Perfect, untouched Sophie, who wanted a home full of happiness and honesty. Sophie, whom he would return to the life she desired as soon as possible. King hated the thought of her here, in this place, with this man and his revelations.

There had been a time when he’d believed in love. When he’d desired it. But he’d lost the only thing he ever loved, and now even that truth was clouded with lies. “Then her desires shall suffer along with mine.”

There was only one thing he could ensure remained true.

This place. This line. It ended with him.

Even if it meant leaving Sophie.

Even if leaving Sophie had somehow become the last thing in the world he wanted to do.

His jaw clenched with anger and disbelief and something far more complicated. “Why am I here?” he asked a final time, the words harsh and unpleasant on his tongue.

“You’re my son,” the duke said, simply, something in his eyes that King did not wish to identify. “You’re my son, and there was a time when you were my joy. You deserve to know the truth. And more than that, you deserve to know happiness.” The duke paused, looking older. “Pride be damned.”

The words were the worst kind of blow, and King responded the only way he could. He left the room without a word, going to the only place he could think of to find solace. The labyrinth.

Anger and frustration propelled him through the complex maze, every turn bringing back another memory of his youth, of his mistakes. Of the past he’d been escaping for a dozen years. He followed the path without hesitation, the memory of the route to the center innate. He was Theseus, headed for the Minotaur, the battle already raging in his mind and heart.

But at the center of the labyrinth, he did not find a monster.

He found Sophie.

The Lyne labyrinth was as magnificent as she remembered.

Sophie sat on the edge of the extravagant marble fountain at the heart of the maze, book forgotten in her lap, shoring up her courage to leave the estate.

She’d spent much of the day exploring its twists and turns, the search for the fountain at the center occupying her thoughts just enough to keep her from going mad thinking of King. Of course, she thought plenty of King, of his childhood here, in what he’d confessed was his favorite place on the estate. Of the things he must have avoided when he was hidden away inside this labyrinth.

As one who was avoiding things herself, she could attest to the benefits of this particular location.

He’d escorted her to her bedchamber the previous evening, separated from his own by a wall and an adjoining door, and she’d kept herself from protesting his decision to leave her untouched. She had been masterful at hiding her emotions from him, if she were to offer her own opinion on the matter.

Of course, once her bedchamber door was shut and the candles beside the bed were snuffed, she’d let the tears come, along with the desire—not just for his touch and his words, but for the rest. The story he’d told, the love he’d had for Lorna—she ached for him, and for the girl he’d lost.

And then she’d ached for herself.

She’d ached at the unbearable knowledge that she wanted him. That she wanted his confessions and his desires and his truth. And it didn’t matter. Because she could want him forever, and he would never risk his heart again.

So it was best that she was here, inside this complicated maze, invisible to the world. Here, she could find courage to ignore what she felt for him. And to leave, head high, and find herself another life.

But never another man.

She knew that now. There was no other man for Sophie Talbot, youngest daughter of a North Country coal miner, than the Marquess of Eversley. And the Marquess of Eversley was not for her.

So she was leaving.

Just as soon as she found him, she’d tell him as much.

She dangled her fingers in the cool water, staring up at the magnificent marble battle at the center of the fountain. The Minotaur, head-to-head with Theseus, water cascading around them as they battled hand-to-hand, each as strong as the other. There was something in the fine detail of the sculpture that made her feel for the monster in battle—he’d been a pawn in another’s game, born a monster as punishment to his mother. It didn’t seem fair that his whole life had been spent in solitude, even if the labyrinth of myth was as beautiful as this one.

“You remembered the way in.”

She snatched her hand from the water. He’d found her, first.

Her breath quickened at the words, and she turned to face King at the entrance to her secret hideaway. “I was—”

“Hiding from me.”

She smiled, hating the ache that came at the sight of him. Even with the shadow of an afternoon beard, with his hair in a state of disarray, in shirtsleeves, rolled to the elbow, he unsettled her. Perhaps those things unsettled her more, giving her a taste of the man he was outside of London’s view. Of the man she might have had, at another time, in another place.

She looked away, back to the water. “More from the idea of you than from the actuality of you, if that helps.”

His lips lifted in a small smile. “They are different?”

“The idea of you is much more unsettling.”

“That’s a pity,” he said. “I should like to be unsettling in person.”

Except he was terribly unsettling. Indeed, if he were any more unsettling, she’d have run screaming from this place. As it was, she stood, drying her hand on her skirts. “If you are here to hide from me, my lord, I am happy to leave you in peace.”

She was surprised when, for a moment, he appeared to consider the offer. Surprised, and somewhat affronted. After all, it was he who had insulted her, was it not? It was he who’d made it clear that they were never meant to be. So why would she be the one who left?