Lady Guinevere and the Rogue with a Brogue - Julie Johnstone Page 0,4

a bit over the years.

Pity, that. She’d prefer him to be as dull as the pianoforte lessons her mother still forced her to sit through, though everyone, including God, knew no amount of lessons would ever make her accomplished at such a thing. She was not a proper lady in most ways.

“What did you see?” she demanded, truly interested now. Mama often accused her of being like a cat: too curious for her own good.

“I saw ye, Lady Guinevere, running with little decorum and much abandon at the edge of the woods.”

“You couldn’t have.” She pressed a hand to her chest where her heart fluttered. She should have denied it outright. Was it too late? She bit her lip. Yes, she supposed it was, drat it all.

“I assure ye, I did see ye. I’ve keen eyesight.” He tapped his temple.

“But it’s dark,” she insisted, wincing at how foolish she sounded.

“Do the Bow Street Runners come around much for yer services?” he quipped.

“You are an odious man,” she snapped.

“Such cruel words from such beautiful lips,” he replied, managing to sound both chastising and oddly admiring at once. “I wonder where ye learned such language. From one of the men ye meet in the dark, perhaps?”

“I do not meet men in the dark,” she bit out.

He tsked at her, exactly as her mother would. “Let me remind ye that I saw ye. That white gown ye’re wearing is not verra stealthy.”

She clenched her teeth at the truth of the statement. “There are at least a hundred women in white gowns at my parents’ ball.”

“Aye, but I could think of no other lady who would abandon propriety as ye would and gallop around like a wild horse, heedless of caution.”

“Is that a compliment?” Her heart beat at a dangerous speed.

“Aye. I give them when they are due.”

“Why did you follow me, Your Grace?” Her words were unnervingly breathy. “And for that matter, why are you here?”

“I think ye know why I’m in London.”

She had meant her home, but whether he had purposely misconstrued her question or not, she didn’t know. What she did know, of course, but she preferred to ignore, was the fact that she had been unable to pay no mind to the news of his father’s death, not to mention the ensuing speculation from all the marriage-minded mamas regarding if the widowed, and now grossly wealthy, Duke of Carrington would return to London and take a wife. According to Guinevere’s elder brother, Huntley, wagers had been made at White’s as to whether or not Asher would show his face in London, take up his title properly, and secure another Incomparable.

She wished she’d known he had returned so she could have prepared herself mentally to see him. And she wished that Mama had told her that she’d invited him to this ball. Then Guinevere remembered that her mother had tried to speak to her about the guest list, and she had purposely evaded her mother’s attempts. Guinevere swallowed. She needed to say something about his father, but what, given their history?

“I was sorry to hear of your father’s passing.”

“I was sorry to hear it did not happen sooner,” he replied.

She bit her lip. She should not comment. She should stay out of his affairs. They were not friends. They could never be friends. And yet… “The years have not lessened your anger at him, I see.”

“We Scots are famous for holding grudges against people who’ve wronged us, Lady Guinevere. Whether the wrongdoer is a stranger, a father, or a lovely lass.”

Of all the nerve! How had she wounded him?

“Are you implying you have a grudge against me?”

A bang came from above, making her jerk, and then an urgent hiss. “Guinnie!”

Guinevere glanced toward her bedchamber window and stepped out of the shadow of the tree she’d been standing under with Asher. She was both relieved and annoyed to see three figures in her window, which were undoubtedly her sisters, Frederica and Vivian, and her best friend, Lilias.

“Guinevere Darlington,” Vivian said. “We have been frantically searching for you. Thankfully, I said—”

“Guinevere!” Lilias interrupted. “What are you doing down there? Lord Pratmore returned to the ballroom covered in mud and Lady Fanny returned unscathed. Are you all right?”

“Yes,” Guinevere said, keenly aware that Asher was behind her in the dark, listening to this conversation. She did not want the man privy to her secrets, but she could not announce his presence to prevent her sisters and Lilias from saying anything else. Her youngest sister,