The Rogue Not Taken

Sophie nodded and opened her mouth to introduce herself before the other woman raised a hand and said, “And you’re a fancy servant.”

It was a reminder that to the rest of the coach, she looked the part of a footman. Sophie nodded. “Matthew,” she said, with a silent apology to the footman whose identity she was quietly appropriating.

Mary leaned back against her seat. “Pleased to meet you.”

Smell and crowd aside, the mail coach was not so bad as she’d imagined. Perhaps things would go smoothly, after all.

The moment the thought floated through her mind, the carriage began to slow. The girl at her feet sat up. “We’re there!”

“You don’t even know where ‘there’ is,” John snapped.

She scowled. “I know that if we’re stopping, we must be somewhere,” the girl said smartly.

“Shush, both of you,” Mary whispered, craning to look over the two sleeping women obstructing the view out the carriage window. Sophie followed her gaze, the trees at the edge of the road coming to a stop. “We’re nowhere.”

A muffled conversation came from outside as the other woman checked the opposite window before turning to Sophie. “Is it possible someone is looking for you?”

Considering she’d borrowed a significant sum from him without his knowing, Sophie imagined that the Marquess of Eversley would, indeed, be looking. She sat forward. “I hope not.”

“Out of the carriage!” a man’s voice boomed.

“Christ,” the other woman muttered.

“I know you can hear me!”

Dread pooled in Sophie’s chest. Eversley had found her. And once he had his hands on her, he would collect his money and march her back to London without hesitation. If he was feeling magnanimous there would be marching to London, she realized. If he was furious, he could easily leave her on the side of the road to fend for herself. Again.

And he hadn’t seemed overly magnanimous at their last meeting.

Of course, she had called him arrogant, vapid, and unintelligent. That did not engender magnanimity, to be honest.

“Let’s go, girl! We haven’t got all day!”

Sophie thought the “girl” was rather rude and unnecessary, but Eversley didn’t exactly eschew rudeness, in her experience.

Around the coach, women and children were stirring, asking questions about who was outside and what was happening. There would be no hiding for Sophie. She might as well not be a coward about the whole thing. Squaring her shoulders, she came off the seat, stepping gingerly around the little girl on the floor and reaching for the door handle.

“Wait!” Mary called out.

Sophie turned back. “There’s nothing to be done. He’s here for me.”

“Don’t open that door,” the young woman said ominously. “Once it’s open, it can’t be shut.”

Sophie nodded, sadness creeping through her at the thought that this woman, whom she’d known for no more than a quarter of an hour, was attempting to protect her. “I understand that. But I wronged him. Several times. And he wants his revenge.”

And then she opened the door to reveal Eversley.

Except the man outside wasn’t Eversley.

The men outside weren’t Eversley.

Relief was quickly replaced by trepidation. While the trio were not her pursuer, these men were decidedly less well dressed than the marquess, and decidedly more nefarious-looking than he. She blinked. “Who are you?”

“I’ll be askin’ the questions, boy,” the one farthest away announced. “It’s nice you’re willing to be all hero-like, but just step aside and give us what we want.”

Understanding dawned. “You’re highwaymen.”

“Not exactly,” he said.

“You stopped a mail coach on its journey north with the intent of robbing us and, I can only imagine, leaving us for dead,” she pointed out, ignoring the gasps and shrieks that came from inside the conveyance at the words. “You’re highwaymen.” She looked up at the driving block. “What have you done with the driver?”

“He ran like the coward drivers always are.”

Oh, dear. That was not ideal.

“Don’t let them kill us!” came a little cry from inside the coach.

The leader stepped forward. “I didn’t have plans to kill you. But now you’re irritatin’ me. And I don’t like being irritated.” He met her gaze, his eyes cruel and ice blue. “I ain’t lettin’ some nob’s errand boy stand between me and what I want. Get out of the way before I decide to kill you to get to it.”

Sophie did not know where her bravery came from. “What is it you want?”

“He wants me.” The answer came from inside the coach, from Mary. She looked past Sophie to the man outside, her voice even as she said, “Don’t hurt anyone, Bear.” But Sophie saw the fear in the woman’s eyes.

“I don’t want you,” the man called Bear said, disgust in his voice. “I want the boy.”

John.

Sophie’s gaze flickered past the woman to where the child had been. The seat next to hers was now empty—the boy nowhere to be found. Mary descended from the carriage. “He’s not here.”

“Bullshit,” Bear spat, and Sophie inhaled deeply at the foul language. “You took him. And I’m still using him. He’s my best drunk blade.”

“I’m telling you, he’s not with me.”

The man got close. “But the little one is.”