she began before realizing that the question acknowledged her actions. She changed tack. “I told you.”
He shook his head. “No. You told me you insulted him in front of the entire assembly.”
“I did,” she said.
He tossed the newspaper on top of her unpleasant biscuit. “What did you do before that, Sophie?”
She looked down at the paper, her gaze falling to a line of large, bold type. DANGEROUS DAUGHTER DUNKS DUKE!
It was not, as she had expected, an old newspaper. “That newspaper was printed and delivered with uncanny expediency to Sprotbrough.”
“Who would have imagined it was such a metropolis?” he replied.
“The exclamation point seems unnecessary,” she said quietly.
“You should write a letter of complaint to the editor. What did you do?”
She lifted the newspaper and offered it back to him. “I’m certain you can read all about it.”
“It says you nearly drowned him. There’s speculation that you wished to kill him.”
She rolled her eyes. “Oh, for heaven’s sake. He was backside first in two feet of fishpond.”
He laughed at that. A warm, rolling laugh that surprised her with its honesty. It made her wish he laughed more. It made her forget what they were discussing, until he recovered his words and asked, incredulous, “At your doing?”
“He deserved it, if that’s worth anything,” she grumbled.
“I have no doubt he did, the pompous ass,” Eversley said. “What did he do to you?”
“It wasn’t me,” she said. “I wouldn’t have done it if it were me.”
He watched her carefully. “For whom, then?”
“He was hidden away in the greenhouse. With a woman.”
“And?”
He was going to make her elaborate. “The woman was not my sister.”
“Ah,” he said.
And that was it. There was no judgment in the word. And at the same time, there was no understanding. “You don’t think he deserved it, after all.”
“I did not say that.”
“You did not not say it, either.” When he did not reply, irritation flared. “I suppose you’re all in some secret club, anyway.”
“We all?” he asked.
She narrowed her gaze on his. “Lotharios who don’t mind ruining marriages.”
“I told you, I don’t dally with married ladies.”
“Only soon-to-be-married ones.”
“There’s a difference.”
Every time she thought he was fairly decent, he reminded her of the truth. She tossed the paper at him. “No. There isn’t.” She paused, then added, “Lady Elizabeth, daughter of the Marquess of Twillery.”
“Sounds familiar.”
“She should. You ruined her planned marriage to the Earl of Exeter.”
“Ah. Yes. It’s coming back to me,” he said, relaxing into his chair.
“She married her father’s stable master.”
“Happily, if I recall.”
“She didn’t have a choice after you ended her engagement.”
“Love conquered. Isn’t that what is important?” He remained unruffled.
“Of course you can be flip about it,” she said. “You’re a man.”
“What does that have to do with it?”
“Your reputation is only enhanced by your actions. Poor Lady Elizabeth is ruined forever.”
“Lady Elizabeth might disagree with that assessment of the situation.” He returned his attention to the article in the paper about her altercation with Haven. “You are rather ruined yourself, it appears.”
“Those assembled were not amused.”
He smirked. “I don’t imagine they were. So, now we know.”
She looked to him in confusion. “What do we know?”
“What you’re running from.”
“I’m not running,” she insisted. “Either way, you needn’t trouble yourself with it; I have purchased a ticket on the mail coach tomorrow. I look forward to being rid of you, and I’m sure you feel the same.”
“You’re not going anywhere on a mail coach,” he said simply, as though she were asking his permission.
She shot him a look. “You’re acting like your name gives you some sort of special power over me. Again. I do not care for it.”
The words were punctuated by the door to the street opening behind her, Eversley’s gaze flickering over her shoulder to consider the newcomers as he turned the newspaper over. He tracked their movement for so long that she had to resist the desire to turn and look.
Instead, she leaned forward. “Don’t tell me it’s the real King?”
He cut her a look. “I suppose you think it’s amusing to mock my name?”
She smirked. “I do, rather.”
“You should not bite the hand that feeds you,” he said.
“Are you calling me a dog?”
“No,” he replied, “Hounds are more docile and obedient than you could ever be.”
She was about to tell him precisely which of them was houndlike when he reached for her hand across the tabletop as though it were the most normal thing in the world, looked deep into her eyes, and smiled.
Sophie’s breath caught. Good Lord, he was a beautiful