Lady Guinevere and the Rogue with a Brogue - Julie Johnstone Page 0,39

poor he’d grown up. The thought stirred a memory of him once telling Guinevere how he’d had to forage berries from the woods for him and his mother when they’d had nothing to eat. Guinevere had not gasped. She’d looked at him proudly and said he was the most resourceful person she’d ever known. His chest tightened at the memory. That was the Guinevere who had entranced him. Clever minx. How had the lass known just what to say to lower the guards he’d raised before first coming to London?

Movement at the door to the parlor caught his eye, and in strolled Guinevere as if he’d conjured her with his thoughts. The air in his lungs disappeared as he drank her in.

If she had looked ravishing in red at the Antwerp ball, then tonight she looked glorious in green, like a fresh petal. Desire gripped him, but he would control it. He was here to discover if her affections were truly given to Kilgore, and if not, he would pursue her to save his company.

And as if the devil had heard himself being thought of, Kilgore sauntered into the room. Asher stiffened when the fool’s gaze alighted on Guinevere, and the man smirked. Was Kilgore toying with Guinevere?

“Pardon, Lady Barrowe,” he said, interrupting the woman midsentence. He sidestepped both Lady Barrowe and Lady Longford and didn’t give a damn that he’d been rude, nor that the women no doubt found him lacking in social etiquette. He got no more than five steps across the room toward Guinevere when Lady Lilias stepped directly in his path and stared at him with an expression of intense scrutiny and a tad bit of mutiny.

“Lady Lilias,” he said, keeping his gaze firmly locked on Guinevere as she stood face-to-face with Kilgore, who reached up and brushed a lock of her hair away from her eyes. Asher imagined ripping the man’s arm from his body.

“Your Grace, I have not had the opportunity to impart to you my condolences on the passing of your father. Or Elizabeth, for that matter, since I’ve not seen you in so many years. I’m certain you must have been—still are—most devastated.”

Asher ripped his attention from Guinevere to the lady before him. Guilt needled him that he was, in fact, not devastated, nor had he ever been when Elizabeth had passed four and a half years ago. Saddened, yes, that her life never had been what she wished, for their inability to make each other happy, for his foolishness that had thrown them together. As for his father, Asher was regretful that he had never truly known him. Then again, the more Pierce revealed, the more Asher wondered if he would have liked their father. Though, Asher was only getting Pierce’s view, which was no doubt tainted.

“Thank you,” he said, keeping his voice suitably neutral.

Lady Lilias studied him with lowered lashes, but nevertheless, he could tell that she was scrutinizing him. What was the lady hoping to discover? If he had made amends with his father? If he had loved his wife? Had Guinevere sent Lady Lilias to discover something?

The errant thought irritated him. Lady Constantine’s fanciful imaginings that Guinevere had—what had been the woman’s words?—a passion. Yes, that was it. Lady Constantine had said that Guinevere had a passion for him. As in she more than desired him. He thought not, however, or she would never have betrayed him before. She desired him as he did her. Nothing more.

“I’ve heard rumor that you are taking up residence in London. Is that permanent?” Lady Lilias asked.

“I imagine I’ll move between my London home, my country home, and Scotland,” he said, his gaze landing once again by Guinevere. She was laughing, her head thrown back, as only Guinevere could do. There was no polite tittering for her. She had a rich, full laugh.

Lady Lilias cleared her throat, and he dragged his attention back to her. Her gaze was riveted on his face. Was she watching him watch Guinevere?

“Her laugh embarrasses her mother,” Lady Lilias said in a low, matter-of-fact tone. Indeed, the woman had been watching him watch Guinevere.

“It is her mother who should be embarrassed to try to change that which is perfect,” he replied. Best to lay the foundation for winning over Guinevere’s best friend if he was going to get Guinevere’s consent to wed him. Of course, it was true that her laugh was perfect and her mother was a fool, so he had stated true facts, not flowery