Lady Guinevere and the Rogue with a Brogue - Julie Johnstone Page 0,17
looking so vexingly handsome? He toyed with her concentration, which was irritating in the extreme.
“‘Fire burn and cauldron bubble,’” she blurted.
“Guinevere Darlington,” Lilias whispered low, “you just quoted Shakespeare.”
Guinevere groaned in response.
Lilias stood on tiptoe beside Guinevere as she stretched to see over the crowd. “What’s vexing you? Is it Lord Charlatan? Has he already gotten to Lady Constantine?” She paused, waiting for a response. “Guinevere!” Lilias demanded, stomping her foot. “Answer me!”
Her friend’s rare display of temper broke the spell Asher held over her. “It seems,” she muttered, “that tonight’s ball is full of louses. My gaze is drawn to the Marquess of Kilgore and the Duke of Carrington, both of whom are standing in a group to the left of the orchestra.”
Guinevere forced a laugh so she would look as if she were talking pleasantly while watching the revelers. In truth, she was quite unable to tear her gaze away from Asher. Thank the heavens, Kilgore had spoken to him once more and Asher turned to respond.
Guinevere took a moment to really study him. The way he filled out his dark evening clothes was scandalous and enticing. She drank him in, deciding he was like a forbidden liquor. The kind her father kept in his office and told her women were not allowed to drink as it was inappropriate, and a woman’s delicate constitution could not handle the strong taste. It was rubbish.
“My, Carrington has aged nicely,” Lilias murmured.
“Do bite your tongue,” Guinevere snapped and jerked her gaze away from Asher, but not before his dark gaze glinted into hers. Had he seen her staring? No matter. Her heart hammered viciously. He could never prove it.
Lilias gave her a sympathetic look. “Does he make your heart beat too fast still?”
“Don’t be a ninny,” Guinevere responded. “He no longer affects me at all.”
“You’re quite flushed,” Lilias said in a gentle tone.
“That is because I’m eager to find and stop Charlatan from pursuing Lady Constantine.”
“Oh!” Lilias clutched Guinevere’s arm. “There they are! He’s just approached her.”
Guinevere looked into the crowd once more, careful to avoid the area to the left of the orchestra. “Where? I don’t see them.” She raised to her tiptoes. It was frustrating to be short at times like these!
“To the left of the orchestra. Directly behind Carrington, Kilgore, and the other gentleman.”
Guinevere frowned. There was another gentleman who’d been standing with Asher and Kilgore? Reluctantly, she looked at them once more and stilled at the sight of Asher watching her watch him. He looked away but not before she’d seen him. She’d wager all her pin money on it—if she were allowed to wager, but of course she was not because women were suppressed, if you asked her. No one did, of course, because women were not allowed to have opinions. Well, except behind closed doors with other women of like mind.
“Hurry, Guinnie, you must entice him away from her,” Lilias ordered, going from clutching Guinevere’s arm to tugging on her hand as she led them toward Lord Charolton, forcing Guinevere to nearly stumble.
“Lilias,” Guinevere whispered low and close to avoid anyone overhearing as they drew near the edge of the crowd. “Why me? You do the enticing, and I’ll warn Lady Constantine.”
“No,” Lilias murmured, twining her arm through Guinevere’s and laughing. Lilias truly was quite good at subterfuge. It had to be all the Gothic novels she read. Her friend pressed close to Guinevere as they skirted the edge of the dancers and wove their way through the press of bodies. She leaned in as if to tell a titillating bit of gossip. “You know I’m no good at flirting and tempting. It must be you. You are an Incomparable, whereas I’m quite comparable.”
“That you think I’m an Incomparable is merely proof that you are my dearest friend.”
“It’s true, but I am also your dearest friend.”
The closer they drew to the orchestra where Asher had been standing, the harder her heart pounded. When he came into view, she stumbled, struck by the clear picture of him. He looked like an angel cast from Heaven with his dark hair, eyes, and clothing, the chandelier above him washing him in glimmering light. His shoulders filled his coat out in a way that should be forbidden, making her want to peel back the layers to see if he was as perfectly formed as she had always imagined. His shadow of a beard—quite scandalous—gave him an even more masculine aura than he already possessed. He might be a duke