she would be able to glean something of his thoughts on the situation. Instead, she soldiered on, lifting her chin, and he noted the defiance in the gesture. “No.”
He lowered his voice. “Where is it, then?”
She lowered her voice to match his. “I imagine it is where I left it. In the Liverpool hedge.”
She rather enjoyed the way his throat worked in the moment of silence following her announcement. “You left my Hessian in a hedge.”
“You left me in a hedge,” she pointed out.
“I had no use for you.”
“Well, I had no use for your boot.”
He considered her for a long moment, and changed the topic. “You look ridiculous.”
Of course she did. She lifted one shoulder, let it drop. “It’s your livery.”
“It’s for a footman! Not some spoiled girl looking for a lark.”
Anger flared at the words. “You know nothing about me. I am not spoiled. And it was not a lark.”
“Oh? I suppose you have a perfectly reasonable explanation for why you stole my footman’s livery and stowed away in my carriage.”
“I do, as a matter of fact. And I was not in your carriage. I was on it.”
“Along with my blind coachman, it seems. Why were you up there?”
She smirked. “Footmen don’t ride inside carriages, my lord. And even if they did, the carriage in question is filled with wheels. Why is that?”
“In case I need a replacement,” he said without hesitation. “Where is my footman, anyway? Did you knock him unconscious and leave him naked in the hedge alongside my boot?”
“Of course I didn’t. Matthew is perfectly well.”
“Is he wearing your dress?”
She blushed. “No. He bought a set of clothes from one of the Liverpool stableboys.”
He did not pause in his questions. “And you? Did you strip in front of all London?”
“Of course not!” She was growing indignant. “I’m not mad.”
“Oh, no,” he said, “Of course not.”
“I’m not!” she insisted, hissing the words so as not to draw attention to them. “I changed clothes in my family’s carriage. And I paid Matthew for his livery before sending him to my father for another position.”
He stilled. “You stole my footman.”
“It wasn’t stealing.”
“I had a footman this morning. And now I don’t have one. How is that not stealing?”
“It was not stealing,” she insisted. “It’s not as though you owned him.”
“I paid him!”
“It seems I paid him better.”
He went quiet, and she could see the frustration in his gaze before he offered a single, perfunctory nod and said, “Fair enough.”
He turned away.
Well. That was unexpected. And not at all ideal, as she had no money, and he was the only person in the place who might be inclined to help her get home, assuming it meant that she was gone from his life.
She ignored the fact that stowing away on his carriage might have worked against her.
