“No.” He shook his head. “Those were words I clung to every time my father belittled me and when Carrington appeared and he was instantly my father’s shining son, the perfect son. I knew I could not let him court you and steal my chance with you, but he somehow managed to do so anyway. He stood up to Father when I never did. I both hate him and admire him for it.”
“Oh, Talbot.” She was both frightened and so saddened. “What did you do?”
“Many things, Guinevere. I did many terrible things to ensure I won you, that I won for once, that I showed my father I was the better son, but he never saw it.”
Whatever Talbot had done, it had not been for her. He might have told himself that, but it had been to prove something to his father. Blast the man! “Talbot—”
“I would have courted you, Guinevere, when Carrington left, but my father discovered what I had plotted with Elizabeth and Kilgore, and he threatened to disown me if I courted you, if I so much as showed you anything but polite interest when I happened to come across you in public gatherings. And he had men watching, believe me. I had to bide my time for when he died, and I redecorated this place into the home I hope we will share.”
That they would share? Did he think they’d live here together? That she would divorce Asher? What had he plotted with Kilgore and Elizabeth?
Then it struck her. The kiss! The kisses!
Oh, what utter fools she and Asher both were. And Kilgore! She was going to box his ears when next she saw him. But there was currently a much more pressing problem.
“How sad to live in such strife, Talbot. I’m so sorry.” And she was. She was livid and sorry and very anxious to leave. To go to Asher. To try to right things between them.
“It was sad,” he agreed, then reached out and stroked her hair.
She pushed his hand away. “Do not do that.”
Anger flashed in his eyes. “Why? He should have trusted you once he won you, once you wed him, but all it took was a whisper here and an insinuation there, and my brother became sure you wanted Kilgore over him.”
Asher. Asher. She wanted to moan, but she pressed her lips together. Her husband was so strong, so proud, yet he carried deep scars of being unwanted by his father, and that had left him wary of exposing himself. She had not helped matters, either. Had he been on the verge of trusting her? She thought back to their week together as husband and wife before things had become tangled, and she was sure he had been.
“I would have left the two of you alone. I made up my mind to do so once the wedding seemed doomed to occur despite my best efforts. But then you sent your lady’s maid to Kilgore, and I could not let you run into Kilgore’s arms when I have been waiting for you for so long. So I conspired yet again for us, Guinevere.”
She gaped at him for a moment before she could speak. “Did you tell Asher of my lady’s maid?”
“I had to. He had to see that you did not love him so he would do what I knew he would. He went straight to the club to find another woman. I would have fought for you!”
She didn’t believe it. She didn’t believe for one moment Asher had betrayed her. She refused to believe it, as she should have when Talbot had first told her. “I was not turning to Kilgore!” she cried out. “I wanted him to tell me what mo ghraidh meant because your stubborn brother would not tell me, and I hoped it meant that he loved me!”
“It means my love.”
Asher’s deep brogue filled the room, and Guinevere’s heart leaped at the sound. He’d come for her! She tried to move, but Talbot set a staying hand on her shoulder, and when he did, Asher roared.
Talbot swiveled around, but before he could even get his fists up, Asher was there serving his brother one swift punch to the nose, which drew immediate blood, and then another to the gut, which doubled Talbot over with a groan. When Asher grabbed Talbot by the shoulder to yank him up and drew his fist back as if to strike again, she grabbed his arm. Her husband looked immediately to her, his eyes lit with rage.
“Stop,” she said.
“Ye don’t know what he’s done,” Asher spat as Talbot struggled to get away from his brother.
“He just told me much of it,” she said, cupping a hand to the right side of his jaw.
Underneath her fingertips, his muscles twitched, and from behind Asher, Kilgore and a man she had not met but had seen before came to stand near Asher. She scowled at Kilgore, and he had the decency to look completely repentant.
“Release me!” Talbot roared.
Guinevere held her breath, exhaling in relief when Asher let go of his brother with a shove that sent him staggering. When Talbot was finally steady once more, Asher pointed a finger at him. “I know what ye did. I know every last detail. Father left me a letter.”
“No.” Talbot shook his head. “He would not have betrayed me that way.”
Guinevere winced at the pain she heard in his voice. Even now, she was certain he felt betrayed by their father, felt he had picked Asher over Talbot in his final days.
“Aye,” Asher said.
She feared what else he might say, what damage he might inflict in the midst of his fury, though he had every right to be furious, as did she. Still, she felt too sorry for Talbot to hold on to the burn of rage. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask Asher to wait to continue until his ire had cooled, but he spoke before she could.
“This is over,” he said, jerking his hand to indicate the room while with his other hand he took Guinevere’s fingers and threaded them with his own. He brought their joined hands to his heart. “Guinevere is mine.” Asher’s gaze settled on her lovingly, and it felt as if they were the only two people in the room. “Ye’ve always been mine since the moment I met ye, as I am yers. I love ye, mo ghraidh, my love, mo chridhe, my heart. I hope ye can forgive me for being a clot-heid.”
“Clot-heid?” she repeated, her heart pounding at her husband’s declaration.
“A fool, lass, a fool. I hope ye can forgive me for being a fool.”
“If you can forgive me.”
He cocked an eyebrow, then drew her hand to his lips to press a kiss there that made her shiver. Then he said, “‘The course of true love never did run true.’”
She grinned as the rest of the men looked baffled. “A Midsummer Night’s Dream.”
“Act One, Scene One,” he replied, drawing her into his arms and well away from Talbot.
Perhaps his actions were out of possessiveness, or maybe out of protectiveness—likely a little of both—but she did not particularly care which it was as long as she was in his arms where she belonged.
It was late in the night when the door to the guest bedchamber finally opened, and Asher moved through the darkness toward Guinevere. Her heartbeat increased in anticipation with each step closer he came. He paused beside the bed, and she could feel his gaze settling on her like a warm embrace.
“Mo chridhe?”
“I’m awake,” she replied.
His answer was a swish of clothing being removed, then thuds as he kicked off his shoes. He stretched his arms above him, and she traced the barely visible outline of his chest in the moonlight. Her eagerness grew as he discarded the rest of his clothing, and then the bed creaked under his weight. He lifted the coverlet, and the cool night air caressed her naked body.
He settled on his side facing her and reached toward her under the coverlet. A trace of fingers to her shoulder. Then a whispered trail over her collarbone. “I missed ye,” he said, moving his hand to where she knew he expected her nightgown to be. He froze. “Ye’re naked.” Pleasure made his brogue deliciously heavy.
“As are you.”
He cupped her breast. “This is how I like ye best.”
She chuckled at that and brought her hands to his arm. “Tell me what happened.”
He’d left the Chinese drawing room earlier to speak with Talbot in private. Neither of them had returned before she had decided to take mercy on the yawning Kilgore and Beckford and await Asher in a guest bedchamber so the two men did not
feel obliged to stand on formality with her.
Asher stilled and withdrew from her for a moment. “I told him that I forgave him, but I did not forget. Forgetting will take time and can only be considered when I believe he no longer harbors any ill will for me and desire for ye.”
“That was generous of you,” she replied, smoothing a hand over the hard ridges of Asher’s stomach and relishing the way his body twitched at her touch. She knew how difficult it must have been for him to offer forgiveness to Talbot so soon after learning he had betrayed Asher.
“Not so generous. Selfish, really. It takes more effort to hate than to forgive, and I need all my reserves for ye.”
“What did he say?” she asked.
“He said he wants nothing from me. Not the money or the townhome our father left him. He said he would become successful in his own right, more successful than me, wealthier than me, and I told him I hoped so.”
“I feel sorry for him,” Guinevere said.
“Aye, lass, I know ye do. It’s why I love ye. Ye have a true and good heart, but it is my heart, and I will never let anyone come between us again.”
“Tell me of the letter.”
“I will,” he assured her. “But not now. Now, all I want to do is love ye thoroughly, wickedly all night. Tomorrow there will be groveling.”
And before she could agree, his mouth settled on hers for a long, drugging kiss that made her insides quiver. When he stopped, it was only to trail a fiery path down her neck to her nipple, which made her moan with pleasure and arch toward him. His hand came to her hip and then slipped between her thighs to the most secret spot only he had ever touched. He began to work his exquisite magic, and all thoughts fled but getting closer to him. She pushed her pelvis harder into his quickly moving fingers, and pleasure exploded, causing her to cry out as waves washed through her. She clung to Asher until her body went languid, and then she pressed her lips to his chest.
“That was exquisite,” she managed to get out as he rolled on top of her, straddled her, and slid his strong fingers under her buttocks.
“Ye are exquisite, my bonny lass,” he replied and then entered her with a groan of pleasure that mingled with her own.
He stilled for a moment and traced a finger over one breast and then the other. Gooseflesh covered her skin at the love on his face.
“I am sorry for doubting ye.”
He began to move within her, but she set a stilling hand to his chest. He paused, and she said, “I’m sorry for doubting you, too. I should have known you’d never marry me for money and land.”
“And I should have known ye loved only me.”
“Do you think we will have many more misunderstandings in our lifetime?” she asked, finding it hard to concentrate with the heavenly friction he was creating within her.
“I do,” he replied, increasing his pace so that she had to clench her teeth not to scream with pleasure. “And I welcome every one of them if they are settled like this.”
That, she decided, was a most excellent way to look at things.
Epilogue
One Month Later
“Ladies!” Guinevere said, having to raise her voice over the chatter of women in her husband’s study. When no one responded, she rapped a book upon Asher’s desk, which elicited an amused smile from her husband, who stood quietly by his closed study door. She had to smack the book against the wood once more to get everyone’s attention. Once all eyes were turned to her, she said, “Let us bring the meeting of the Society of Ladies Against Rogues to order.”
Nods were the collective returning answer.
“The first order of business,” Lilias, who was Guinevere’s second-in-command, read, “is the introduction of our newest member. Please stand, Lady Constantine, and tell us all who you are.”
“We all already know her,” Guinevere chided Lilias, who was awfully distracted tonight.
“That’s quite all right,” Lady Constantine murmured and stood.
Frederica raised her hand, and before Guinevere could stop her often well-meaning but nosy sister, Frederica said, “Do you have experience with rogues?”
“Heaps,” Lady Constantine said. “With one.”
“With whom?” Frederica demanded.
“That’s enough, Freddy,” Vivian said, slanting Lady Constantine a look of apology.
“Fine,” their younger sister grumbled. “I shall move on. I have spotted a long absent dangerous rogue in Town that we will need to keep an eye on, if his past is any indication.”
Everyone looked questioningly at one another.
“Who?” Guinevere asked.
“The new Duke of Greybourne!” Frederica exclaimed. “I saw him in Town earlier today in a kilt!”
Guinevere glanced at Lilias, who looked awfully pale. Lilias rose slowly and said, “I just recalled that my mother wanted me home early.” Without waiting for anyone to reply, Lilias was out the door and gone.
Guinevere bit her lip with worry for Lilias. No doubt, the news of Greybourne’s return had put her friend in instant turmoil. Before her mind could delve deeper into those thoughts, Asher cocked an eyebrow at her, reminding her of the business she had yet to bring up.
“Ladies,” she shouted over the uproar Lilias’s sudden departure had caused. “I have one more order of new business.”
“What is that?” Vivian asked.
Guinevere caught Asher’s eyes and smiled. “I’d like to propose Carrington as an honorary member for when circumstances are desperate.”
“He is not a lady!” Frederica bellowed.
Asher chuckled at that. Thank goodness he was already used to Frederica’s blunt ways and did not take offense.
“Nay,” Asher said, stepping forward. “But my wife tells me I am a reformed rogue, and she thinks yer society might have need of me if the situation could put yer reputations in danger. Let me help protect each of ye.”
Guinevere beamed at him. It had been his strong suggestion, and they’d had quite a row over his needless worry, but when he put it so gallantly, she was no longer feeling so disagreeable. He had quite bamboozled her, she decided, listening to him chat with the now-eager women, and he was now bamboozling them. It was the brogue, she concluded. It was entirely impossible to resist this particular rogue with a brogue.
Once the meeting was over, she did not even have to turn to him. He took her hand, and when he had her out of the room and in the corridor, he said, “Close yer eyes.”
She could not imagine what he was about, but she did as she was told. He led her through the main parlor, or so she thought by the way her shoes clacked against the floor, and then outside. She gave a little gasp of surprise when he swept her off her feet, climbed some stairs, by the feel of it, and deposited her on a seat that creaked like a carriage.
“Are we leaving?” she asked.
“Aye.”
“But I did not say goodbye.”
His lips pressed against hers. “It’s all right, mo chridhe. I told them my plans before ye came into the room earlier.”
“Oh, you devil!”
“Aye.”
“Can I open my eyes now?”
“Nay.”
And then his hands came to her face, and she felt the slide of silk over her eyes. “Are you blindfolding me?”
“Aye. We have not gotten to the club to fulfill my fantasy, and this seemed a good alternative.”
The thrill grew stronger. “You don’t mean to say you want to—”
“Oh, aye, mo chridhe. That is exactly what I mean to do. Several times.”
“But Digby—”
“Knows opening this carriage door could mean his death,” Asher said with a chuckle, even as he divested her of her clothing, which took some work. After a few grunts from him, and a few curses, his hands slid under her. He lifted her and set her straddling his thighs as he described to her the wicked things he wished to do and then did them.
They were magnificent, and by time he was finished sweetly
torturing her, she was sweaty and utterly exhausted, so when he suggested she sleep after he had helped her dress, she gladly obliged.
Later, he nudged her awake, and she blinked her eyes to find him staring lovingly at her. She did not think she could ever feel happier. But then the carriage door opened, and Digby was there to help her down.
She gasped at the full rolling field of purple lilies. “Westhaven Manor,” she murmured, turning to glance up at her husband as he came to stand beside her for a beat, then took her hand in his and led her away from the carriage.
“Aye. Our home.”
He’d told her about the country house, though it had seemed that every time they tried to get away in the last month something had come up. He had even told her about the lilies, but seeing it made tears of joy fill her eyes.
When they were out of sight of the carriage, Asher turned her toward him and held up the most beautiful ring she’d ever seen. But not because of the sparkle, though it did shimmer. Nor the size, which was enormous. It was the stones, which formed the shape of a heart.
She threw her arms around him and said, “I love you.”
He drew back and slipped the ring on her finger. “Ye always had my heart, lass. I want to give ye the world.”
She pressed her lips to her husband’s, then looked into his eyes. “You did that when you gave me your love, mo chridhe,” she said with a wink.
Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed meeting Asher and Guinevere. If you did, you’ll love the emotional, passionate Once Upon A Rogue Regency romance series.
“The clever and charming banter, as well as the deep soulful emotions, kept me turning pages.” ~ Rural Reader
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Lady Guinevere And The Rogue With A Brogue (Scottish Scoundrels: Ensnared Hearts Book 1) Page 28
