The Rogue Not Taken

“Yes,” he said, over a barrel. “I’ll pay for it. Of course.”

“Excellent,” Sophie said, quietly, the word barely a sound as she slipped into sleep; King would have called the smile on her face smug if he weren’t so surprised by her slumber. He turned worried eyes on the doctor.

“There’s something in the herbs to help her sleep, as well,” he said. “Do you need assistance carrying her round to the inn?”

“No.” King’s response was clipped. He could carry his own imposter wife himself, dammit. And he wanted away from this mad surgeon as soon as possible. “Tell me, Doctor, how much for today’s services?”

The doctor did not answer, now entirely focused on Mary. “You’ve a terrible bruise at the side of your head, Miss.”

The woman raised her hand to the spot, her cheeks turning pink. “It’s nothing.”

The doctor turned away and opened a drawer. “It most certainly is not nothing.” He turned back with a small pot, opening it and reaching for her. She flinched away from him, and he paused, his voice lowering. “I shan’t hurt you.”

Pink cheeks turned red, and King had the strange feeling that he should look away as the doctor spread a white cream across the bruise on Mary’s face.

King cleared his throat and reached for his purse to pay the doctor . . . only to find it gone. He looked down at his belt, where the coin had been not an hour earlier.

“Are you missing your purse, m’lord?” John asked, rocking back on his heels.

“John,” Mary said, stepping away from the doctor’s touch quickly, sounding somewhat breathless. “It is kind of you to honor your wife’s wishes, Mr. Matthew,” she added, the words sounding through the shock of King’s discovery that his money was gone. “I hope you remain willing to do so once you discover that John has picked your pocket.”

John extended his purse. “I weren’t goin’ to keep it.”

A mad doctor and a school of thieves. Of course she’d saddled him with this merry band. Sophie Talbot brought trouble with her wherever she went. And how many times had he heard her called the boring Dangerous Daughter?

She was dangerous, all right. But he didn’t worry for his reputation. He worried for his well-being.

King raised a brow at the boy. “You’re the first pickpocket I’ve met who has no intention of keeping his spoils.”

The boy looked down at his shoes. “It’s a habit.”

“It’s a bad one,” King said.

John looked to the doctor and offered a long gold chain. “’Ere’s your fob.”

The doctor’s hand went to his waistcoat pocket. “I didn’t even feel it.”

John grinned. “I’m the best there is in London. It’s too bad I’m reforming.”

King was not impressed. “Reform harder.”

He turned several coins into his palm and paid the doctor before pocketing his purse and reaching for Sophie, pulling her gently into his arms.

The others in the room moved aside, but the young girl watched carefully, taking that moment to speak. “She’s like Briar Rose.”

King looked down, taking in Sophie’s closed eyes and pale skin. He imagined she did look like the sleeping beauty from the fairy tales. For a moment, he considered the implications of the comparison. She might be a princess, but he was no prince.

“Unlike Miss Rose, this lady will wake,” he vowed, more to himself than to the child.

“’Course she will,” came the reply. “All you have to do is kiss her.”

Were he not so tired of this motley crew, he might have laughed. He wasn’t going to kiss Sophie Talbot. That way lay danger of an entirely different sort.

Chapter 7

SLEEPING BEAUTY WAKES;

NO NUZZLING NECESSARY

Sophie woke the next day, the late-afternoon sun streaking through the mottled glass windows, dust dancing in the light, and a somewhat unsettling smell underscoring the not-so-cleanliness of the rooms above the Warbling Wren pub.

“She wakes.” The words came from a chair at the far end of the room, set back in the shadows so she could not see their speaker. She didn’t need to see him, though. She knew precisely who it was.

He’d stayed with her.

She ignored the comfort that came with the thought. She didn’t want him to stay with her. She didn’t need him to stay with her. He was a rake and a scoundrel. And if not for him, she wouldn’t be here.

But he’d stayed, nonetheless.

She pushed herself up without thinking, pain shooting through her shoulder and causing her to cry out. One hand flew to her bandage, a mistake, as the lightest touch seemed to send fire through her.

The Marquess of Eversley was beside her in an instant. “Dammit, woman. Are you simply unable to be cautious?” He put an arm behind her back. “Lie down.”

She brushed away his assistance. “I was being cautious. When a lady awakes to find a scoundrel in her chamber, she removes herself from the bed.”

His reply was dry as sand. “In my experience, the exact opposite is true.”

“Yes, well, I question the company you keep.” Her shoulder began to throb. “How long have I been asleep?”

“Eighteen hours, give or take,” he said. “Do you remember waking for your tea?”

A hazy memory came. Mary leaning over her with a teacup. “Vaguely.”

“And the pain?”

She shifted and hid her wince. “Bearable.”

“Interesting. I would have wagered that it hurts like a bastard.”