Lady Guinevere and the Rogue with a Brogue - Julie Johnstone Page 0,108

horrid. She loves you.”

She did. Or she had. Damn everything!

He nodded to indicate he’d heard Lady Vivian and said, “I do not know where she’s gone, but I’m worried.” Admitting it aloud increased the unease within him.

Damnation. He had to find her.

“Do ye know where she might be?” he asked.

“Perhaps one of our homes?” Lady Lilias offered. “Let us each go to our house to check.”

“Thank ye.” He was going to go to Pierce’s townhome next, and if they weren’t there, he’d rip England apart to find his wife and tell her he was sorry, and then he was going to give Pierce a beating he’d never forget. “If ye could, please send word to my valet Cushman if ye find her, even if she’s unwilling to return to me.”

“What shall we tell her if we find her? You know, to perhaps persuade her to listen to you?” Lady Lilias asked.

He swept his gaze over each woman. “If ye see her, please tell her that mo chridhe means my heart. And mo ghraidh means my love.”

Guinevere was not at Pierce’s townhome, and neither was Pierce, and the townhome looked exactly as it had the last time Asher had seen it. Asher stared at Pierce’s butler, Bentley, and repeated the question he’d just asked because the answer made no sense. “Ye are saying this townhome is not being redecorated?”

“No, Your Grace,” the butler answered. “It has not changed since it was decorated some twenty years ago.”

Asher pinched the skin between his brows. Pierce had lied about this, as well, and this time the reason was obvious. He’d wanted a reason to stay with Asher and Guinevere. The thoughts that had been dull and disquieting after Asher’s discussion with Kilgore were sharp and loud now. Pierce had been planning to make Guinevere his, but for how long?

“When was the last time ye saw my brother?” he asked Bentley.

“Yesterday, Your Grace. He had me pack a trunk for him, and he said he would not be returning.”

Asher’s blood froze in his veins. “Those were his words?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

Asher departed without a word and sent the horses into a gallop toward his home, his mind racing in time with their hooves. Pierce had tried to dissuade Asher from pursuing Guinevere when Asher had first come to London. Pierce had been the first to say that Guinevere was not worthy of him, and only then had their father spoken up.

As his conveyance jangled down the road, Asher could easily picture the moment he’d first seen Guinevere and had gone to speak with her. But now he tried to recall earlier. He, his father, and Pierce had been standing side by side after just being announced and coming into the ballroom.

Asher had made a comment that he thought Guinevere was lovely, but he had called her the chestnut-haired girl with the bonny smile. Pierce had been holding a glass of some sort of liquor, and he’d spilled it on their father, turned to him, patted him, and said something that Asher had not heard. When Pierce had turned to face Asher once more, he’d said Guinevere was not worthy of Asher and their father had not only agreed but he had forbidden Asher from speaking to her.

Naturally, for a hardheaded half Scot who already had a strained relationship with his father, that had been like sticking a rabbit in front of a fox. Asher had gone straight for her, but she had captured him.

Asher pulled the horses to the side of the stables, and as Digby came out, he said, “Has she—”

“No, Your Grace.”

“Damn,” Asher muttered, leaving Digby to the horses and striding toward his townhome. As he strode to the house, his mind turned. Had Pierce wanted her then but had not had the nerve to court her? Had he made attempts that had gone unnoticed or ignored because Guinevere had only ever thought of Pierce as a friend?

What was all the planning and scheming for now? Guinevere was Asher’s wife. It was too late. And in that, Asher realized he had his answer. It brought him to a stop, worry for Guinevere settling into every part of him. Pierce was desperate. In his mind, he’d lost everything. The title. The unentailed lands. The money. Guinevere.

And they’d all been tied together.

Asher burst into the house and almost knocked Cushman over, who it seemed had been about to open the door.

“My lord,” Cushman said, “I saw you come up the drive. I’ve three messages here, each