“Why not?”

“So many reasons, poppet. Not the least of which is this—I’ve no intention of being saddled with one of the Soiled S’s.”

She stiffened at the moniker. Most people did not call them such to their faces. She supposed she should expect nothing less from this horrible man. “I do not intend to ensnare you, Lord Eversley. I assure you, even if I had had such an idea, this interaction”—she waved a hand back and forth between them—“would have cured me of such an affliction.” She took a deep breath. “I require escape. Surely you understand that. As you seem to require the same.”

He focused on her. “What happened?”

She looked away, remembering the cold gaze of Society. Its wicked cut. “It is not important.”

His brows rose. “If you’re in the woods with me, love, I’d say it is quite important.”

“This is a strip of trees. Not ‘the woods.’”

“You’re very contrary for someone who needs me.”

“I don’t need you.”

“Then give me my boot and I’ll be on my way.”

She tightened her grip on the boot. “I need your carriage. That’s a different thing altogether.”

“My carriage is about to be otherwise engaged,” he said.

“I simply need conveyance home.”

“You’ve four sisters, a mother, and a father. Ride with them.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

Pride.

Well, she certainly wasn’t going to tell him that.

“You shall just have to trust me.”

“Again, the ladies of your family don’t exactly have reputations that engender trust.”

She did not pretend to misunderstand. “Oh, and you are the very portrait of respectability.”

He grinned. “I don’t trade on respectability, love.”

She was beginning to hate him.

She nodded. “Fine. You leave me no choice but to resort to extreme measures.” His brows rose. “Take me, or lose your boot.”

He watched her for a long moment, and she willed herself to remain still under his consideration. She attempted to convince herself not to notice the beautiful green of his eyes; the long, straight line of his aristocratic nose; the handsome curve of his lips.

She should not be noticing his lips.

She swallowed at the thought, and his gaze flickered to the place where her throat betrayed the movement. His lips twitched. “Keep the boot.”

It took a moment for her to remember what it was they had been talking about.

Before she could think of a retort, he was through the trees and over the wall, headed for his carriage on one stockinged foot.

By the time she reached the wall, he was at the front of a large, smart-looking black carriage, fussing about with the horses. Sophie watched him for long moments, wishing he would step on something uncomfortable. It appeared he was rehitching all the horses, checking harnesses and straps, but that would be silly, as he no doubt had a stableful of servants to do just that.

Once he’d inspected each of the six horses, he entered the coach, and Sophie watched as a young, liveried outrider closed the door with a snap and ran ahead to help make way for the carriage to exit through the crush of conveyances.

She sighed.

The Marquess of Eversley had no idea of how lucky he was to be blessed with the freedom that came with funds and masculinity. She imagined he was already stretched across the seat of that luxurious carriage, the portrait of aristocratic idleness, considering a nap to recover from his exertion earlier in the afternoon.

Lazy and immovable.

She had no doubt that he’d already forgotten her. She didn’t imagine he spared much room for remembering most people—there wasn’t much point, after all, with the constant stream of ladies in his life.

She doubted he even remembered his servants.

Her gaze flickered to the footman, not nearly old enough to be a footman. Likely more of a page. The boy stood on the edge of the stream of carriages, watching as drivers slowly returned to their seats and began to shift and move their charges to release the Eversley conveyance.

Her reticule grew heavy in her hand, its weight the result of the money inside. Never leave the house without enough blunt to win you a fight. Her father’s words had been drilled into the minds of all the Talbot sisters—not that aristocratic ladies often found themselves requiring assistance to escape fisticuffs.

But Sophie was no fool, and she knew that the interaction with Society she’d just had was the closest thing to a fight she was likely to ever experience. She had no doubt that her father would deem the funds in her reticule well spent on escape.

Decision made, she approached the footman.

“Excuse me, sir?”

The servant turned, surprised, no doubt, to find a young lady at his elbow, holding a gentleman’s boot. He bowed quickly. “M-my lady?”

He was as young as he’d looked. Younger than she was. Sophie sent a quick prayer of thanks to her maker. “How long before the carriage is free to leave?” she asked in a tone that she hoped was all casualness.

He seemed grateful for a question he could answer. “No more than a quarter of an hour, my lady.”

She had to work quickly, then. “And tell me, do you work for the marquess?”

He nodded, his gaze flickering to the boot in her hands. “Today.”

She shoved the boot behind her back, unable to keep the surprise from her voice. “Not for long?”

The boy shook his head. “I am headed to a new position. In the North Country.”