Lady Guinevere and the Rogue with a Brogue - Julie Johnstone Page 0,21

smirking.

That’s how it was going to be, was it? They were to cut each other with their rapier wit.

He offered his best disengaged smile. “And I ye, until ye called me.”

“Called you?” she nearly exclaimed, seeming to lose a bit of her composure. She gave him a look that could have withered a hillside of newly sprung bluebells.

“Guinevere,” Lady Lilias said, her tone pinched, “I do believe your mother is coming this way.”

Guinevere’s gaze flew behind him, widened considerably, and her fingers went from stiff in his hand to gripping him tightly. When she focused on him once more, she gave him a pleading look. “Oh, yes, Your Grace, I beg your pardon. I thought you might have forgotten our conversation about ill-fated lovers, but I’m pleased to find you remember it. Shall we continue it during our dance?”

He should let the little hellion flounder here to deal with her mother, who was marching toward them still, but he found he could not be that cruel, even to Guinevere. “By all means,” he replied and slipped her arm into his to lead her in the opposite direction of her mother and to the dance floor.

It wasn’t until they reached the dance floor that he realized they were to dance the waltz, which he’d heard had become more accepted by Society, not that he’d ever given a damn about what the toffs of the ton thought. She must have realized it, as well, because she backed up a step as if to run from him. He increased his hold on her fingertips while bringing his right hand to her waist. It seemed like a lifetime since he’d first rested his hand on the gentle curve of her body, but when his hand molded her shape, it felt as right, as meant to be, as it had the very first time he had touched her. Except now he was the wiser to who she really was.

She hesitated but a moment, her gaze focused on his chest in seeming indecision, and then her hand came to his shoulder and her eyes drew to his. God, she was stunning. She had been beautiful five years ago, like a new bud, but now she was in full bloom, her appearance causing a physical reaction in him he had to struggle to control.

Damnation, he’d not thought it would be this way. He’d thought he’d be apathetic with her when he saw her again.

“Ye’ve changed, lass,” he said.

She arched her eyebrows as they began the steps of the waltz. “Did you think to find me the same, Your Grace?”

His jaw tensed at her persistence in calling him by his newly acquired title. “Asher,” he reminded her.

Her lips pressed together in a hard line. “It’s hardly proper for me to call you by your given name, Your Grace.”

“Ye used to care little for propriety.”

She frowned as he started to twirl her around. “It’s not well-done of you to point out my past peccadilloes. Shall I categorize all of yours whilst we dance?”

He bit back the desire to grin. “That would likely require a second set.” He was careful to keep his tone neutral, though the discovery that Guinevere still had a penchant for blunt talk made him want to chuckle. Was that why she had not wed? Had she been relegated to spinster already? He couldn’t imagine it to be so, especially given Kilgore’s obvious continued interest in her.

She offered a genuine smile that made her eyes sparkle, and his chest tightened. He had to be careful with her. His body did not seem to give a damn what his mind knew.

“I think you underestimate your sooty reputation, Your Grace,” she said with blatant cheekiness. “I believe listing all your peccadilloes would require at least three sets.”

He was caught by an onslaught of heady sensations. “Scandalous,” he managed. “Ye smell of lilies,” he said, watching her face. “I believe I once told ye it was my favorite scent in the world.”

“Nonsense.” She leaned into him as he turned her once more. “I smell of roses. I’m certain I’ve never owned a lily scent in my life. I detest that smell.”

“I see ye are not on familiar terms with the truth still.”

Damn it all. He’d not intended to speak so candidly.

She made a misstep, and he clutched her closer to steady her. For a heartbeat, their chests brushed, and his blood heated in recognition like a wolf to its prey. As she put a respectable distance between them once