stopped her from speaking. “You threatened to heal me,” he said. “You tempted me with your pretty vows.” He paused. “You made me think I could love again.”
She reached for him, but he backed away from her touch, opening the door to the coach. “Get in.”
She did, grateful for the privacy, eager for the journey back to Lyne Castle, for the chance to convince him that they could try again. Once seated, she looked to him, framed in the door. He did not join her, however.
He wasn’t coming with her. Uncertainty unfurled through her. “Where are you sending me?”
“To London,” he said, matter-of-factly. “Isn’t that what you wanted all along? To return to the aristocracy the conquering heroine? The next Duchess of Lyne?”
Her stomach dropped. It was nothing like what she wanted. “I never wanted any of that and you know it.”
“Well, Sophie, it seems that we all must make do with not getting what we want today.” He met her gaze, his eyes glittering green and furious. “The irony of it is this—I would have given you whatever you asked. I would have begged you for forever if you hadn’t been so quick to steal it.”
The words were more damaging than any blow.
Before she could recover, he closed the door, and the carriage began to move.
King watched the coach trundle down the long drive, twisting and turning until it was out of sight. Until she was out of sight.
Until he was alone in Scotland, newly married, and filled with anger and something far, far more dangerous. Something like sorrow.
“Well. That was the strangest wedding I’ve ever witnessed.” Warnick leaned against the low stone wall that marked the long-ago filled-in moat of the castle, cheroot in hand, watching him.
“You don’t seem to have witnessed many weddings,” King said, “Considering what a hash you made of it.”
“I was trying to give you some pomp and circumstance. To remember the occasion.”
King did not think he’d ever forget this occasion.
What a fucking nightmare.
He’d married her. She was his wife.
Christ. What had he done?
“I’ll say this—” Warnick began.
“Please don’t,” King replied, unable to take his gaze from the crest where the carriage had finally disappeared. “I am not interested in what you wish to say.”
“I’m afraid you’re on my land, mate,” the Scot drawled. “At your own request, I arranged a wedding for you. I gave you a coach and six of my finest horses.”
“They weren’t hitched correctly,” King said, thinking of her in that carriage, careening down the Great North Road. Had he checked all six horses?
“They were hitched fine,” Warnick said. “You’re just mad.”
“Was there food in the carriage? And water?”
“Everything you asked,” the duke replied.
“Boiled water?” King asked. She’d need it for her tea, which she would find in the box he’d brought from Lyne Castle. “Clean bandages?”
She might need them.
“And honey, just as requested,” Warnick said. “A strange collection of items, but every one in there. She’s all the comforts of home.”
Home.
The word brought an image of Sophie, leaning over the upper walkway of the library at Lyne Castle, laughing down at him. Of her in the kitchens, eating pasties with the staff. Of her at the edge of the labyrinth fountain, book in hand.
In his bed, pleasure in her eyes.
Pleasure, and her pretty lies.
He shoved a hand through his hair, hating the way she consumed his thoughts. She was gone. He looked to Warnick. “I’m ready for the next race.”
Warnick raised a black brow. “After your wife?”
King swore at him, low and wicked. “North. Let’s for Inverness.”
“That’s a long race. The roads are dangerous.”
Perfect. Something to keep him from thinking of her. “Are you not up for it?”
“I’m always up for it,” Warnick boasted. “And with you so distracted, I might actually win this one. I’ll send notice to the lads. When would you like to leave?”
“Tomorrow,” King said. As soon as he could be rid of this place and its memories.
Warnick looked to the curricle. “I see your darling is repaired.”
King followed his friend’s gaze, hating the look of the carriage he’d once loved so dearly, now rife with memories of her. “No thanks to you.”
The duke smiled. “She was a clever girl, selling your wheels.”
“They weren’t hers to sell. She’s a thief.”
“You think I didn’t know that? She’s very convincing.”
I wished to say that I love you.
He’d never been so convinced of anything in his life.
He’d never wanted something to be more true.
The damn curricle was full of her. Of wagered carriage wheels and her glorious defiance