The Rogue Not Taken (Scandal & Scoundrel #1)(52)

Her incredulous gaze met his. “You do realize that this carriage is not the behemoth in which you traditionally travel? As you have taken the low ground, my lord, I have no choice but to claim the high. And, as you may recall, I have an unhealed bullet wound in my shoulder, so the threat of the drop from seat to floor of the carriage is . . . unsettling to say the least.”

He cut her a look. “I asked if you were uncomfortable. You said no.”

She scowled at him. “I lied.”

He sat up, just as the vehicle went round a corner. “Christ,” he muttered, putting his hand to his head.

He was turning green.

She let her feet drop to the floor. “Are you ill?”

He shook his head, but put one hand on the side of the rocking carriage.

“Do carriages make you ill?” she asked. When he did not reply, she added, “My sister Sesily is ill in carriages.”

“Which one is that?” If he hadn’t looked so unsettled, she would have argued that her sisters were not all the same and it should not be too much trouble to tell them apart.

Instead, she clarified, “She is second eldest.” She paused, then added, “As the rake you are, I’m sure you’ve heard what they call her when she is not in the room.”

“What’s that?”

“You needn’t pretend you haven’t. I’ve heard it, so I know you must have.”

He cut her a look. “Have I made a practice of lying to you?”

Well. She certainly wasn’t going to tell him. She blushed. “Never mind.”

“You must tell me, now.”

She shook her head. “It’s unkind.”

“I’ve no doubt it is, if they don’t use it to her face.”

She looked out the window. “Her name is Sesily.”

“Yes. You said that.”

She watched him pointedly. “Ses-ily.”

He raised a brow, but did not speak.

“You wish me to say it aloud.”

He closed his eyes. “I’m beginning to care less and less about it, frankly.”

“Sexily,” she said flatly. “They call her Lady Sexily. Behind her back.”

For a moment, he did not reply. Did not move. And then he opened his eyes, skewering her with a furious look. “Anyone who calls her that is an epic ass. And anyone who calls her that in front of you deserves a fist to the face.” He leaned forward. “Who said that in front of you?”

Surprised, she replied, “It’s not important.”

“I assure you it is,” he said. “You should be treated with more respect.”

Respect. What a foreign concept. She looked away. “The Dangerous Daughters do not garner respect, my lord. You know that better than anyone.”

He cursed in the silence. “I am sorry for the things I said.”

“You are?”

“You needn’t sound so shocked.”

“It’s just that—my sisters don’t mind the treatment, so the ton never seems to stop saying such things.”

“But you do mind it.”

She lifted one shoulder. “As we’ve established, I don’t value the gossip pages.”

He watched her for a long moment before he said, “That’s not why you mind it.”

“No,” she said, “I mind it because it devalues us. They’re my sisters. We are people. With feelings. We exist. And it seems that the world fails to see that. Fails to see them.”

“Fails to see you,” he said.

Yes.

“I don’t wish to be seen,” she lied. “I just wish to be free of it.”

His green gaze consumed her. “I see you, Sophie.”

She caught her breath at the words. They weren’t true, of course. But how she wished they were.

She shook her head, returning to safer, less discomfiting ground. “It was a group of men talking about her. I stumbled upon them at a ball. They didn’t see me. They were too busy seeing her.” She lifted her good shoulder. Let it drop. “Sesily’s shape is . . . Well, men notice it. And because our blood does not run blue, men like you—” She stopped. Reconsidered. “Men who think themselves above us . . . they do not hesitate to comment on it. I suppose they think they are clever. And perhaps they are. But it doesn’t feel clever.” She looked up at him. “It feels horrid.”

“I’d like to make each one of them feel horrid.” For a moment, she thought he was telling the truth. Of course, that couldn’t be the case. He wanted nothing to do with her. He paused. “Who’s her scandal?”

Her brow furrowed. “I don’t understand.”

“You each have an inappropriate man attached to you. Who is hers?”

Of course, it was the suitor who defined the Soiled S. “Derek Hawkins.”

“He’s a proper ass,” he said, before closing his eyes and leaning back against the seat. “And the fact that he hasn’t married your sister and murdered anyone who notices her shape proves it.”

Though she agreed, she ignored the words. “I don’t have an inappropriate man attached to me.”

He met her gaze pointedly. “You do now.”

Her cheeks warmed, the words summoning the memory of his kiss. She did not know what to say, so she returned to the original subject. “At any rate, Sesily’s predicament makes long drives quite difficult.” She looked about for somewhere to catch his sick, should there be any. Collecting his hat from the seat next to him, she turned it over and held it beneath his chin. “If you’re going to be ill, use this.”