The Rogue Not Taken (Scandal & Scoundrel #1)(33)

Sophie, already pale, blanched further and nodded. The doctor thrust his chin in the direction of the sideboard. “There is whiskey there.”

That, King could manage. He grasped the bottle and uncorked it. “As this is for business rather than pleasure, I’m not going to put it in a glass,” he said, putting the bottle to her lips. She tilted her head back and drank deep. “Good girl,” he said quietly before she coughed, the alcohol no doubt stinging down her throat.

She shook her head. “Bollocks!”

He smiled at that. “You say that word like it is second nature.”

She looked at the needle. “More coal miner’s daughter than Society lady.”

He laughed, but the sound was cut off by her gasp of pain as the doctor began stitching. King did his best to distract her. “Do you miss it?”

Her blue gaze found his. “Life before London?” He nodded, and she turned away, watching the needle do its work. “I do. I’ve never felt quite right there.” She smiled. “Now I can’t go back. They’ll never have me with a bullet wound.”

He smiled at that, imagining that if Sophie Talbot decided to return to London, she could make them take her back. “What happened at the Liverpool party?”

She met his eyes. “I shall tell you what happened to me if you tell me what happened to you.”

His brows rose. “You know what happened to me.”

“Before that.”

“I imagine you can guess,” he hedged.

“I suppose I can,” she said, and there was something soft in her tone. Censure. Disappointment.

It wasn’t as though King hadn’t been on the receiving end of such disdain before; he had. He’d just never cared. He made his reputation on it. But somehow, this woman made him feel like an insect, despite having done nothing at all wrong.

“Excellent,” said the doctor, seemingly unaware of the discussion around him, snipping the string on his perfect row of stitches and halting King’s thoughts as he produced a pot of honey.

“What is that for?” King asked.

“For her wound,” the man said, simply, spreading the golden stuff over the wound as though it was perfectly normal.

“She’s not toast.”

“The ancient Egyptians used it to stave off infection.”

“I suppose I’m to think that’s a good enough reason to do it now?”

“Do you have a better idea?”

King did not like this man. “Does it work?”

The doctor shrugged. “It can’t hurt.”

King blinked. “You’re mad.”

“The Royal College of Surgeons certainly thinks so.”

“What do they know about you?”

“My membership was rescinded last year. Why do you think I’m in Sprotbrough?”

“I see now that it’s because you’re as foolish as the name of this place.” King grabbed the man by the neck. “Let me be clear. She shan’t die.”

“Killing me won’t help with that,” the doctor said, utterly calm.

Goddammit. King released him. Spoke again. “She shan’t die.”

“Not from the gunshot,” the doctor said.

King heard the repetition. “Not from the gunshot. You keep saying that.”

“It’s the truth. She will not die from the gunshot.”

“But?”

There was a long silence while the doctor dressed the wound. Once finished, he turned away to wash his hands in a nearby basin and said, “I can’t guarantee she won’t die of what comes next.”

Sophie opened her eyes and focused on the doctor, a small smile on her face. “He won’t like that.”

The doctor looked down at her with a smile. “I gather not.”

She blinked. “You’re very handsome for a surgeon.”

The man laughed. “Thank you, madam. Of course, I would have preferred that compliment without the ‘for a surgeon.’”

She inspected him for a long moment before she nodded. “Fair enough. You’re very handsome. Full stop.”

King wanted to break something when the doctor laughed. “Much better.”

It was nonsense, obviously. King didn’t care if she flirted with the damn doctor. She could live here forever if she wanted. It would make everything easier for him. He could leave her and head north and live a life without her troublesome—

The doctor put his hand to Sophie’s forehead, and King could not help but want to hurt someone. Someone specific. “Is it necessary that you touch her so much?”

Unruffled, the doctor said, “If I’m to judge if she has a fever, I’m afraid so.”

“Does she?”

“No.” The doctor turned and exited the room without further comment.

It was not every day that King was dismissed so easily, and he had half a mind to follow the young man and tell him precisely whom he was disrespecting. But then he looked down at Sophie. And everything changed.

She was watching him, her blue eyes seeing everything. Her lips twitched in a little half smile. “You see? The universe does not bend to your every whim after all. I might, in fact, die.”

“Of course you’re smug about that.”