The Rogue Not Taken (Scandal & Scoundrel #1)(115)

“Wait,” Sophie said.

“My lady?” asked the duke, all solicitousness.

“We’re doing this now?”

“Yes,” said King.

“In the drive of the Duke of Warnick’s castle?”

“Och. You see? She doesn’t like the castle.” Warnick pointed out before leaning in. “My highland keep is much nicer.”

“No no. It’s not the castle. The castle is lovely. But the drive—we couldn’t do it in a place more . . . authentic?”

King stared at her for a long moment and then said, “If I were marrying a more authentic bride, I might be troubled to find somewhere better.”

She gasped at the words. “You’re horrid.”

“Indeed, it seems I am. Aren’t we a sound match.”

“Perhaps we should wait and finish the ceremony another time,” the duke said, looking from King to Sophie.

“Perhaps so,” she said. She wasn’t going to marry him. Not like this. Not with him furious. She turned for the curricle and took several steps before landing herself on a particularly jagged rock. She gasped her pain and reached down to inspect her slipper. “Perhaps never is a good time for Lord Eversley.”

“You should be more careful about where you walk,” King said, his gaze on her foot. For the first time since she’d met him in the drive at Lyne Castle, he revealed emotion. He was livid.

“Well I’m sorry if I wasn’t prepared for a craggy-drived wedding. You should be more careful about where you take me,” she retorted. “Now you’ve torn my slipper.”

Warnick snorted his laughter.

“We’re to be married. In this place. At this time,” King said, looking away from her, the words cold and certain. He glowered at the duke. “Do it.”

She stopped and turned back. “I don’t think you understand,” she began. “I’m not—”

Catherine interrupted her, speaking from her place in the doorway to the castle. “It’s done.”

Everyone looked at her.

“I beg your pardon?” Sophie asked.

“I said it’s done.” Catherine pointed at her. “You said, We’re to be married here.” She pointed to King. “And he said, We’re to be married in this place, at this time. I witnessed it, as did Alec.” She looked to the duke. “You heard it, didn’t you?”

“I did,” Warnick said, surprise in the words. “It’s that simple? No dearly beloved required?”

Catherine shrugged one shoulder. “It’s the marriage that’s important, not how you get to it.” She looked to Sophie and King. “It’s done. We’ve witnessed your intent to be married, and so, you’re married.” She smiled. “Congratulations.”

It couldn’t be true.

Warnick’s brows rose and he nodded. “Fair enough.”

“That was significantly less painful than I expected it to be,” King said.

“No!” she said. If she was to marry him, she wanted something to feel like marriage. They couldn’t be. This couldn’t be it.

The duke looked to her. “You don’t wish to marry him?”

“Not like this,” she said.

“This is the only way it happens,” King replied. “I want it over and done.”

Sophie met his gaze, hating him. Loving him.

“My lady, do you wish to marry him?” Warnick asked again, serious this time.

She didn’t look away from King. Couldn’t. And she told the truth. Made the vow there in that mad place. “I do.”

Fury flashed in King’s eyes before he looked away.

He collected a box from the floor of the curricle and left to deliver it to the floor of the coach.

As Sophie saw it, she had two options. She could watch him leave her there, in the drive belonging to the Duke of Warnick and whoever Catherine was, or she could tell him the truth. Every bit of it. And let him decide what came next.

One month earlier, she might have chosen the first option.

But she was a different Sophie now, and so she followed him, not caring that their first argument as husband and wife was going to be immediately following their wedding, which she seemed to have missed, anyway.

“I didn’t want this,” she said. “Not like this.”

“I’m afraid I was not in the market for half the ton at St. George’s,” he said.

“You needn’t have been in the market for any of it,” she said. “I never asked for you to marry me.”

“You are correct. There wasn’t a moment of asking.”

She closed her eyes, hating the words. “I thought you did not intend to be saddled with me.”

He moved to the front of the coach and six, inspecting the perfectly matched chestnuts, and testing the harnesses for each of the great beasts. “I shan’t be,” he said, unhitching one of the horses and reconnecting it to the coach. “We may be married, but there’s no reason for us to ever interact again.”

The words made her ache. The thought of having him so close, and yet impossibly far away, made her want to scream her frustration. She’d never intended for any of this. “It’s that simple?”

“It is, rather,” he said, moving to the next horse. “I’ve a half-dozen houses throughout Britain. Choose one.”