The Rogue Not Taken (33 page)

She shook her head. “I didn’t think.”

“You think now,” he said.

Jack Talbot might have been given the Earldom of Wight, but he’d never been given a son, and therefore, his five daughters had no future without marriage. They had no future. Not now that Sophie had ruined it.

She blinked up at her father. “What have I done?”

He offered her a little smile. “You acted rashly, my girl. You defended your sister in the moment without thinking of the long game. And we pay the price.”

She knew what came next before he suggested it. And later, when she faced the dark truth of what she had to do, she would admit her most private secret.

That she’d never in her life wanted anything more.

“How do we survive it?” she asked.

There was a long silence before her father answered. “Eversley.”

T
hat night, long after the house quieted, Sophie waited for her thoughts to do the same.

She sat straight up on the edge of her bed, clad in one of Sesily’s dressing gowns, a beautiful grass green satin covered in pearls and feathers, with a matching silk nightdress and slippers.

It was a costume more than anything else—a uniform. She was to use it to do what countless other women had done in similar frocks. Land herself a husband.

Willing away the distaste that came at the thought, she stared at the door between her rooms and King’s. She’d done all she could to put off approaching him, bathed and changed the bandage on her shoulder, dried her hair by the fire, combed it until it gleamed. It was late enough that he was no doubt abed, no doubt asleep, without thought of her.

They’d barely spoken in the hours since her family had arrived. He’d taken his leave immediately, no doubt grateful that his responsibility to her was complete. They’d dined with him, his father nowhere to be found, her sisters more than willing to fill whatever awkward silences arose with their chatter about London and Society.

King had remained quiet, answering only those questions that came directly to him.

Her sisters had known better than to engage him.

There’d been a moment when her mother had inquired after their journey—why it had taken such a long time. King had looked to Sophie in the aftermath of the question, surprised that the countess seemed not to know that she’d been shot and convalesced in Sprotbrough.

There hadn’t been a time to tell her family what had happened, strangely, as a bullet wound had seemed trivial when compared to the wound her family suffered. The one she would cause for King.

She’d watched him throughout dinner, memorizing his face, his eyes, the way his lips curved around his words. She wanted to remember all the little moments she could amass before tonight. Before she knocked on that door and changed their lives forever.

If she could find the courage to do it.

If she could find the willingness to do it.

Perhaps he would refuse her.

Relief flared at the idea. If he refused her, her family would have to try another way. If he refused her, she could leave, and find another life. She’d never have to return to London. To Mossband. She could disappear, and they could live their lives without her.

He could live his life without her.

She would have to live her life without him.

The thought ached in her chest, her heart somehow beating there, in spite of it, and she exhaled, standing and crossing to the adjoining door. She could end this now. She would knock; he would refuse her; she would leave.

Even though she desperately wanted him to accept her.

Not like this.

No, not like this. But the idea that she would never
see him again, never touch him again, never be near him again . . .

It was torture.

She put her hand to the door, palm flat against the cool mahogany, and she lowered her forehead to the door. Breathing deep, imagining that she could smell him there, on the other side, soap and spice and King.

How much she wanted him, and how little she wanted this.

She straightened and lifted her hand, preparing to announce herself, when a knock sounded on the main door to her chamber.

She pulled her hand back from its task as though she’d been burned, immediately putting distance between her and the entrance to his rooms. She crossed to the door and opened it to reveal Seraphina, her hands at her stomach.

The eldest Talbot sister was out of breath. “I was afraid I had missed you.”

Sophie stood back and waved Sera into the room. “I have been . . . postponing.”

Sera crossed to the center of the bedchamber and turned to face Sophie as she closed the door, locking them both inside. “Do you love him?”

The question surprised Sophie, and it was a moment before she found her reply. “Does it matter?”

Sera sat on the edge of the bed, catching her breath. “It does, rather.”

Sophie crossed and poured her sister a glass of water, watching as she drank deep before saying, “Why?”

“If you don’t, you shouldn’t do this.”

Sophie shook her head. “You think I’ll find another who loves me?”

“I think you shouldn’t marry a man who doesn’t care for you.”

It was too late for that. “It is easy for you to say such a thing. Nothing about my actions will change your future.” Sophie sat next to Seraphina. “I’m so sorry, Sera. If I hadn’t—”

Sera reached over and took Sophie’s hand, clutching tight. “You defended me. No one else would have.” They were both lost in the memory before Sera chuckled. “And he deserved it.”

“He deserved much worse,” Sophie said.

The chuckle became a laugh. “Right on his backside in that pool!”

Sophie joined her sister in laughter. “Poor fish!”

“Oh, I hope he’s put off fish forever!” Sera giggled. “The cook is French, with a particular skill for
poisson
!”

They laughed together for an age, brushing tears from their eyes before reality returned, and they grew serious once more. Sophie turned to her sister. “I would do it again,” she confessed. The events of the Liverpool soiree had brought her to King. And she wouldn’t ever change that.

Sera squeezed Sophie’s hand and nodded, then repeated her question. “Do you love him?”

The tears returned, this time without a hint of laughter, pricking the backs of Sophie’s eyes with honesty. “I do,” she whispered. “I love him quite desperately.”

More than she’d ever thought possible.

She lied to me
. How broken he’d been when he confessed that. How devastated.

She couldn’t do this.

She couldn’t lie to him. What a monster that would make her. Ariadne in the labyrinth, undeserving of him.

And she desperately wanted to deserve him. She’d never deserve him like this.

Sera turned to her then, taking both her hands in hers
and giving voice to Sophie’s thoughts. “You mustn’t do this.”

“But if I don’t—what of you? What of Sesily and Seleste and Seline? What of Papa?”

Sera smiled. “We climb like ivy. Think you one harsh winter will end our journey?”

“You can say it . . .”

Seraphina nodded. “I can. Because my life is cast in stone. I am Duchess of Haven. And I carry the future duke inside me.” Sophie watched as her sister’s gaze grew sad. “Because of that, I can tell you that if you love him, you should tell him.” She shook her head. “I never told Haven. And look at the mess I’ve made.” She lifted Sophie’s hands to her lips and spoke to them. “Tell him, Sophie. Give yourself a chance at happiness.”

I can’t love you.

Sophie shook her head. “He doesn’t want love.”

“Perhaps he doesn’t know he already has it.” Sera’s eyes swam with unshed tears. “I never told him, Sophie. And by the time I thought to . . . I’d already lost him.” She took a deep breath. “What Father asks . . . it’s so much. Yes, it might save him. Might save Sesily and Seleste and Seline. You’ll be a marchioness and a duchess and that title might help us all. But Eversley—he’ll hate you for it.”

She couldn’t bear the idea of King hating her. But what of the family she loved?

“You cannot protect us all, Sophie. Not forever.”

She looked to Seraphina, her eldest sister, whom Sophie had always considered her most kindred sister. “I love you.”

Sera pulled her close, wrapping her in a tight embrace. “I know. We know. Why do you think we came to you? But you love him as well. And love does not come in half
measures—you shall hate yourself forever if you trap him. I know it better than any.”

She didn’t want him trapped.

She wanted him to want her. As desperately as she wanted him.

She couldn’t do it. Not even for the family she loved. There had to be another way.

“Sophie . . . please. Tell him you love him and see what comes of it.”

Sophie looked to the door beyond which he slept, hope and terror warring for position in her chest. “What if he laughs?”

“I’ll toss him in the nearest fishpond,” Seraphina vowed.

Sophie gave a little huff of humorless laughter at that. “What if . . .”

I can’t love you.

“What if he doesn’t love me?”

Sera was quiet for a long time, and then said, “What if he does?”

Sophie nodded. “If he doesn’t . . . I must leave. Mother and Papa—”

“
I
shall help you.”

“With what money?”

“There are benefits to being the Duchess of Haven,” Sera said with a little smile. “I shall help you. Wherever you wish to go. Wales. The Outer Hebrides. America. Wherever.”

Far from here. Far from him.

Free from him.

As though she would ever be free of him.

Sophie nodded. “Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow.”

She nodded and stood, knowing that she could not have him forever. Wishing that she could at least have him to
night. She tightened the belt on her extravagant dressing gown, festooned with feathers and brocade. “This is a ridiculous gown.”

Sera chuckled. “Sesily would tell you it makes your bosom look wonderful.” She reached up and pulled the pins from Sophie’s hair, loosing it around her shoulders and arranging it this way and that. When she was satisfied with the work, she met Sophie’s gaze. “He shan’t know what’s struck him.”

Sophie took a deep breath, eyeing the adjoining door as Sera moved to leave the room.

“Sera,” Sophie called, staying her sister as she opened the door.

Seraphina turned back.

Sophie did not know what to say, but the eldest Talbot seemed to understand nonetheless. Her hand moved to her swelling midsection, stroking over it. Protecting it. “Tell him. And let the road roll out before you.”

Sophie nodded.

She would. For her sister.

For herself.

The door closed behind Seraphina with a soft click, and the sound propelled Sophie across the room, to where she’d been standing before her sister had arrived. Her heart pounded nearly unbearably; she’d never been so nervous in all her life.

If she did not knock now, she would lose her nerve.

She’d promised Seraphina she’d knock.

What if he doesn
’t love me?

What if he does?

She lifted her hand, willing herself to knock.

Perhaps he wasn’t even in the room.

Perhaps he was a sound sleeper.

She wouldn’t like to wake him.

Stop being a cabbagehead and knock on the ruddy door.

Sophie took a deep breath, willing her heart to stop its racing, and knocked.

The door opened instantly, as though he’d been standing on the other side, waiting for her. She gave a little yelp of surprise at the instantaneous response, and he raised a brow. “Did I scare you?”

“A bit, yes,” she said, taking him in, his dark curls fallen haphazardly over his brow, his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbow, boots off, feet bare. So desperately handsome, it was difficult to look at him.

He was too much for her.

She was not enough for him.

“You do know that the normal response to knocking is for one to open the door?” His casual teasing made her immediately more comfortable. She knew this man. She’d spent days on end with him.

She smirked. “You do know that most people don’t linger on one side of a door and wait for knocking?”

“Most people don’t share a door with you.” Her heart skipped a beat and he used her surprise to take her in, top to toe. “Christ. I know I’m not supposed to say it, Sophie, but you are beautiful.”

This time, she believed him. Somehow. She looked down at the dressing gown. “It’s Sesily’s.”

“I’m not talking about the gown.”

She didn’t know what to say, so she asked, “Were you waiting for me?”

“Hoping more than waiting.”

Her brow furrowed. For what could he be hoping? He’d said good-bye to her earlier in the day. He’d made it clear that they were not to be. “But this afternoon you said—”

“I know what I said.” He paused. “Why did you knock?”

There were a half-dozen reasons, and only one that mattered.

Tell him
.

“I . . .” She couldn’t. “. . . am leaving tomorrow.”

He nodded. “I assumed your family was not planning to take up residence.”

“I don’t imagine your father would like that.”

“The idea does have its charms.”