Lady Guinevere and the Rogue with a Brogue - Julie Johnstone Page 0,44
more recent memory of the softness of her sweet lips, the warmth of her breath filling his mouth, the hot tide of desire she unleashed in him each time he simply looked at her.
“If you recall?” she asked, hitching her eyebrows in such an adorable manner that he wanted to run the pad of his thumb over her skin. He had not realized how lost in his thought he’d become for a moment.
“Ye did not care for rules, either,” he said. Whatever impressions he had misread long ago, he felt certain that one was true. In fact, thinking upon it now, he suspected whatever Guinevere had been doing trying to climb that tree outside of her bedchamber window and then confronting Charolton in the library could be directly traced to the woman’s dislike of the rules the ton—or perhaps Society in general—placed upon her.
“What were ye doing in the tree?” he asked. It suddenly seemed vitally important.
“What tree?” She was all innocence, except the lovely blush that had pinked the enticing skin of her chest.
“Come, lass, prevarication makes ye blush.”
“‘If you wrong us, shall we not revenge?’” she muttered, then bit her lip, her eyes widening.
God, how he had loved that Shakespeare-blurting habit of hers—still did, if he was truthful with himself. And with that, it seemed he’d swung the gate of truth dangerously open. He not only desired her but there were things about her, like this, that still slammed him in the chest. He’d have to be made of steel not to find it endearing to see her so impassioned with her feelings that she was utterly unaware of what she was saying.
“The Merchant of Venice, Act Three, Scene One,” he provided, absurdly glad, for a man pursuing a woman simply to save his company, that he could tell her the play, the act, and the scene.
She gave him an amazed look. “You must have loved Elizabeth greatly to have committed Shakespeare to memory the way you have. It’s astonishing how much of it you now know.”
That had been a foolish, prideful lie he had thrust between them. He’d done it to protect himself. He understood that. To learn what he needed to about her feelings, though, he was going to have to let down his guard ever so slightly. “I learned his works, in truth, because I became fascinated with them after ye introduced me to them.”
Her eyebrows shot high, and her lips parted. For a moment, they were silent, and then she said, “Elizabeth did not love Shakespeare?”
“I do not believe so,” he replied, revealing as much as he was willing to in this moment about his relationship with his conniving deceased wife.
“Why did you lie?” she asked, her gaze locked with his.
God, he felt exposed. It reminded him of how he’d felt when other children had teased him about being a bastard. Unworthy. Less than. He’d also felt that way when his father had shoved him into this thorny Society and demanded he perform like a puppet. He’d rebelled, wanting to show he was man enough to make his own sound decisions, and it had gotten him an unwanted marriage and wife.
He’d shown enough. It was the lass’s turn to enlighten him, so he did the thing he detested most in others: he prevaricated. “Why were ye in the tree?”
“I was not in the tree.”
Clever lass. She was correct. Her avoidance should anger him, but damn it if it didn’t make him want to grin, but he wouldn’t. She didn’t need to know she held any power over him. “Why were ye attempting to climb the tree?”
“Guinevere!” came a gasp from behind him.
Guinevere stiffened, and Asher turned to see her mother coming toward them. Did she still show Guinevere with unthinking words and actions that she felt her a daughter who fell short of what the ton considered an Incomparable?
“Oh, Your Grace!” her mother said. Obvious surprise set the features of her face. “I hope Guinevere has not detained you?”
The statement seemed to answer his question from moments ago. “Nay, my lady.” He could feel Guinevere’s tension like a wave of heat. “’Tis I who detained yer daughter. I do apologize. I was turned about trying to find my bedchamber”—a bold lie—“and she kindly was directing me.”
“Oh. Oh, I see. Well, now that you stand before her, I’m sure you see she has much blossomed since you last knew her. Has she not?”
“Mama!” Guinevere gasped, horror ringing in her tone.