The Rogue Not Taken
Page 69
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. And I would be free.” She shook her head. “But it’s not home. I’m not sure what is.”
“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.
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. And I would be free.” She shook her head. “But it’s not home. I’m not sure what is.”
“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.
