Lady Guinevere and the Rogue with a Brogue - Julie Johnstone Page 0,45

my memory serves,” he said, catching Guinevere’s gaze, “she was already the loveliest of creatures five years ago.”

“Oh!” The countess beamed. “I always said I liked you!”

“I don’t recall you saying that, Mama.”

Her blunt, truthful words struck him like a hard blow. It was as if he was glimpsing the woman he’d thought her to be. This unblinking lass with the frank look was the enchantress whom he’d believed was so different from everyone else. Doubt gripped him. Doubt he could not and should not allow.

“Guinevere,” her mother scolded, giving her a dark, layered look. “I apologize, Your Grace. She has always been too outspoken, but I daresay she is not normally like this anymore.”

“That would be unfortunate,” he replied as Guinevere stared at him with her mesmerizing green gaze. Her eyes widened, and she gave him a thankful smile that made his chest constrict.

“Assure him, Guinevere,” her mother suggested. The woman was clearly hoping to make a match between them. If only she knew her efforts were not needed. He would pursue Guinevere—if she did not want Kilgore.

“I assure you, Your Grace, that I’m perfectly boring, as men of your ilk seem to desire.” Was she referring to him or Kilgore? He should not feel as if he cared, only as if he needed to know to make a business decision, but damn it, his chest tightened. She served him a dry look before continuing. “Normally I speak of only the most trivial matters, such as my lack of skill at the pianoforte, my distaste of embroidery, my scarcely clung-to tolerance for talk of the weather, and my inability to pretend I’m less intelligent than a man.”

God her words made him want to kiss her senseless, which proved that if he was not extremely careful, Guinevere could make him a clot-heid again. Her mother looked as if she would throttle Guinevere on the spot, but she forced a smile to her thin lips and a brittle laugh. “She is so clever, my eldest. She is only jesting with you, Your Grace. She is as accomplished as your Elizabeth was!”

He had the almost uncontrollable desire to rip off his cravat and stuff it in Lady Fairfax’s mouth. Instead, he said, “I would imagine a woman who knows of politics would be rather more useful to most men of my ilk than one who knows how to create the perfect stitch.” He was not speaking as a fool about to fall. It was the truth.

“Oh? I see, I see,” the countess cooed. “Well, perhaps tomorrow Guinevere can talk matters of Parliament with you.” Her voice had dropped to an exaggerated whisper, as if it would be embarrassing for anyone to overhear that Guinevere could converse on matters of the Realm.

“Mama,” Guinevere muttered hastily, “His Grace did not come to the house party to spend time with me.”

“But I did, my lady,” he inserted, seizing his chance to get her alone again. For the purpose of making an informed decision, of course. Not because he desired her. Not because these glimpses of the woman he’d thought he’d known were intriguing him.

Guinevere’s eyes widened and she appeared speechless, but her mother was not struck with the same malady. “Perhaps you’d like to pair with Guinevere for the treasure hunt tomorrow?”

“I cannot,” Guinevere blurted, a desperate look in her eyes. “The Marquess of Kilgore already requested I pair with him. He was going to speak with our hostess.”

Her words blew over him like an icy Highland wind. Was this his answer? Was he a fool not to hear it? Take it. And forget the possibility of pursuing Guinevere.

Guinevere’s mother waved a dismissive hand, narrowing her gaze on Guinevere. “I’ll speak with Lady Barrowe and take care of the arrangements. Until tomorrow, Your Grace,” she rushed out, snatching Guinevere to her and practically dragging her out of the corridor.

Though the two women disappeared from sight immediately, the countess’s voice drifted loudly to him as she spoke to Guinevere. “You foolish, foolish, girl. Everyone knows Kilgore likely will never settle down, but Carrington, on the other hand, has proven with his marriage to Elizabeth that he is more than amenable to wedding. You are now quite as pretty as she was. He’d never throw you over now. Don’t ruin this for yourself. And if you cannot think of your own future, think of your sisters’.”

“Yes, Mama,” Guinevere replied, her voice wooden.

Lady Constantine’s words about Asher not seeing what he thought he had seen came back to