The Rogue Not Taken (Scandal & Scoundrel 1)

Of course, once her bedchamber door was shut and the candles beside the bed were snuffed, she’d let the tears come, along with the desire—not just for his touch and his words, but for the rest. The story he’d told, the love he’d had for Lorna—she ached for him, and for the girl he’d lost.

And then she’d ached for herself.

She’d ached at the unbearable knowledge that she wanted him. That she wanted his confessions and his desires and his truth. And it didn’t matter. Because she could want him forever, and he would never risk his heart again.

So it was best that she was here, inside this complicated maze, invisible to the world. Here, she could find courage to ignore what she felt for him. And to leave, head high, and find herself another life.

But never another man.

She knew that now. There was no other man for Sophie Talbot, youngest daughter of a North Country coal miner, than the Marquess of Eversley. And the Marquess of Eversley was not for her.

So she was leaving.

Just as soon as she found him, she’d tell him as much.

She dangled her fingers in the cool water, staring up at the magnificent marble battle at the center of the fountain. The Minotaur, head-to-head with Theseus, water cascading around them as they battled hand-to-hand, each as strong as the other. There was something in the fine detail of the sculpture that made her feel for the monster in battle—he’d been a pawn in another’s game, born a monster as punishment to his mother. It didn’t seem fair that his whole life had been spent in solitude, even if the labyrinth of myth was as beautiful as this one.

“You remembered the way in.”

She snatched her hand from the water. He’d found her, first.

Her breath quickened at the words, and she turned to face King at the entrance to her secret hideaway. “I was—”

“Hiding from me.”

She smiled, hating the ache that came at the sight of him. Even with the shadow of an afternoon beard, with his hair in a state of disarray, in shirtsleeves, rolled to the elbow, he unsettled her. Perhaps those things unsettled her more, giving her a taste of the man he was outside of London’s view. Of the man she might have had, at another time, in another place.

She looked away, back to the water. “More from the idea of you than from the actuality of you, if that helps.”

His lips lifted in a small smile. “They are different?”

“The idea of you is much more unsettling.”

“That’s a pity,” he said. “I should like to be unsettling in person.”

Except he was terribly unsettling. Indeed, if he were any more unsettling, she’d have run screaming from this place. As it was, she stood, drying her hand on her skirts. “If you are here to hide from me, my lord, I am happy to leave you in peace.”

She was surprised when, for a moment, he appeared to consider the offer. Surprised, and somewhat affronted. After all, it was he who had insulted her, was it not? It was he who’d made it clear that they were never meant to be. So why would she be the one who left?

She’d been here first, had she not?

She did not imagine that he subscribed to the rules of siblings.

But he seemed to change his mind. “Stay,” he said, quietly. “Stay, and keep me company.”

Something in the soft words had her sitting, turning to him, wishing she were closer. Wishing she could see the glittering green of his gaze. That she could read the emotions there.

And then he added, a soft, unbearable “Please.”

Something had happened.

“My lord,” she said, “is all well?”

He ignored the question and sat on a low stone bench a few yards away, facing her and the fountain, stretching his long legs out and crossing them at the ankle as he crossed his arms over his chest, revealing wide bronzed forearms that she had difficulty ignoring. He lifted his chin, nodding at her lap. “Still reading about henges?”

It took a moment for her to remember that she was holding a book. She clutched it more tightly and said with a forced smile, “Do you care for another reading?”

He didn’t return the expression. “Believe it or not, not even henges could capture my attention at this moment.”

She looked down at her book. “It’s not about henges.”

“What is it?”

She couldn’t remember. She looked down. “It’s the Greek myths.”

“Is it interesting?”

“It’s filled with rakes and cads and every sort of scoundrel.”

“Sounds fascinating.”

“If you enjoy ruiners of women.”

“And do you?”

Yes.

She paused, considering the question. Its answer. She met his gaze. “Well, I like you.”

“I thought we did not like each other?”

She shook her head. “I find that I’ve changed my mind.” He stood then, moving toward her, and she finished. “Even though I shouldn’t.”

He sat next to her on the edge of the fountain, raising a hand and tucking one long lock behind her ear. “You shouldn’t,” he agreed softly. “I won’t ruin you, Sophie.”

“That was the arrangement,” she said.

“So we have both reneged.”

“You take excellent care of me,” she replied, and his brow furrowed in confusion before she clarified. “Something nice about you,” she said. “As agreed. I have not reneged.”

He closed his eyes for a long moment. When he opened them, they glittered brilliant green. “I still renege. I won’t destroy your reputation.”

Her brow furrowed. “Why not? You don’t hesitate with the others.” He paused, and she pressed him. “You didn’t hesitate with Marcella.” Something bothered her about his silence, something that had bothered her that afternoon at the Liverpool soiree. Marcella waving happily from the window above, as though she were perfectly satisfied with King leaving her to pick up the pieces of her ruination.

“You don’t ruin them, do you?”

He raised a brow. “Why would you think that?”

She was flooded with memories. “Because I saw Marcella’s face when you left. When she looked out the window and t

hanked you.”

He looked down to the water, dragging his fingers across the surface. “Perhaps she enjoyed our tryst.”

Sophie’s gaze narrowed. “I don’t think so.”

“Well. That’s a bit hurtful.”

She ignored the attempt to dodge the point. “I don’t think there was a tryst. Was there?”

He inclined his head. “There was not.”

Her brow furrowed. “Then why the mad escape? Why enrage the earl?” She paused, realization dawning. “I see. Marcella will marry another.”

He nodded. “The owner of Hoff and Chawton menswear, if I recall. He’s promised me cravats any time I require them.”

“Marcella’s father won’t be able to argue the match.”

“I imagine he’ll be grateful for someone to happily marry his daughter. And Mr. Hoff is very wealthy.”

Sophie laughed. “You gave her the marriage she’d never have been able to have.”

“She swore it was a love match.”

“And the others?” Sophie asked. “Did they vow love matches as well?”

“Every one.”

She thought back on the other women, the ones she’d envied during their discussion in the carriage. “You ruin them so they can be happy.”

She would be happy, ruined by him.

“I give them the push they require.”

“I should have seen it,” she said. “If there was something between you, they wouldn’t have—” She stopped. She couldn’t tell him that.

“Wouldn’t have been what?”

“Nothing.”

“Oh, no, Lady Sophie,” he said. “It was just becoming interesting.”

She exhaled sharply, tired of lying. So she told him the truth. “If there were something between you, they wouldn’t have been so quick to tell you good-bye.” He stilled at the words. “Marcella wouldn’t have been able to do it so easily.” He lifted his hand from the fountain, touching her cheek with his cool, wet fingertips. She closed her eyes at the sensation. “It’s very difficult to tell you good-bye,” she whispered.

Silence fell for a yawning stretch of time before he said, quietly, “Is that what you want? To tell me good-bye?”