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419 pages, Mass Market Paperback
First published December 29, 2015
“Really? You’re Sophie, the youngest of Talbot girls, aren’t you?”
“The unfun one.”
“You said you wished to experience the bits and pieces of it.” He spoke close to her ear, where she smelled of honey and spice.
“The bits and pieces of love.”
One of his hands slid up to her jaw, his fingers threading into her hair. “Would you like me to show you this bit?”
“You didn’t tell Robbie we were engaged for me. You did it for you.”
He shook his head. “For us. It works for both of us.”
She ignored the pang in her chest at the words. “You’re asking me to lie to a duke.”
“To my father.”
She blinked. “I thought you planned to convince him that you’d never marry.”
“And I won’t,” King replied. “I’ve no intention of marrying you.”
Oblivious to her thoughts, the duke continued, goading his son. “And this one?” he prompted, waving a hand in Sophie’s direction, “Do you love her as well?”
...“Lady Sophie knows precisely how I feel about her.”
“I’ve no intention of making love to you, Sophie. Not tonight. Not ever.”
He understood, his gaze turning predatorial. He, the hunter. She, the prey. And then he said, “I can’t love you.”
A single tear slipped down her cheek as she nodded. “I know.”
“I don’t want you to leave. I want you to stay here. I want to keep you here, at the center of this labyrinth. Even though it’s the worst possible thing I can think to do to you.”
Pain flashed in her blue eyes, and he almost believed it. “King—I don’t want this.”
“You did, though, didn’t you? You wanted to trap me.”
Betrayed by the woman he loved.
She shook her head. “I didn’t. I swear.”
...King looked to his future father-in-law. “You’ll have your wedding,” he said, before turning away, stalking to his desk, extracting paper and pen. “Now get out.”
Lady Sophie’s Society SplashFrom the first page to the last, The Rogue Not Taken is a delight to read! Well, a delight and steamy and funny and thought-provoking and heartbreaking and hopeful… it’s absolutely everything I love about Sarah MacLean’s way of telling a story!
When Sophie, the least interesting of the Talbot sisters, lands her philandering brother-in-law backside-first in a goldfish pond in front of all society, she becomes the target of very public aristocratic scorn. Her only choice is to flee London, vowing to start a new life far from the aristocracy. Unfortunately, the carriage in which she stows away isn’t saving her from ruin . . . it’s filled with it.
Rogue’s Reign of Ravishment!
Kingscote, “King,” the Marquess of Eversley, has never met a woman he couldn’t charm, resulting in a reputation far worse than the truth, a general sense that he’s more pretty face than proper gentleman, and an irate summons home to the Scottish border. When King discovers stowaway Sophie, however, the journey becomes anything but boring.
War? Or More?
He thinks she’s trying to trick him into marriage. She wouldn’t have him if he were the last man on earth. But carriages bring close quarters, dark secrets, and unbearable temptation, making opposites altogether too attractive . . .
—No tenemos testigos, pero tendrás que conformarte. Te amo, Sophie Talbot. Me encanta tu belleza, tu brillo, y te juro aquí, ante Dios, en la Gran Carretera del Norte, que ayer quería casarme contigo y que hoy también quiero casarme contigo. Tengo intención de casarme contigo cada día durante el resto de mi vida.
Quiero ser ese hombre, Sophie. Necesito amarte. Necesito que me ames de nuevo. Necesito que enseñes a amar a nuestros hijos. —¿Hijos?—. Espero que no te importe, pero me gustaría mucho tener unas cuantas hijas de pelo castaño y ojos azules a las que les gusten los libros.
"She died inside the damn coach, at my hand.”
No wonder he hated riding in coaches. “That’s why you race the curricles,” she said. “You pay your penance. You risk yourself.”
“I told you that my father killed her. As though he put a pistol to her head.”
She nodded, not knowing what to say.
“It wasn’t his hate that put the pistol to her head. It was my love.”
He stayed with her until she returned to earth, to the labyrinth, Ariadne to his Minotaur, somehow able to destroy him with her touch.
He would hear that word, spoken in her voice, for the rest of his life.
Truth and utter lie all at once.
She couldn’t be his, of course. She couldn’t be his, because it would require him to be hers. It would require him to love her the way she deserved. And that would never happen. It was impossible.
"You should not bite the hand that feeds you," he said.
"Are you calling me a dog?"
"Why not? They shan’t be looking for me there.”
It was likely the truth, but he’d had enough of this woman and the carelessness with which she lived her life. “Because you have a habit of getting shot on mail coaches.”
“It wasn’t on the coach.”
“Stop believing whatever everyone has said about you for all these years. There’s nothing about that is unmemorable. The last week has been the most memorable of my life, for Chrissakes. Because of you. Stop imagining you’re something you’re not.”
“I shall do no such thing, you horrible, arrogant scoundrel. This is my bedchamber, in which you take such rapscalionesque liberties.”
He raised his brow. “Rapscallionesque isn’t a word.”
She did not hesitate. “I’m certain that those who invent words need only to meet you to see that it should be.”