Lady Guinevere and the Rogue with a Brogue - Julie Johnstone Page 0,101
turn around and screech at him that she knew the truth, that he was a scoundrel, a louse, the worst sort of rogue to break her heart not once but twice burned her lips, but she gritted her teeth until pain lanced across her jaw. He did not deserve to see how he had hurt her. She would tell him when she could remain calm and aloof, when she could think of the precise words to prick his pride. Standing as tall as she could, she continued her ascent without comment as tears flowed from her eyes and trickled silently down her face.
Asher could not rid himself of the image of his treacherously beautiful wife lying to him so easily. He tried to wash it away in the darkest corners of the Orcus Society, and when that did not work, he tried to forget her in the pleasure room among the press of bodies of willing women and eager men. But no woman had ever been able to make him forget Guinevere, and tonight was no exception.
Cursing, he waved away a woman as she approached him, yet she kept coming, not stopping until she stood before him. She surprised him by twining her hands around his neck.
“I’m not interested,” he said.
She smelled of too much perfume and wore heavy face powder, and all her finer bits were on display. She was the opposite of Guinevere. He crushed the thought. He didn’t know who Guinevere really was. She had stood before him and lied to him without any indication that she was deceiving him. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. She had looked slightly uncomfortable with her deceit, but that hardly made her a saint, not to mention trustworthy or loyal.
“If you weren’t interested,” the woman purred, rubbing her hips against his, “you would not have come here.”
Irritation flared, and he unlatched her fingers, bringing her hands away from his neck. He released them as he met her eager gaze. “It was a mistake. I’m sorry.”
She arched her blond eyebrows. “A coin for my trouble?”
He produced several coins, pressed them into her hand, and said, “Go home for the night.”
He didn’t care for the fact that the women who worked in here had no choice, but Beckford had assured him, he gave each woman who was employed in the pleasure room the opportunity to choose another job at the club. But the women always chose this room as they were eager to gain sponsors. He understood desperation—he’d grown up in it—and it drove people to do things they’d otherwise never do.
The woman’s eyes widened as she looked at the coins, and then she grinned. “This is a good start to my evening, and I thank you, but going home is not for me.”
With that, she sauntered off, and he turned and exited the pleasure room, passing Pierce along the way. But his brother was quite occupied with a woman on his lap. Asher sighed. This room was most assuredly not to his taste. The only appeal it had held was being in it with Guinevere.
The thought of her worsened his mood, and he strode into the low-lit gaming room. He snaked around tables where dealers held court every night, taking the money of men too foolish to know when to quit.
Asher spotted Beckford at a hazard table where men were rising as if the game had just finished, so he made his way over and sat. Beckford’s keen blue gaze flicked over him for a moment before he focused on the ivory dice he was pulling toward him. He picked them up and jiggled them in his hand as he focused on Asher once more.
“Why are you here and not with your new wife?” Beckford asked around the cheroot hanging from his mouth.
Asher leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. “My wife is a liar.”
Beckford arched his dark eyebrows, stilled the hand shaking the dice, and took out the cheroot to set it down. Then he said, “Expand.”
The man was not one to jump to quick judgments. Asher took a moment to decide how much to reveal. He trusted Beckford completely, but more than that, he didn’t give a damn about London Society and all the rules they lived by, either.
“She’s made a cuckold of me.”
Beckford whistled and raised his hand, circling his fingers in the air once. “You have proof, I assume?”
“I saw her.”
Beckford’s eyes flicked wider. “You saw your wife in the throes of passion with another man?”