Something edged through him. Something like sadness.
Tearing his gaze away, he looked to Sophie, wanting to say something. Wanting to tell her that he was sorry.
Instead, he opened the door, stepping out to face the great behemoth, memories of his time here assaulting him: the scent of the green hills of Cumbria, rolling to the River Esk on one side and to the Scottish border on the other; the remains of Hadrian’s Wall that made his mountain as a child; the warm food and kind words of Agnes, the castle’s housekeeper, the closest thing it had to a mistress and the closest thing he had to a mother; his father, stern and cautious, with a single goal—to raise a future duke.
And Lorna. Golden-haired and pale skinned, filled with promise. The promise of love. Of a future. Of a life beyond name and propriety.
Of happiness.
They’d been so young. Too young for him to realize that none of those things were for him.
He pushed the memories away, turning to help Sophie down, his hands at her waist. When she was on solid ground, she looked up at the stone walls of the castle and then to him, a question in her eyes. “Are you well?”
Even now, the echo of her frustration around them, she found room for concern. He released a breath he had not known he held, considering her big blue eyes, the color on her cheeks, the way she thought of him. For a moment, he wondered what would happen if he leaned down and took those full pink lips for the kiss he’d wanted to give her since day had broken. He’d linger there, at the soft skin, reminding himself of her taste. Replacing the memories of his youth here with something else.
But he knew better than to kiss her here, in this place where memories seemed to etch themselves into the ancient stones.
Instead, he released her. “As well as can be expected.”
A shout punctuated the words and King turned to see a great grey horse in the distance, followed by a pack of dogs. He squinted at the rider, tall and grey-haired, ruddy-cheeked and filled with vitality.
It couldn’t be.
“Shit,” he whispered.
“Who is that?” Sophie asked, and her soft words at his shoulder might have pleased him at another time, the way they curled around him, making him a partner in her curiosity.
He was too livid to find pleasure in anything, however. “That is the Duke of Lyne.”
“Your father?”
“The very one.”
“He doesn’t look to be at death’s door to me,” she said, and he was almost certain he heard pleasure in the observation.
“The duke requests your company at the evening meal.”
Sophie stood at the far corner of the room to which she had been assigned, considering the extravagant view. She’d bathed and slept much of the day in the massive, deliciously comfortable bed, and she’d woken to a collection of no doubt borrowed gowns, several of which actually fit.
A maid helped her dress before leaving her alone to wait there, in the window, considering the labyrinth in the foreground and the rolling green hills of a North Country summer beyond, wondering what was to come next before King rapped on the door and entered without summons. She turned to face him, still full of the anger she’d felt earlier in the day, when he’d made it clear that she was nothing but scandal to him.
Still attempting not to be hurt by it.
Still trying to put the evening before—the way he’d touched her and kissed her and whispered her name in the darkness—out of her mind.
She met his gaze, hating the way his presence had her breath quickening. “Mine alone?”
He leaned against the jamb. “Sadly, no. Ours, together.” His gaze lowered to her bad shoulder. “Are you feeling well?”
She smiled, a brilliant, false expression that would have made her sisters proud. “I am about to sup with two men who disdain me, so I have, in fact, felt better.”
He cut her a look. “I meant your shoulder. And I don’t disdain you.”
She ignored the last. “The herbs and honey are working well.”
“Did you bathe?”
Her cheeks warmed. “Not that it is your business, but yes.”
“It’s my business.”
“Because if I die you’ll be out your revenge?”
He narrowed his gaze on her. “I don’t care for your smart mouth.”
Another smile. “And here I was working so very hard to make you care.” She approached. “Have you told him that you’ve returned with a Dangerous Daughter on your arm?”
He looked over his shoulder into the hallway and stepped inside the room, quickly closing the door. “I haven’t,” he said quietly, “But he’ll know soon enough.”
“Do I look enough the part for you?” she asked, knowing she looked as much of a Dangerous Daughter as she could without her sisters’ belongings nearby.
“You look fine.”
She made a show of furrowing her brow. “Are you sure? Women like me, we don’t know much about dining with dukes. What with our background.”
He cursed beneath his breath. “Stop that.”
She blinked. “Stop what?”
“Stop condescending to me.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
“You would, and you are. You no more think of yourself as less than me than you think you can sprout wings and fly. You know you’re better than all of us.”
She opened her mouth to reply, but closed it, stunned by the unexpected words. Who was this man who so easily insulted her, and at the same time seemed to do the opposite?
“You deserve better than us, as well,” he grumbled.
“That, at least, is true.” If only she could convince herself of it. “I have been considering our agreement,” she continued, turning for the looking glass, making a show of pinching her cheeks as she’d watched Sesily do in preparation for her suitors. Men like to feel as though you’ve been dreaming of them, her sister liked to say by way of explanation.
Ironic, that, as Sophie would do anything to keep King from knowing how she dreamed of him.
He watched her from the door, his gaze on her in the mirror. She made a show of straightening her neckline, drawing attention to her ample breasts, already near bursting from the gown. He’d asked for a Soiled S. And here she was.
“Don’t tell me you’re reneging,” he said.
“I wouldn’t dare,” she said. “A Talbot keeps her word. But it occurs that what with my father’s funds, I don’t require your money so much as something else.”
His brow furrowed so quickly that she might not have seen it if she weren’t so thoroughly focused on him. “And what is that?”
She bit her lips once, twice, hard enough for them to go red and slightly swollen. Yes. Sesily would be very proud. “I want you to ruin me.”
“What in hell does that mean?”
“You’re such an expert, my lord, I can’t imagine you don’t already know.”
He came toward her, his voice suddenly lower, darker. “How, precisely, do you wish me to ruin you?”
“How do you ruin all the others?” She waved a hand when his eyes widened. “It doesn’t matter. We’ve spent the better part of a week together without a chaperone, and last night—”
“Don’t,” he said.