The Rogue Not Taken
Page 7
His gaze narrowed. “And what position is that?”
“A position to negotiate.” He was her transport home.
A shout came from around the corner of the house, and his attention slid past her, to where his enemy was no doubt about to appear. She took the opportunity to escape, boot in hand, toward the back of the house, where a line of trees and underbrush hid a low stone wall and, beyond it, a line of carriages waiting for their owners to leave the revelry and head home.
He followed her. He had to. After all, she had his boot.
And he had a carriage.
It was an ideal trade. Once protected from view by the trees, she turned to him. “I have a proposition for you, Lord Eversley.”
His brows rose. “I’m afraid I’m through with propositions for the day, Lady Sophie. And even I know better than to engage in a public assignation with one of the Dangerous Daughters.”
He knew who she was. She blushed at the words, anger and embarrassment warring on her cheeks. Anger won out. “You realize that if you were female, you would have been exiled from Society years ago.”
He lifted one shoulder. Dropped it. “Ah, but I am not female. And thank God for that.”
“Yes, well, some of us are not so lucky. Some of us don’t have your freedom.”
He met her gaze, suddenly very serious. “You don’t know the first thing about freedom.”
She did not back down. “I know you have more of it than I will ever be allowed. And I know that without it, I must resort to—” She searched for the word.
“Nefariousness?” he supplied, his seriousness gone once more, so quickly that Sophie almost paused to consider it. Until she remembered that he was far too irritating for thoughtful speculation.
“There is nothing nefarious about this.”
“We are together in a secluded area, my lady. If you intend for it to end in the same manner your sister’s assignation with her former lover and now husband famously ended, it’s quite nefarious.”
Of all the infuriating things the man could say. She stamped her foot on the thick spread of ground cover. “I am really quite tired of hearing about poor maligned Haven and how my sister trapped him into marriage.”
“He didn’t sign up for marrying your sister,” Eversley said.
“Then he should not have been fiddling about with her ink!” she pronounced.
When he laughed, Sophie changed her mind about him being infuriating.
The man was horrible.
“You think it amusing?”
He pressed a hand to his chest. “I apologize.” The snicker became a laugh again. “Fiddling about with her ink!”
She scowled. “It was your figure of speech.”
“But you made it really, tremendously perfect. I assure you, if you understood the double entendre inherent in the metaphor, you would, as well.”
“I doubt that.”
“Oh, for your sake, I hope I’m right. I’d hate to think you’re no fun.”
“I’m perfectly fun!” she said.
“Really? You’re Sophie, the youngest of Talbot girls, aren’t you?”
“I am.”
“The unfun one.”
She rocked back at the description. Was that what people said about her? She hated the little flare of sadness that came at the words. The hesitation. The tiny glimmer of fear that he might actually be correct. “Unfun isn’t a word.”
“Until five minutes ago, defenestration wasn’t one, either.”
“Of course it was!” she announced.
He rocked back on his heels. “So you say.”
“It’s a word,” she declared imperiously before recognizing the teasing gleam in his eye. “Oh. I see.”
He spread his hands wide, as though proving his point. “Unfun.”
“I’m perfectly fun,” she said, without conviction.
“I don’t think so,” he said smartly. “Look at you. Not a nod to the Orient to be found.”
She scowled. “It’s a ridiculous theme for a garden party attended by people with no knowledge of and even less interest in the country of China.”
He smirked. “Be careful. Lady Liverpool might hear you.”
She straightened her shoulders. “As Lady Liverpool is dressed as a Japanese fish, I don’t imagine she would care about my views.”
His brows rose. “Is that a jest, Lady Sophie?”
“It is an observation.”
He tutted. “So. Unfun after all.”
“Well, I think you are unpleasant. Which is a word,” she said.
“You’d be the first woman to think that.”
“Surely I cannot be the first woman of sound mind you’ve ever encountered.”
He chuckled, the sound warm and . . . strangely inviting. Pleasing. A sound of approval.
She pushed the thought away. She didn’t care if he approved her. She didn’t care what he thought of her. Or what the rest of his silly, vapid, horrible world thought of her. Honestly, if all of Society thought her unfun—she grimaced inwardly at the word—why should she care? He was a means to an end.
“I’ve had enough,” she said, returning to the situation at hand. She’d watched her father negotiate enough over her lifetime that she knew when it was time to speak frankly and get a deal done. “I assume you are leaving the party?”
The question caught Eversley by surprise. “As a matter of fact, I am.”
“Take me with you.”
He barked a single expression of shock. “Ah. No.”
“A position to negotiate.” He was her transport home.
A shout came from around the corner of the house, and his attention slid past her, to where his enemy was no doubt about to appear. She took the opportunity to escape, boot in hand, toward the back of the house, where a line of trees and underbrush hid a low stone wall and, beyond it, a line of carriages waiting for their owners to leave the revelry and head home.
He followed her. He had to. After all, she had his boot.
And he had a carriage.
It was an ideal trade. Once protected from view by the trees, she turned to him. “I have a proposition for you, Lord Eversley.”
His brows rose. “I’m afraid I’m through with propositions for the day, Lady Sophie. And even I know better than to engage in a public assignation with one of the Dangerous Daughters.”
He knew who she was. She blushed at the words, anger and embarrassment warring on her cheeks. Anger won out. “You realize that if you were female, you would have been exiled from Society years ago.”
He lifted one shoulder. Dropped it. “Ah, but I am not female. And thank God for that.”
“Yes, well, some of us are not so lucky. Some of us don’t have your freedom.”
He met her gaze, suddenly very serious. “You don’t know the first thing about freedom.”
She did not back down. “I know you have more of it than I will ever be allowed. And I know that without it, I must resort to—” She searched for the word.
“Nefariousness?” he supplied, his seriousness gone once more, so quickly that Sophie almost paused to consider it. Until she remembered that he was far too irritating for thoughtful speculation.
“There is nothing nefarious about this.”
“We are together in a secluded area, my lady. If you intend for it to end in the same manner your sister’s assignation with her former lover and now husband famously ended, it’s quite nefarious.”
Of all the infuriating things the man could say. She stamped her foot on the thick spread of ground cover. “I am really quite tired of hearing about poor maligned Haven and how my sister trapped him into marriage.”
“He didn’t sign up for marrying your sister,” Eversley said.
“Then he should not have been fiddling about with her ink!” she pronounced.
When he laughed, Sophie changed her mind about him being infuriating.
The man was horrible.
“You think it amusing?”
He pressed a hand to his chest. “I apologize.” The snicker became a laugh again. “Fiddling about with her ink!”
She scowled. “It was your figure of speech.”
“But you made it really, tremendously perfect. I assure you, if you understood the double entendre inherent in the metaphor, you would, as well.”
“I doubt that.”
“Oh, for your sake, I hope I’m right. I’d hate to think you’re no fun.”
“I’m perfectly fun!” she said.
“Really? You’re Sophie, the youngest of Talbot girls, aren’t you?”
“I am.”
“The unfun one.”
She rocked back at the description. Was that what people said about her? She hated the little flare of sadness that came at the words. The hesitation. The tiny glimmer of fear that he might actually be correct. “Unfun isn’t a word.”
“Until five minutes ago, defenestration wasn’t one, either.”
“Of course it was!” she announced.
He rocked back on his heels. “So you say.”
“It’s a word,” she declared imperiously before recognizing the teasing gleam in his eye. “Oh. I see.”
He spread his hands wide, as though proving his point. “Unfun.”
“I’m perfectly fun,” she said, without conviction.
“I don’t think so,” he said smartly. “Look at you. Not a nod to the Orient to be found.”
She scowled. “It’s a ridiculous theme for a garden party attended by people with no knowledge of and even less interest in the country of China.”
He smirked. “Be careful. Lady Liverpool might hear you.”
She straightened her shoulders. “As Lady Liverpool is dressed as a Japanese fish, I don’t imagine she would care about my views.”
His brows rose. “Is that a jest, Lady Sophie?”
“It is an observation.”
He tutted. “So. Unfun after all.”
“Well, I think you are unpleasant. Which is a word,” she said.
“You’d be the first woman to think that.”
“Surely I cannot be the first woman of sound mind you’ve ever encountered.”
He chuckled, the sound warm and . . . strangely inviting. Pleasing. A sound of approval.
She pushed the thought away. She didn’t care if he approved her. She didn’t care what he thought of her. Or what the rest of his silly, vapid, horrible world thought of her. Honestly, if all of Society thought her unfun—she grimaced inwardly at the word—why should she care? He was a means to an end.
“I’ve had enough,” she said, returning to the situation at hand. She’d watched her father negotiate enough over her lifetime that she knew when it was time to speak frankly and get a deal done. “I assume you are leaving the party?”
The question caught Eversley by surprise. “As a matter of fact, I am.”
“Take me with you.”
He barked a single expression of shock. “Ah. No.”
