The Rogue Not Taken
Page 47
A cry punctuated with his own growl.
Her grasp tightened, and she whispered his name. Not his title—the name she’d mocked again and again. “King.”
The word gave him great pleasure, and he smiled against her skin. “What did you call me?”
She opened her eyes then—liquid blue and filled with desire. It took a moment for her to understand the question. The teasing in it. “Don’t get ideas.”
“Too late for that.” His ideas were legion. And he liked every single one of them. He slid one hand down her back, over the swell of her behind, to grab her thigh and lift it, pulling her tighter to him.
She gasped at the movement, but did not pull away. Indeed, she arched into him with a low, humming moan. Sophie Talbot more than made up for her lack of experience with her glorious excitement. King could happily sequester them both in a room upstairs and spend a week exploring all the things that made her gasp and arch and sigh and moan.
But there was a man mere feet away who was searching for her. And this was neither the place nor the time for King to be intrigued by the lady. A point that was validated by the appearance of the man who’d questioned them, who stepped into the dimly lit space and did not hesitate in taking a long look at them.
King turned to keep her from view, suddenly caring very much that her current state be for his view alone. “You ask for trouble,” he growled at the newcomer, who did not move for a long moment—too long for King’s liking.
He turned around to face the man. “Did you misunderstand me?”
“Not at all,” said the other man. “It’s only that your wife has the look of Lady Sophie.”
“My wife is Mrs. Louis Matthew. I made that clear. And your attention is irritating me more than I think you’d care for me to be irritated.”
The man’s gaze lingered on Sophie, who, for the first time in her life, stayed where she was put. Thankfully. He then tipped his hat. “Mrs. Matthew, I do apologize for the interruption.”
“Thank you,” Sophie said quietly.
The man looked at King. “You might choose a less public place. Newlywed or not.”
King had never in his life wanted to hit a man more. He should receive a special prize for not doing so. “I appreciate your advice,” King said, his tone indicating anything but appreciation.
Once the man returned to the pub, King grabbed Sophie by the hand and pulled her up the stairs and into her chamber, wanting her away from the scoundrel.
She pressed herself against the wall, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. “He knows.”
King ran a hand over his face. “I imagine he does, yes.”
She looked up at him. “Why didn’t you tell him the truth?”
“That we are merely traveling companions who don’t much care for one another?” She paused at that, and he felt like an ass for having said it with the taste of her on his lips. “Sophie—”
“No,” she said, waving his words away. “It’s true. And he wouldn’t believe it.”
It wasn’t true, but he didn’t push her. “No, he wouldn’t.”
She nodded. “Thank you. I shall only presume for another day. Until the mail coach arrives.”
He looked to the ceiling. “You’re not taking the mail coach, dammit. Especially not now.”
“Why not? They shan’t be looking for me there.”
It was likely the truth, but he’d had enough of this woman and the carelessness with which she lived her life. “Because you have a habit of getting shot on mail coaches.”
“It wasn’t on the coach.”
“Now who is arguing semantics?” She closed her mouth. “I shall see you to Mossband.” He couldn’t help the rest of the words now that he knew, almost certainly, that she’d been lying to him from the start. “Right into your baker’s doughy arms.”
“Aren’t you clever.”
“I am, rather.”
He would wager his entire fortune that there was no baker. Which meant she was running, and he was the only person who could help her. Just as he’d been for another girl an eternity ago.
And he’d be damned if he was going to let this one down, too.
A short rap sounded on the door to the room and he opened it to find Mary, John, and Bess. They stepped inside without being invited. Mary spoke quickly. “There’s a man downstairs asking questions about a missing girl.”
“Yes, we met him,” King said.
Mary looked to Sophie. “He says her name is Sophie. And she’s a nob.”
Sophie watched her carefully, but did not say anything.
Mary looked to King. “They say she’s with another nob.”
He did not reply.
John added, “We think it’s you.”
King spoke then. “Did you tell the man your suspicions?”
“No,” John said. “We’s loyal to our friends’ secrets.”
Sophie nodded. “Thank you.”
“Wot’d you do to deserve a man hunting you?”
Sophie smiled, small and somewhat sad, and King resisted the urge to go to her and gather her in his arms. “I ran from a life I did not want.”
“We cannot pretend we don’t understand that,” Mary said, putting her hand on Bess’s shoulder and pulling the girl close.
Christ. He was going to have to take care of these three. He couldn’t leave them here to their own devices. Mary was young and the other two were children.
Smart, savvy, thieving children, but children nonetheless.
Her grasp tightened, and she whispered his name. Not his title—the name she’d mocked again and again. “King.”
The word gave him great pleasure, and he smiled against her skin. “What did you call me?”
She opened her eyes then—liquid blue and filled with desire. It took a moment for her to understand the question. The teasing in it. “Don’t get ideas.”
“Too late for that.” His ideas were legion. And he liked every single one of them. He slid one hand down her back, over the swell of her behind, to grab her thigh and lift it, pulling her tighter to him.
She gasped at the movement, but did not pull away. Indeed, she arched into him with a low, humming moan. Sophie Talbot more than made up for her lack of experience with her glorious excitement. King could happily sequester them both in a room upstairs and spend a week exploring all the things that made her gasp and arch and sigh and moan.
But there was a man mere feet away who was searching for her. And this was neither the place nor the time for King to be intrigued by the lady. A point that was validated by the appearance of the man who’d questioned them, who stepped into the dimly lit space and did not hesitate in taking a long look at them.
King turned to keep her from view, suddenly caring very much that her current state be for his view alone. “You ask for trouble,” he growled at the newcomer, who did not move for a long moment—too long for King’s liking.
He turned around to face the man. “Did you misunderstand me?”
“Not at all,” said the other man. “It’s only that your wife has the look of Lady Sophie.”
“My wife is Mrs. Louis Matthew. I made that clear. And your attention is irritating me more than I think you’d care for me to be irritated.”
The man’s gaze lingered on Sophie, who, for the first time in her life, stayed where she was put. Thankfully. He then tipped his hat. “Mrs. Matthew, I do apologize for the interruption.”
“Thank you,” Sophie said quietly.
The man looked at King. “You might choose a less public place. Newlywed or not.”
King had never in his life wanted to hit a man more. He should receive a special prize for not doing so. “I appreciate your advice,” King said, his tone indicating anything but appreciation.
Once the man returned to the pub, King grabbed Sophie by the hand and pulled her up the stairs and into her chamber, wanting her away from the scoundrel.
She pressed herself against the wall, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. “He knows.”
King ran a hand over his face. “I imagine he does, yes.”
She looked up at him. “Why didn’t you tell him the truth?”
“That we are merely traveling companions who don’t much care for one another?” She paused at that, and he felt like an ass for having said it with the taste of her on his lips. “Sophie—”
“No,” she said, waving his words away. “It’s true. And he wouldn’t believe it.”
It wasn’t true, but he didn’t push her. “No, he wouldn’t.”
She nodded. “Thank you. I shall only presume for another day. Until the mail coach arrives.”
He looked to the ceiling. “You’re not taking the mail coach, dammit. Especially not now.”
“Why not? They shan’t be looking for me there.”
It was likely the truth, but he’d had enough of this woman and the carelessness with which she lived her life. “Because you have a habit of getting shot on mail coaches.”
“It wasn’t on the coach.”
“Now who is arguing semantics?” She closed her mouth. “I shall see you to Mossband.” He couldn’t help the rest of the words now that he knew, almost certainly, that she’d been lying to him from the start. “Right into your baker’s doughy arms.”
“Aren’t you clever.”
“I am, rather.”
He would wager his entire fortune that there was no baker. Which meant she was running, and he was the only person who could help her. Just as he’d been for another girl an eternity ago.
And he’d be damned if he was going to let this one down, too.
A short rap sounded on the door to the room and he opened it to find Mary, John, and Bess. They stepped inside without being invited. Mary spoke quickly. “There’s a man downstairs asking questions about a missing girl.”
“Yes, we met him,” King said.
Mary looked to Sophie. “He says her name is Sophie. And she’s a nob.”
Sophie watched her carefully, but did not say anything.
Mary looked to King. “They say she’s with another nob.”
He did not reply.
John added, “We think it’s you.”
King spoke then. “Did you tell the man your suspicions?”
“No,” John said. “We’s loyal to our friends’ secrets.”
Sophie nodded. “Thank you.”
“Wot’d you do to deserve a man hunting you?”
Sophie smiled, small and somewhat sad, and King resisted the urge to go to her and gather her in his arms. “I ran from a life I did not want.”
“We cannot pretend we don’t understand that,” Mary said, putting her hand on Bess’s shoulder and pulling the girl close.
Christ. He was going to have to take care of these three. He couldn’t leave them here to their own devices. Mary was young and the other two were children.
Smart, savvy, thieving children, but children nonetheless.
