Her brow furrowed. He won what? Darling? She leaned in. “Are you addled, sir?”
He smiled again, the expression full of privacy and promise, as though the two of them not only liked each other, but shared a lifetime of secrets. He lifted her hand to his lips, kissing the knuckles in succession. Sophie opened her mouth, then closed it, heart pounding, attention riveted to the place where his kisses rained.
What was happening?
“Apologies for the interruption.”
For a moment, she did not even hear the words, too focused on the strange, seductive man across the table. But Eversley heard enough for both of them, replying without moving his gaze from hers. “What is it?”
“We are looking for a missing girl.”
They were there for her.
Eversley’s grasp did not shift, and it was that firm, steady grip that kept her from gasping her surprise. She watched his eyes, read the question in them. Knew that he was leaving her the opportunity to reveal herself. She looked up at them, discovering the pair of dusty riders she’d noticed earlier. “A missing girl,” she said, clutching Eversley’s hand as though it were a port in the storm. “How terrible.”
Perhaps it wasn’t she.
The thought had barely formed before the man said, “Lady Sophie Talbot.”
She was found.
Her plans were thwarted. Eversley was right—her father had sent men to find her. They would ferret her back to London, to the bosom of her family, where she would be primped and preened and sent into Society at her great, mortal embarrassment.
She would have to become Sophie, the unfun Dangerous Daughter.
Days ago, that might have been fine . . . but now she knew there was another possibility. There was freedom. There was Mossband. There was even the possibility of Robbie, who might make good on his promise once he discovered that she was there, and marriageable. Perhaps he had been waiting for her all these years. Perhaps he had despaired for want of her.
Perhaps not.
There was Eversley.
Her gaze flickered to his and dropped away. With whom would she spar if these men took her into custody? Would she ever see him again?
Would she mind?
The answer whispered through her, and she hated even the thought of giving it voice. But there was no turning back. She’d had her chance for proper escape. For a simple, happy life, far from London and the future for which she’d never asked.
And it had been ruined.
Know when you’ve been bested, her father had schooled her again and again. Cut your losses. Shake hands. And return to destroy them another day.
The thought echoing through her, Sophie was quiet, gathering her courage. Ignoring the constant litany of Do not make me return that echoed in her head as the newcomer added, “She is believed to be traveling with the Marquess of Eversley.”
She paused at that. How could they know?
Matthew.
The footman would have arrived at the Talbot house and produced a letter from Sophie—and her father would have immediately had the poor boy questioned. She resisted the urge to ask if Matthew was well.
“Oh?” Eversley asked calmly, as though he had no concern whatsoever. “Are they eloping?”
“Not if we have anything to do with it.” The man leaned down and said, “What are your names? If you don’t mind my asking?”
Eversley’s grip tightened as her gaze flew to his face, where he watched the other man. Willed him to lie. To protect her, even as she knew he was in no way beholden to her. She was not his problem. How many times had he told her that?
It did not matter that she rather wished she was his problem.
And then he replied. “Matthew,” he said, with utter calm. “Mr. and Mrs.” He turned his glittering smile on their visitor. “Newlyweds.”
The man watched them for a long moment before Sophie settled her free hand on their entwined ones and smiled her warmest smile.
She did not know why, but he was saving her. Again.
And worse, she was beginning to like him.
She had a beautiful smile.
It was the wrong time to notice it, but the entire morning he’d been noticing her—from the moment she’d walked into the pub in what had to be a years-old dress procured from the pub owner’s wife. There was nothing attractive about the frock, and still he could not keep his attention from her.
Then she’d argued with him—no surprise, as arguing seemed to be what they did together. And it was more exciting than anything he’d done with a woman in a very long time.
When the men had arrived, he’d known, without question, that they were looking for her. And he’d been about to turn her over—to explain that Lady Sophie Talbot was nothing more than a nuisance, and be rid of the woman and her troublesome life, when he’d made the mistake of looking at her.
She’d looked crushed, her blue eyes full of sadness and resignation. And the smallest, most devastating sliver of hope.
Hope that he might help her out of this mess.
So he had. Like a fool, perpetuating the myth of their marriage, locking them together for more time, until the bounty hunters left. It was idiocy, of course, considering the fact that she’d just sent a messenger to her father, apprising him, no doubt, of the entire situation. Of her plans, which the Earl of Wight would never allow, no matter how much his youngest daughter believed herself plain or boring or irrelevant.
She thought too little of herself, and King had suddenly wished very much to change her mind. As insane as that sounded.
He blamed her beautiful smile.
Which he’d noticed at the exact wrong time, of course.
Dammit.
He came to his feet the moment the man left their table and sat at the bar, knowing that they hadn’t entirely convinced him that they were simple newlyweds smitten with each other. Knowing that he was about to pay the barkeep for information on them. Knowing that Sophie had just paid for an urgent delivery to London. He swore under his breath and, refusing to release Sophie’s hand, pulled her from her chair to her feet, leaning down to whisper at her ear, “They are not certain of us. Feign love.”
She turned to look at him, blinking. “How do I feign something like that?”
She was so damn innocent. It slayed him. He leaned back in, pressing his lips to her ear, enjoying the way she curled into the touch. “Pretend I’m your Robbie.”
Confusion washed through her eyes, and he knew the truth, a thread of relief twisting through him. She did not love Robbie.
Not that he cared one way or another.
He pulled her from the room, instead, using his strength to keep her closer than was proper. Once they were through the back entrance of the pub, he drew her into the dark hallway just beyond the door, hesitating at the foot of the stairway that led to the rooms above.
He imagined they didn’t have much time, so he was not gentle when he set her against the wall. “How is your shoulder?” he asked, realizing he hadn’t asked her before. Though he’d spoken to Mary and to the mad doctor every day, he hadn’t seen Sophie in three days. And he should have asked after her wound.
He should have asked after her, period.
She was confused by the question, but answered nonetheless. “It is fine, thank you. Stiff, but it remains uninfected.”
He nodded. “Excellent.”
“You knew they were here.” She hissed. “That’s why you wagered.”