Her eyebrows shot high, and her lips parted. For a moment, they were silent, and then she said, “Elizabeth did not love Shakespeare?”
“I do not believe so,” he replied, revealing as much as he was willing to in this moment about his relationship with his conniving deceased wife.
“Why did you lie?” she asked, her gaze locked with his.
God, he felt exposed. It reminded him of how he’d felt when other children had teased him about being a bastard. Unworthy. Less than. He’d also felt that way when his father had shoved him into this thorny Society and demanded he perform like a puppet. He’d rebelled, wanting to show he was man enough to make his own sound decisions, and it had gotten him an unwanted marriage and wife.
He’d shown enough. It was the lass’s turn to enlighten him, so he did the thing he detested most in others: he prevaricated. “Why were ye in the tree?”
“I was not in the tree.”
Clever lass. She was correct. Her avoidance should anger him, but damn it if it didn’t make him want to grin, but he wouldn’t. She didn’t need to know she held any power over him. “Why were ye attempting to climb the tree?”
“Guinevere!” came a gasp from behind him.
Guinevere stiffened, and Asher turned to see her mother coming toward them. Did she still show Guinevere with unthinking words and actions that she felt her a daughter who fell short of what the ton considered an Incomparable?
“Oh, Your Grace!” her mother said. Obvious surprise set the features of her face. “I hope Guinevere has not detained you?”
The statement seemed to answer his question from moments ago. “Nay, my lady.” He could feel Guinevere’s tension like a wave of heat. “’Tis I who detained yer daughter. I do apologize. I was turned about trying to find my bedchamber”—a bold lie—“and she kindly was directing me.”
“Oh. Oh, I see. Well, now that you stand before her, I’m sure you see she has much blossomed since you last knew her. Has she not?”
“Mama!” Guinevere gasped, horror ringing in her tone.
Anger on Guinevere’s behalf simmered. “If my memory serves,” he said, catching Guinevere’s gaze, “she was already the loveliest of creatures five years ago.”
“Oh!” The countess beamed. “I always said I liked you!”
“I don’t recall you saying that, Mama.”
Her blunt, truthful words struck him like a hard blow. It was as if he was glimpsing the woman he’d thought her to be. This unblinking lass with the frank look was the enchantress whom he’d believed was so different from everyone else. Doubt gripped him. Doubt he could not and should not allow.
“Guinevere,” her mother scolded, giving her a dark, layered look. “I apologize, Your Grace. She has always been too outspoken, but I daresay she is not normally like this anymore.”
“That would be unfortunate,” he replied as Guinevere stared at him with her mesmerizing green gaze. Her eyes widened, and she gave him a thankful smile that made his chest constrict.
“Assure him, Guinevere,” her mother suggested. The woman was clearly hoping to make a match between them. If only she knew her efforts were not needed. He would pursue Guinevere—if she did not want Kilgore.
“I assure you, Your Grace, that I’m perfectly boring, as men of your ilk seem to desire.” Was she referring to him or Kilgore? He should not feel as if he cared, only as if he needed to know to make a business decision, but damn it, his chest tightened. She served him a dry look before continuing. “Normally I speak of only the most trivial matters, such as my lack of skill at the pianoforte, my distaste of embroidery, my scarcely clung-to tolerance for talk of the weather, and my inability to pretend I’m less intelligent than a man.”
God her words made him want to kiss her senseless, which proved that if he was not extremely careful, Guinevere could make him a clot-heid again. Her mother looked as if she would throttle Guinevere on the spot, but she forced a smile to her thin lips and a brittle laugh. “She is so clever, my eldest. She is only jesting with you, Your Grace. She is as accomplished as your Elizabeth was!”
He had the almost uncontrollable desire to rip off his cravat and stuff it in Lady Fairfax’s mouth. Instead, he said, “I would imagine a woman who knows of politics would be rather more useful to most men of my ilk than one who knows how to create the perfect stitch.” He was not speaking as a fool about to fall. It was the truth.
“Oh? I see, I see,” the countess cooed. “Well, perhaps tomorrow Guinevere can talk matters of Parliament with you.” Her voice had dropped to an exaggerated whisper, as if it would be embarrassing for anyone to overhear that Guinevere could converse on matters of the Realm.
“Mama,” Guinevere muttered hastily, “His Grace did not come to the house party to spend time with me.”
“But I did, my lady,” he inserted, seizing his chance to get her alone again. For the purpose of making an informed decision, of course. Not because he desired her. Not because these glimpses of the woman he’d thought he’d known were intriguing him.
Guinevere’s eyes widened and she appeared speechless, but her mother was not struck with the same malady. “Perhaps you’d like to pair with Guinevere for the treasure hunt tomorrow?”
“I cannot,” Guinevere blurted, a desperate look in her eyes. “The Marquess of Kilgore already requested I pair with him. He was going to speak with our hostess.”
Her words blew over him like an icy Highland wind. Was this his answer? Was he a fool not to hear it? Take it. And forget the possibility of pursuing Guinevere.
Guinevere’s mother waved a dismissive hand, narrowing her gaze on Guinevere. “I’ll speak with Lady Barrowe and take care of the arrangements. Until tomorrow, Your Grace,” she rushed out, snatching Guinevere to her and practically dragging her out of the corridor.
Though the two women disappeared from sight immediately, the countess’s voice drifted loudly to him as she spoke to Guinevere. “You foolish, foolish, girl. Everyone knows Kilgore likely will never settle down, but Carrington, on the other hand, has proven with his marriage to Elizabeth that he is more than amenable to wedding. You are now quite as pretty as she was. He’d never throw you over now. Don’t ruin this for yourself. And if you cannot think of your own future, think of your sisters’.”
“Yes, Mama,” Guinevere replied, her voice wooden.
Lady Constantine’s words about Asher not seeing what he thought he had seen came back to him as Guinevere’s and her mother’s footsteps faded. Tonight, he’d thought he’d seen the Guinevere that had betrayed him and then the lass who had entranced him. Which Guinevere was the true Guinevere? For his purposes, it didn’t matter, but he could not let the question go unanswered. Now that he had acknowledged it, he had to know.
What if what he’d believed he saw years before was not as it had seemed? That would change everything. And if it was exactly as he’d thought, he was in the spot he’d all along believed himself to be in. He would still need to ascertain if Guinevere truly had feelings for Kilgore. Perhaps the man had been toying with her for years, offering her small hope when there was none.
He thought of Lady Constantine once more. He needed to speak to her and uncover the true nature of her attachment to Kilgore. Had the man given her hope, too? If the man was toying with the two women, he felt honor bound to warn Guinevere before removing himself from her life forever.
Chapter Ten
“You look bonny this afternoon, lass,” Asher said as he took her gloved hand and pressed a kiss to the top of it.
Gooseflesh rose on her arm and raced across every surface of her body. Drat the man that his lips and a disingenuous compliment made her all shivery.
“I will tell my lady’s maid, Ballenger, that you think so,” she said coolly. “She dressed my hair and chose my gown.” Guinevere tugged her hand from his hold and swept what she hoped was an impervious look over him. Unfortunately, she was positive the effect was ruined when she dropped her attention all the way to his shiny black H
essians and worked her way slowly upward. Asher brought out a wicked side of her.
My, but he looked quite splendid in buff-colored pantaloons. They molded to his thighs, confirming his muscles were every bit as perfectly proportioned as she had long imagined. She swallowed and continued her inspection up those delicious Viking legs to his slim hips. She paused there a breath, recalling how his hips had brushed against her when they had danced.
Heat licked her insides as she came to his chest, where the rich outlines of his shoulders strained against the white linen fabric of his shirt. Her mouth went dry as she stared at the broad expanse of his chest. “Where is your coat?”
Egads, she sounded breathless!
The other participants of the scavenger hunt, which had just begun, were venturing in various directions, all eager to take the prize, which was the winner’s choice in picking their partner for tomorrow’s entertainment of short skits.
“Just here,” he said, and she jerked her gaze up to his eyes.
Tiny lines of amusement crinkled around his warm chocolate eyes, and her belly clenched. Why could he not have become less attractive than he was five years ago instead of more? It didn’t seem fair. He held up his coat, clutched in his right hand, and then began to put it on. She should look away, but it would take a herculean effort she didn’t care to put forth in this moment. He was grace personified. It came effortlessly to him, as it would only to one born with superior physical attributes mere mortals could never hope to obtain.
“It was blazing in the hothouse,” he said.
In her opinion, it was a thousand times hotter out here with him releasing such singeing heat. “Yes, it is,” she said and winced, realizing her mistake. “Was. Yes, it was, but it isn’t the done thing to remove your coat.”
She expected a sharp rejoinder, but what she got was a tender smile that made her insides turn to aspic.
“Perhaps ye can teach me all the rules I need to navigate Society properly,” he suggested. “It seems I still don’t know them.”
She glanced around to ensure no one was listening, as the conversation could be construed as quite scandalous. Her lips parted in surprise. They were alone. Everyone else had scurried off, and she had not even realized it. How many times in the past had she longed for an opportunity to be alone with him and she had only had three? She could recall each one with utter clarity. And now, here they were, alone—so alone they could have an intimate conversation, or brush hands, or even steal a kiss. Her lips tingled with the memory of every kiss he’d ever given her, but especially the most recent one.
That had been a kiss of lust—hers and his. At least she knew the truth of the matter now. No more silly girlhood fantasies for her. She had to keep her mind on the task—the treasure hunt—and on learning why he was suddenly being so nice to her—almost flirting, it seemed.
She cleared her throat to ensure she sounded neither breathless nor husky, and then she said, “I’m certain there are scores of ladies who would be more than happy to teach you all the rules of Society you need to know to swim along like the most capable of fish.”
“Perhaps,” he agreed, buttoning his coat, which made him look even more dashing. “But I don’t want any lass but ye to teach me.”
“What are you doing?” she demanded, shaking the scavenger list she clutched in her hand at him.
“Carrying on a conversation,” he said in a vexingly imperturbable manner.
“I mean,” she replied, her temper rising as she seethed, “what. Are. You. Doing? I am not a prize to be won!”
His eyes glinted at her with a look that jolted her heart. “Are ye certain, lass?”
Before she could sort out what he might have meant by that question, Lady Barrowe’s voice rang through the air.
“Your Grace! Lady Guinevere!” She came into view with Kilgore strolling behind her at a leisurely pace. They stopped, looking quite the odd pair. Guinevere bit her lip to keep from smiling as Kilgore shot her a pleading look and cut his eyes at the countess. She still could not believe that Lilias had talked her mother into pairing with Kilgore, but that was exactly what her friend had done. Guinevere half suspected that Lilias had taken seriously Vivian’s mutterings about the two of them needing to keep an eye on Guinevere. As if she, the founder of the Society of Ladies Against Rogues, needed her own members watching her!
“Why have the two of you not begun?” the countess asked at the edge of the garden, the official starting point of the scavenger hunt.
“Trouble getting on?” Kilgore suggested with a smirk.
Beside Guinevere, Asher stiffened. “We were formulating a plan,” he replied. “We’re off now.”
Before Guinevere could agree or disagree, he grabbed her by the elbow and started tugging her toward the pebbled path that led to the wooden door to a series of walled gardens, where the guests could search. Lilias’s family had renowned gardens, as well as succession houses, and as Asher led Guinevere away from the center of the largest formal garden and into the rose garden, the tantalizing scent of the blooming roses swirled around them.
“Carrington, release me,” she demanded several times, but it was not until they were both through the next wooden door that Asher did as she had asked. Then he turned from her, offering her a fine view of his broad back, and something gave a very distinct click.
Her jaw dropped open as he faced her once more, looking as tempting as that blasted apple had no doubt looked to Eve. Guinevere snapped her jaw shut when amusement danced in his eyes. “Did you just lock the door?” she asked.
“I did, and if ye will pardon me.”
He did not wait for her answer, the blasted man. He used his long legs to close the distance to the other side of the garden in astonishing speed, and he closed the only other door that led into the rose garden. And with the soft click of yet another lock, one that meant no one could get in or out without his allowing it, her pulse spiked.
Not in fear. No, that would have been too reasonable a reaction for her. Her pulse increased in anticipation. Yearning. Remembrance. Her lips could feel the press of his upon hers already, and her toes curled in response. Memories rose to the surface. His heat washing over her. His firm hand upon her low back. “Why did you just lock us in here?”
His gaze caressed her, making her breath catch. “I wish to talk to ye.”
“Asher.” She gave her muddled head a shake. “I mean, Carrington, you must unlock the door. If anyone happens upon the entrances, finds them locked, and discovers us in here, alone, I will be ruined.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “I assure ye that is not my plan.”
And yet his ravenous look belied his words. She gasped. Not at him but at herself and the thrill his desirous gaze shot through her. She had to get control of herself. He could play at whatever game he wanted. He was a duke, a man. He would be forgiven nearly anything. They always were. But she was a woman and forgiven nothing. Expected to live above reproach always, never to falter, never to succumb to passion. In fact, women were never to have such great passion that they were carried away. It was an unfair fact, but the wrongness of it made it no less true.
“I do not know what you are about,” she said, trying to move around him to go to the door. He stepped neatly in front of her path and tilted his head down to look at her. His closeness was almost more than she could bear. She felt faint, so she locked her knees firmly in place. “Move please.”
“After we talk.”
“I will not speak another word to you until you unlock that door.” She leveled him with her most practiced withering stare.
He sighed, not looking worried in the least, but he turned, made his way to the door, and unlocked it. Then facing her once more, he leaned against it.
“What are you doing?” she demanded, striding to him to open the door.
He wagged his finger in denial. “Isn’t it obvious?” he asked with an adorable, devil-may-care grin she had quite forgotten. It was a rare look for him, care
free as a lad in the summer sneaking back into his home after a night of forbidden carousing. She’d seen that look on her brother a number of times, though not lately. “I have unlocked the door as ye requested, but I’ll not be allowing anyone to enter quite yet.”
“Carrington!” she cried out, frustrated and intrigued, so help her.
He shrugged. “If someone comes scratching, I’ll open it immediately and say it was stuck, blown shut by the wind.”
She frowned. “There is no wind today.”
“I say there is, and I’m the Duke of Carrington. Who would dare contradict me?”
“And you said you needed guidance on the rules of the ton…” She pressed her lips together in annoyance. “I think not, Your Grace. You seem to have it well in hand, except of course, I should educate you—though I would think you would already know—that Kilgore would dare.”
The carefree look was replaced by a dark thunderstorm of an expression that made her want to take a step back, but she stood her ground even as regret at her words pierced her. Why must she be so prideful? Asher’s eyes narrowed. “Would ye want him to contradict me?”
She sighed. “Of course not! That would set me in the middle of a scandal, and that is a place I have no wish to be again.” The man was fraying her nerves, and she preferred them smooth. “I am beginning to think you are trying to confuse me.”
“I have had the same thought about ye, lass,” he said, now sounding as annoyed as she felt.
She stomped her foot. She didn’t even care that it made her appear like a spoiled child. “Why do you seem to be pursuing me? Is it because you think Kilgore desires me and you are a child in a man’s body? Am I simply the prize you don’t want him to have because you want all the toys for your own pleasure?”
Lady Guinevere And The Rogue With A Brogue (Scottish Scoundrels: Ensnared Hearts Book 1) Page 12
