The Rogue Not Taken
He cursed, running his hands through his hair, “I know. I was wrong. Christ.”
“I didn’t wish to marry you,” she said, hating the sadness in her words. The weakness there. “Not like that.”
“I know,” he said.
“I’m not sure you do,” she said, and she couldn’t bear to look at him any longer. She turned, looking down the road, where the mail coach had disappeared.
She was trapped.
Just as he was.
“I can’t be married to you, King. Not like this. That’s why I left the carriage.” She paused and looked back to him, meeting his beautiful green eyes. She loved him too much to be married to him without trust. Without love. “I told you everything. I bared myself. My love. And it wasn’t enough. You deserve better than to be trapped in a marriage you don’t want.” She shook her head and added, “And I deserve more.”
She turned her back to walk away, not knowing where she was going, but knowing she could not stay with him.
He called after her. “I want it.”
She closed her eyes but did not stop.
“God knows that you do deserve more, but I’m sorry, Sophie, you can’t have it. You’re my wife. And I want you. Every bit of you. I love you. More than you could possibly know. And I was a proper ass. I should have listened to you. I should have believed you.”
She turned back to face him, unable to stop herself. He was coming for her, the words pouring out of him.
“I should have proposed to you last night. Before I made love to you. But like an imbecile, I wanted to propose properly. I was going to take you to the labyrinth, love. With strawberry tarts. Would you have liked that?” He stopped in front of her. “Please, Sophie.”
“I would have liked that,” she said softly.
“I’ll do it,” he vowed. “As soon as we’re home. I’ll take you there. I’ll do it.”
“I don’t need it. We’re already married.”
“I do,” he said. “Christ. I do. Give me your hands.”
She did, marveling as he lowered himself to his knees in front of her. “No. King.”
He kissed her hands, first one, then the other. “We don’t have witnesses, but this will have to do. I love you, Sophie Talbot. I love your beauty and your brilliance and I swear here before you and God and the Great North Road that I wanted to marry you yesterday and I want to marry you today, and I fully intend to want to marry you for all the days for the rest of our lives.”
She stared down at the top of his head, marveling at those beautiful curls, unable to believe that he was here, and that he wanted her.
“You believe me? I did not wish to trap you.”
He stood, pressing his forehead to hers. “I was an ass. I was angry and shocked and I . . .” He paused. “I wanted to trap you, I think. And then, like a fool, I sent you away.” He closed his eyes. “I saw the carriage topple and—” He opened them. “Christ, Sophie. I died in that moment. I don’t know what I would have—”
“I am alive.” She pressed his hand to her breast, where her heart beat strong and true. “King. I am alive.” She smiled. “You seem to have made a career of rescuing me.”
He slid that hand up to her jaw, tilting her face to his, staring deeply into her eyes. “I will always rescue you.” He kissed her again before continuing, “I sent you away because I was terrified of you. Terrified of how you made me feel. Terrified of the life you made me want to live. I sent you away because I was afraid I would never be the kind of man who deserved you.
“I want to be that man, Sophie. I need to love you. I need you to love me again. I need you to teach our children how to love.” Children. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’d quite like a collection of brown-haired, blue-eyed, book-loving daughters.”
“You love me?”
He threaded his fingers through hers, bringing her hand to his lips. “Quite desperately.”
She shook her head. “I never thought I would have it,” she said softly. “I never thought I was interesting enough. I never thought anyone would love me. To be honest, I never really worried about it. I had my family, and I was happy. And then I met you.” She paused. “And you turned my life upside down.”
“I believe it was you who turned my life upside down.”
She smiled. “All I wanted was a lift to Mayfair.”
“Do you regret that Mayfair wasn’t in my plans?”
She shook her head. “Not a bit. Though I could have done without all the excitement on the road.”
“Too much excitement.” He stole another kiss. “You are never traveling by coach again.”
“I was never exciting before I met you,” she said.
“I don’t believe it,” he said.
“It’s true.” Her fingers stole into his hair, pulling him to her. “I never once stole a footman before you.” She kissed him then, long and lingering.
When the caress broke, he nipped at her lip. “Thief.” Another kiss. “This ends happily,” he vowed softly. And she believed him. “Say it again,” he said, “I want to be certain that I haven’t lost you.”
“I love you. My husband. My King.” She paused, then whispered, “Now you say it again.”
And he did, again and again, until she couldn’t remember a time when it wasn’t true.
Epilogue
SOPHIE’S ST. JAMES SURPRISE
November 1833