The Rogue Not Taken (Scandal & Scoundrel #1)

“Really? You’re Sophie, the youngest of Talbot girls, aren’t you?”
“I am.”
“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.”

Yours.
He stayed with her until she returned to earth, to the labyrinth, Ariadne to his Minotaur, somehow able to destroy him with her touch.
Yours.
He would hear that word, spoken in her voice, for the rest of his life.
Yours.
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.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m so sorry I cannot be the man you wish me to be.”

Tears threatened again and she shook her head. No more of that. “It’s you who don’t see. I only ever wished you to be the man that you are.”