The Rogue Not Taken
Page 68
The darling attracted her attention. And Jane’s. And Robbie’s, for that matter. Sophie turned to him. “We don’t.”
He ignored her, turning his brilliant, beautiful smile on Jane. “My lady adores these buns. She’s done nothing but talk about them since we left London.”
Good Lord. He was ruining her all over again. She was not Mrs. Matthew to these people, she was Lady Sophie Talbot. They knew her. And they would not hesitate to gossip about her.
“My lord,” she began, not entirely certain of what she would say.
He ignored her, instead reaching a hand to Robbie. “You must be the famous Robbie.”
Robbie looked terribly confused. “I am.”
King grinned. “Eversley. Marquess of.”
Robbie’s eyes were round as plates. “Marquess!” He looked to Sophie. “Are you—”
“Not yet,” King laughed, answering the question before it was finished. “Sadly, she wanted to return to Cumbria before she married me. But she swears it will be done just as soon as we’ve seen my father, the Duke of Lyne.” He lifted her hand to his lips, staring deeply into her eyes as he kissed her knuckles. “I didn’t need her to stand on such ceremony, frankly. I’d have married her in a hedge on the day we met. Isn’t that right, love?”
Sophie ignored the flip of her heart at his outrageously romantic words. He was an actor worthy of the London stage. But what was he doing? What would happen to her when they didn’t marry? When she was left in discarded ruin—unwanted by the Marquess of Eversley?
She was not one of the other ladies, with copious offers of marriage. Her only other option for marriage was here. And it was married to Jane. Making sugar buns.
It hadn’t been an option at all, if she was honest with herself.
She should be more honest with herself.
She supposed he thought she would be grateful for his arrival. But instead, it embarrassed her quite thoroughly. She didn’t want him to see that this had turned into such a disaster. She didn’t want him to see that she was alone. Without a home. Without a purpose.
She didn’t want him to gloat.
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.
He ignored her, turning his brilliant, beautiful smile on Jane. “My lady adores these buns. She’s done nothing but talk about them since we left London.”
Good Lord. He was ruining her all over again. She was not Mrs. Matthew to these people, she was Lady Sophie Talbot. They knew her. And they would not hesitate to gossip about her.
“My lord,” she began, not entirely certain of what she would say.
He ignored her, instead reaching a hand to Robbie. “You must be the famous Robbie.”
Robbie looked terribly confused. “I am.”
King grinned. “Eversley. Marquess of.”
Robbie’s eyes were round as plates. “Marquess!” He looked to Sophie. “Are you—”
“Not yet,” King laughed, answering the question before it was finished. “Sadly, she wanted to return to Cumbria before she married me. But she swears it will be done just as soon as we’ve seen my father, the Duke of Lyne.” He lifted her hand to his lips, staring deeply into her eyes as he kissed her knuckles. “I didn’t need her to stand on such ceremony, frankly. I’d have married her in a hedge on the day we met. Isn’t that right, love?”
Sophie ignored the flip of her heart at his outrageously romantic words. He was an actor worthy of the London stage. But what was he doing? What would happen to her when they didn’t marry? When she was left in discarded ruin—unwanted by the Marquess of Eversley?
She was not one of the other ladies, with copious offers of marriage. Her only other option for marriage was here. And it was married to Jane. Making sugar buns.
It hadn’t been an option at all, if she was honest with herself.
She should be more honest with herself.
She supposed he thought she would be grateful for his arrival. But instead, it embarrassed her quite thoroughly. She didn’t want him to see that this had turned into such a disaster. She didn’t want him to see that she was alone. Without a home. Without a purpose.
She didn’t want him to gloat.
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.
