Lady Guinevere and the Rogue with a Brogue - Julie Johnstone Page 0,34
along with you, for I know you shall argue if I don’t, this unknown fool of a man must not know her worth if he has not declared himself yet.”
“One could say yer situation sounds very much the same.”
She scowled. “One could, but I have the luxury of being resolute in my decision, right or wrong, and I have never had a passion for any other man than the one who has my heart. I propose you test my theory and see if she harbors the flame I know I saw.”
He thought immediately of the kiss and the heat that had been undeniable between them, but on that thought came the familiar terms she was on with Kilgore and her betrayal of years ago. And directly after that came thoughts of all the people who relied on him. He had to save his distilleries. The question was, exactly how far would he go to do that?
Would he pursue Guinevere, a woman who had betrayed him, and who may well still want the very man with whom she betrayed him? Or was Lady Constantine correct in that what he thought he’d seen between Guinevere and Kilgore the other night—or more correctly, what Guinevere had wanted him to see—was not the truth of the matter? Perhaps Kilgore played a game with her and she did not want Asher to know. Or perhaps she had simply been vexed with Asher. He had not handled the dance with her well, nor the encounter in the library, for that matter. He should not have let his lust for her overcome him. She had once been his Achilles’ heel, but she never would be again. He desired her, yes, but that was all. He would not be a fool for the lass a second time. If they wed, it would be a marriage of convenience. But could he pursue her, wed her, if she loved Kilgore?
He should let go of his pride completely for all those who relied upon him, but he could not do it. He could let go of a portion and pursue the perfidious enchantress he’d once disavowed to save his company, but he would not wed her if her heart truly belonged to Kilgore. He would simply have to find another way, though he had no damn notion what that would be. For years his pride had been the only thing he had when he and his mother had possessed next to nothing. His pride had given him determination and relentless drive to make their situation better, and he’d done it.
He had to discover the truth of Guinevere’s situation. The future hinged upon it.
Chapter Eight
Guinevere was handed down from the conveyance she’d ridden in with Vivian and their mother, and she had no more than reached for her skirts to shake out the wrinkles in her travel gown when the door to Farthingate Manor was opened and Lilias surged out of her country home. Her skirts were fisted in both hands and she moved at the pace of an eager, unschooled girl of seven rather than a proper lady of two and twenty.
Guinevere smiled with relief as Lilias’s mother, the Countess of Barrowe, appeared in the doorway, neatly eschewing the footman with a sunny smile, which indicated she was in a fine mood today. The smile stayed in place as she took Lilias to task for her unladylike behavior. Lilias rolled her eyes but heeded her mother’s command.
Guinevere chuckled. This was exactly what she needed to get Asher out of her thoughts—an entertaining house party with her dearest friend. She did not know what had prompted Lilias’s mother to return from Bath, but she was glad the countess had done so and had decided a house party was in order. Lilias’s mother and Mama were childhood friends themselves, so Mama should be entertained for a time and hopefully stop wailing over Guinevere dancing with Kilgore, which she had been doing since the Antwerp ball a sennight ago. If Guinevere heard one more word about Kilgore’s sooty reputation and how Mama was certain the man would never wed her, she would scream.
She knew Mama didn’t mean to but she always had a way of making Guinevere feel as if she were lacking. Couple that with Asher throwing her over for Elizabeth and the fact that Guinevere could not decide if Kilgore wanted to court her or merely seduce her—neither prospect made her heart flutter—made enduring her mother’s complaints especially tiresome.