“Do you know Guinevere does not embroider? She finds it tedious.”
“Is that so?” Women were so damned confusing. What were Lady Lilias’s intentions here?
She nodded. “It is. She also detests the pianoforte. She’s a horrid player, to the bane of her mother.”
“Her mother has always been a fool,” he replied, not meaning to have spoken so carelessly, but he could not retract the statement now. It would call more attention to it.
Lady Lilias blinked with feigned innocence. “I will defer to your opinion, Your Grace, as a man.”
He nodded at that, though he wanted to laugh. They were playing a game now, and it was one that the ton lived their lives by. Never say plainly what one thinks. It was utter shite, but he was here to play by the rules until he got what he wanted, and the rules demanded a dance around the truth instead of plain, practical speech.
“I have heard it said that most men require their wives to be accomplished in pianoforte and embroidery. Tell me—” she tilted her head “—do you think that’s true?”
“I think most men in yer set are dull wits, so it could well be true.”
The lady smirked. “Your Grace, I beg pardon, but are you not now in my set?”
He chuckled at that but grew serious as the supper bell rang and he noted how Kilgore held his elbow out for Guinevere. Jealousy ripped through him. He had no use for the emotion when it came to Guinevere unless she became his wife. Even if he was only wedding her to save his company, he damn well would expect loyalty. “I cannot speak for a set of which I have only just recently claimed to be a part.”
“Then speak for yourself.” Lady Lilias’s voice was a near whisper but underlaid with a distinct sense of urgency. People were starting to move around them toward the door.
He proffered his elbow to lead her into the dining room and allow them a moment to finish the conversation. “As for myself,” he said, keeping his own voice equally low, “I will require honesty and fidelity.”
“Well, of course,” she said, blushing. “Those should naturally be given when two people wed.”
His thoughts rarely went to Elizabeth’s revelation to him soon after they wed that she was enceinte, but they went there in this moment. How many times since she and the babe had died had he counted the weeks and come to the same conclusion that the child could not have been his? He would never know, but he suspected he had been good and trapped by Elizabeth.
“What should be and what is, ye might one day find—though I hope ye do not—are sometimes two different things.”
Mercifully, before she could remark on what he might have revealed, they had to separate to take their places at the table. He somehow found himself seated by Guinevere. Kilgore took the seat on the other side of her, irritating Asher further, and Lady Constantine took the seat to his left with Lady Lilias sitting opposite Lady Constantine. Asher and Lady Constantine exchanged a conspiratorial look before Asher caught sight of Pierce, whom he had not seen so much as a glimpse of in the last week. His brother sauntered into the dining room as the doors were shutting and made his way to where Asher sat. He took the seat opposite him and beside Lady Lilias with an amused look.
“I cannot say I understand this seating,” Lady Constantine said, making it sound as if she’d accidentally blurted it, but he knew her well enough now to understand that it was her way of slyly voicing her opinion.
“I cannot say I do, either,” Guinevere agreed from Asher’s right. Lady Lilias nodded her agreement from across the table.
Pierce arched his eyebrows while sweeping his gaze from Lady Constantine to Asher to Guinevere. “We are seated to entertain and tease,” he announced before picking up his wine goblet and quaffing the wine. He slammed it down with a thud a moment later, rattling utensils and sloshing wine over the rim and onto the table.
Guinevere’s scent of lilies wafted to Asher, carried on some mystical breeze he swore she could conjure. Her pink tongue darted out, and his attention was riveted on her instead of on his brother, where he knew damn well it should be. Pierce had clearly imbibed too much, and did not appear as if he had any plans to stop. Still, his attention would not stay on Pierce with Guinevere near. He had once thought Guinevere passionate beyond compare, and seeing her now, it was as if glimpsing the face of the woman he had believed her to be. Pity lingered on her face for a moment, then a determined look as she regarded Pierce. God above only knew what Guinevere had decided she needed to do, and her seemingly genuine concern made him question what he thought he knew of her. But he dismissed it as soon as it arose. He was not getting caught in her web again.
“Lord Pierce,” she said, “did you not tell me last time we spoke that you and my brother made a wager that whoever succumbed to the shackles of marriage first would have to pay the other twenty pounds?”
“I did, Lady Guinevere,” Pierce said, sitting up straighter and actually making an attempt to put order to his cravat and hair. Guinevere would have that effect on Pierce. Or any man. She was impossible to resist.
No, damnation, not impossible.
“Lady Guinevere,” Kilgore said, leaning forward as far as Guinevere was until their shoulders were touching.
Asher’s fingers twitched with the desire to shove Kilgore out of his chair and onto his arse. Pierce’s eyes narrowed on Kilgore, as well, which very likely marked the one and only time they had been in total agreement about something: that Kilgore was a louse. And much to Asher’s satisfaction, Lady Lilias was scowling at Kilgore. At least Guinevere seemed to have an intelligent friend in Lady Lilias.
Guinevere turned her head toward Kilgore, which put their faces a hairsbreadth apart. That was too close for Asher’s liking for a woman he might soon be pursuing to wed. He reached subtly down, found the edge of Guinevere’s chair, and slid her away from Kilgore and toward him. Her head whipped in his direction for one moment, her eyes wide with shock, but then Kilgore spoke again, bringing her attention back to the scoundrel.
“I find I don’t like to hear you have had private conversations with any man but myself. I thought we had an arrangement?”
“Wh-what?” Guinevere stuttered.
Kilgore winked at her. The man actually winked. Asher’s hands curled into fists under the table. Perhaps he had his answer about Guinevere already.
“Do you want me to make it known formally here and now?” Kilgore asked, surprise in his voice.
Make it known? Formally? Damn and double damn.
The jealousy was no longer stirring. It had gripped his chest in an ironlike hold.
“I say,” Pierce announced, shooting daggers at Kilgore, “you interrupted the lady with your nonsense.”
That was the most logical thing Asher had ever heard Pierce say, and he’d said it in a voice that sounded surprisingly clearheaded.
“You did rudely interrupt,” Lady Lilias added, her tone chiding.
“Lady Guinevere,” Pierce continued, shaking off his foxed state to gather himself together like a prize-winning pugilist. It was astonishing to witness. Asher never would have guessed Pierce capable of heroism, but here his brother was attempting to extricate Guinevere from a scandalous situation from which she probably didn’t even want to be extricated. “Why did you mention the wager with your brother? Is there news you wish to share?”
“Yes,” Guinevere said.
Was that relief in her voice? Was he hearing what he thought he was? Lady Constantine kicked him under the table as if to say, Yes.
“Pray tell, what is the news, Lady Guinevere?” Pierce asked, his tone solicitous and slightly eager. He was undoubtedly fervent to discover if he had won any funds, considering the worry Asher knew Pierce had about money.
“Huntley will be announcing his betrothal tomorrow,” Guinevere said, her voice calm but her hand trembling as she reached for her wine goblet and took a small sip. Asher willed his chest not to react at the sight of her distress, but the damn thing jerked.
“Are you at liberty to
tell us whom he will wed?” Lady Constantine asked.
Guinevere nodded. “Yes, he is to wed Elizabeth Carlisle.”
“The American heiress?” Pierce said in surprise.
“That’s splendid!” Lady Constantine sounded inanely overjoyed for another’s impending marriage. “I’m so happy for Miss Carlisle.”
“I did not realize you knew her,” Guinevere said.
“Oh, I do not,” Lady Constantine replied, a blush tinting her cheeks and her gaze wandering past Asher and Guinevere. To whom or what, Asher was not certain. He turned to follow her stare, and his gaze met Kilgore’s bored one. Good God, was it Kilgore the lady had given her heart to?
Lady Constantine cleared her throat. “I confess I adore a love match.”
“As do I,” Lady Lilias said, her gaze landing on Asher.
What was the woman about?
“Really, Lady Constantine,” Kilgore drawled. “You show your naivety with your statement.” He speared her with an intimate look that made Asher narrow his eyes.
“Do I?” Lady Constantine sounded mortally wounded.
Kilgore’s expression darkened. “Surely, you realize as we all do that Huntley would not have spared the American a second glance if it were not for her funds.”
“My brother is wedding for love,” Guinevere snapped.
“No man weds for love, my dear.”
“Speak for yourself, Kilgore,” Lady Lilias said.
My dear? Asher clenched his teeth. He would throttle the man. “I’m inclined to disagree with ye, Kilgore.”
“Are you?” Kilgore’s narrowed eyes matched his challenging tone. If the man wanted a row, Asher was more than happy to oblige. Eager, in fact.
“That’s what I said,” Asher growled.
“I find your disagreement interesting,” Kilgore replied, strumming his fingers on the edge of his wine goblet.
“I find it refreshing,” Lady Lilias said and gave Asher what he swore was an encouraging smile.
“Interesting how?” Guinevere asked, bringing Asher’s attention firmly back to her. “It’s well-known the duke and his wife had a love match,” she said.
Asher stilled. Is that what she thought? Well, why the hell wouldn’t she? He had never given her reason to think otherwise. No one but his father and brother had ever known it for the lie it was.
“Well, my dear—” Kilgore began.
“Do cease calling me your dear,” Guinevere chided. “It is not at all well-done of you.”
Asher wholeheartedly agreed, and by Lady Lilias’s smirk at Kilgore, he’d say Guinevere’s friend agreed, as well. Asher picked up his wine goblet and took a long swig, wishing he knew whether Guinevere said such a thing because it was not true or because she did not want a scandal. The difference was marked and important.
“I second that request,” Pierce provided with a glare in Kilgore’s general direction.
“Everyone understands you simply adore stirring trouble, Lord Kilgore,” Lady Constantine said tartly.
Oh yes, Kilgore had a claim on that lady. Asher found it ironic that he’d had a long conversation with the lady, and the entire time they had both been talking about the same man, none the wiser to the other.
“’Tis true that I adore a great many things,” Kilgore agreed, “and making things more interesting is indeed one of them. Speaking of interesting things, my kitchen maid is quite the gossip, and she told me that her sister, who works in your employment, Lady Constantine, passed along that you had some very interesting callers last week. Do enlighten us and enliven this conversation.”
Asher stilled as Lady Constantine’s gaze flew to his, and she turned as red as the wine he had just quaffed. The last thing he wanted was for the lady’s reputation to be ruined because of him. But the visit had been proper, except for the conversation, which no one knew about. The lady’s reputation should be Kilgore’s concern, too, given she obviously had a tendre for him. Or at least Asher thought she did.
“I’m certain I do not know of what you speak,” Lady Constantine said as the last course was served.
Kilgore opened his mouth as if to spill the secrets he knew, but then he promptly shut it and shrugged. “My servant must have been misinformed. I’m bored of the topic anyway. Let’s move on to more fascinating things, such as Lady Guinevere.”
“Kilgore!” Guinevere cried out, and her gaze flew past Asher to Lady Constantine. Asher found himself looking to the lady, as well. She appeared undeniably stricken. It was yet one more reason he ought to put his fist in Kilgore’s face.
Asher leaned forward so that he and Kilgore were staring at each other. “Ye deserve a sound thrashing.”
“And you think you’re the man to deliver it to me?” Kilgore’s very presence made Asher want to push back his chair and yank him from his seat.
“He might just be, Kilgore,” Lady Lilias said.
“Why don’t ye test me?” Asher offered to Kilgore as their hostess stood and announced the women would now retire to the drawing room.
“Gentlemen,” Guinevere said, her voice low and urgent, “do not, I beg you, act like children.”
“I’m more than happy to test you,” Kilgore snarled, not acknowledging that Guinevere had even spoken.
She turned to Asher with imploring eyes. “Your Grace,” she said, barely above a whisper. She glanced around as if to ensure no one was paying them any mind. “Please be reasonable.”
It was on the tip of his tongue to deny her request, part of him feeling like she was pleading with him out of concern for Kilgore, but when she said, “One of you must be reasonable,” he nodded, and Guinevere exhaled a relieved breath. If he was going to get answers from her, he needed to get her alone, and he doubted she’d be inclined to agree to that if he refused to aid her now.
“Might I escort ye to the drawing room?” he asked.
Guinevere’s eyes went wide. “It’s simply not done,” she said softly. “The ladies take their leave and the men stay here, and well…and—”
He knew she was going to mention they should not be alone. “I never was one for all the rules ye English keep to,” he replied as the dining room emptied of all the women but herself and Lady Constantine, who had her head turned to speak to Lady Lilias, who was bent down and saying something in the woman’s ear. Lady Lilias rose, and with a look at him, she departed the dining room.
“I remember your dislike of the rules,” Guinevere said. Her smile seemed so genuine it could almost make him believe he had long ago misunderstood the kiss he’d seen her share on the terrace with Kilgore. Except that would make him a clot-heid.
“If you would escort me there, as well?” Lady Constantine nudged, and he knew she was trying to help him how she deemed best or perhaps Lady Lilias had asked Lady Constantine to do so. It seemed Guinevere’s friend might wish for him to court Guinevere, which surprised him. Maybe Lady Lilias disliked Kilgore. Asher could wholeheartedly understand that sentiment.
He nodded. The three of them stood and made their way past the men in the dining room, who were already getting more boisterous, and into the main hall. He listened to the two women exchange idle chitchat as he tried to think how to actually get a moment alone with Guinevere.
When they moved from the main hall into the empty corridor that would lead them to the drawing room, Lady Constantine said, “Oh my! I forgot my shawl.”
“Oh,” Guinevere said, “we can walk you back—”
“No need.”
And Lady Constantine, his new favorite friend, turned on her heel, effectively cutting off any protest Guinevere might have thought to lodge. They stood there just the two of them, so close her lily scent tickled his nose. He could have stood there with her all night just breathing her in, but he knew they did not have long before someone undoubtedly came along.
“If I recall,” he started to say to finish their remarks from the dining room. But suddenly his mind went to time spent with her years before—from their lively conversations ab
out Parliament, to the way she had two left feet when she danced, to her rich laughter, to the silky feel of her small hand in his. His thoughts settled firmly on the more recent memory of the softness of her sweet lips, the warmth of her breath filling his mouth, the hot tide of desire she unleashed in him each time he simply looked at her.
“If you recall?” she asked, hitching her eyebrows in such an adorable manner that he wanted to run the pad of his thumb over her skin. He had not realized how lost in his thought he’d become for a moment.
“Ye did not care for rules, either,” he said. Whatever impressions he had misread long ago, he felt certain that one was true. In fact, thinking upon it now, he suspected whatever Guinevere had been doing trying to climb that tree outside of her bedchamber window and then confronting Charolton in the library could be directly traced to the woman’s dislike of the rules the ton—or perhaps Society in general—placed upon her.
“What were ye doing in the tree?” he asked. It suddenly seemed vitally important.
“What tree?” She was all innocence, except the lovely blush that had pinked the enticing skin of her chest.
“Come, lass, prevarication makes ye blush.”
“‘If you wrong us, shall we not revenge?’” she muttered, then bit her lip, her eyes widening.
God, how he had loved that Shakespeare-blurting habit of hers—still did, if he was truthful with himself. And with that, it seemed he’d swung the gate of truth dangerously open. He not only desired her but there were things about her, like this, that still slammed him in the chest. He’d have to be made of steel not to find it endearing to see her so impassioned with her feelings that she was utterly unaware of what she was saying.
“The Merchant of Venice, Act Three, Scene One,” he provided, absurdly glad, for a man pursuing a woman simply to save his company, that he could tell her the play, the act, and the scene.
She gave him an amazed look. “You must have loved Elizabeth greatly to have committed Shakespeare to memory the way you have. It’s astonishing how much of it you now know.”
That had been a foolish, prideful lie he had thrust between them. He’d done it to protect himself. He understood that. To learn what he needed to about her feelings, though, he was going to have to let down his guard ever so slightly. “I learned his works, in truth, because I became fascinated with them after ye introduced me to them.”
Lady Guinevere And The Rogue With A Brogue (Scottish Scoundrels: Ensnared Hearts Book 1) Page 11
