Lady Guinevere and the Rogue with a Brogue - Julie Johnstone Page 0,5

Frederica, had a habit of letting secrets slip to Huntley, and he would most certainly feel compelled to duel for her honor or some such nonsense. “I took a tumble in the muck, and I was trying to climb the tree to get back into my chamber to change.”

“I told you she had it well in hand,” Lilias said.

“Hold on, Guinnie,” Frederica said. “I’ll throw down the rope.”

Guinevere’s ears burned. What must Asher think that she and her sister had a secret rope hidden away for times such as these?

“Do hurry, Freddy,” she said faintly, Asher’s heat against her back made it hard to think properly. Had he moved closer? To better hear? To eat her like a wolf? She was positively losing her wits.

“Guinevere, when you return to your bedchamber, you might want to stay there and feign a megrim,” Lilias said.

Guinevere shook her head. “Mama would blister my ears for days if I attempted such a thing, and Papa wouldn’t stop her.”

“But, Guinnie, Carrington is here. We saw him!”

“Lilias, do cease talking!” Guinevere snapped as the rope was thrown out the window to dangle down the side of her home.

“I take it by your terse tone you already knew?” Lilias asked.

“Verra astute of ye, Lady Lilias,” Asher said, stepping out of the shadows.

Guinevere moaned as a chorus of gasps came from above her.

“I’d normally love to stand and listen to the rest of this conversation, but someone is coming.” Asher delivered the dreadful news as casually as one would speak of the weather.

One glance to her right confirmed he had spoken the truth. For once.

“I cannot be caught alone with you,” she burst out. “My parents would force us to wed!”

“I’m sure neither of us wants that,” Asher agreed and fairly shoved her toward the rope.

Before she could obtain a good hold on it, he was hoisting her up. His strong hands gripped her hips, causing her heartbeat to soar. Just as her fingers found purchase, he released her and said, “Climb quickly. I’ll distract whoever is coming this way, and ye can reward my efforts later.”

“By what means?” she asked, her overactive imagination—the one only Asher had ever ignited—sparking like a well-tended fire.

“That, lass, remains to be seen.” And with those parting words, the man who’d once swept into her life and left her heartbroken disappeared yet again.

Chapter Two

“Where did you disappear to last night?”

His half brother’s question pulled Asher from his thoughts about Guinevere—tree climber, trouble finder, dangerous schemer.

His neck muscles tightened at the appearance of Pierce in his study, and Asher set his teacup down next to the mound of papers he’d been reading, which informed him of the new estates he’d inherited. Pierce plopped into one of two armchairs across from Asher and kicked his feet up onto the edge of Asher’s desk. The golden liquor in the crystal glass Pierce was holding sloshed over the edges as he settled himself.

“Still imbibing first thing in the morning?” Asher asked.

Wry amusement lit his brother’s face. “Since Father’s death, I can normally tolerate waiting until midday, but I’m making an exception this morning, given the solicitor will be here soon to read Father’s will. I feel certain I’ll want fortification against what I’m to learn.”

“Perhaps,” Asher agreed, studying Pierce for a moment. He looked like he’d just returned from all night at one of London’s clubs, which would not be unusual if his habits had not changed. His black hair was a disheveled mess, and bloodshot eyes stared back at Asher. Pierce’s shirt was untucked, and his cravat dangled untied down his chest. A woman’s lip paint stained Pierce’s neck and cheek, as well as the top edge of his cravat.

They hadn’t rubbed along well when Asher had been in London five years ago, for which Asher did not completely blame Pierce. Asher had been angry at his father and distrustful, and that wariness had tainted his willingness to bond with Pierce, so he’d not bothered trying. Then again, neither had Pierce, but that could have easily been because of how distant Asher had been. Now they had another chance and several unfortunate things in common that might draw them closer.

Neither of them had known about the other until they were grown. Hell, Asher hadn’t even known until he was two and twenty that his father was alive. Or English. Or a duke. He inhaled a long, slow breath as an image of his mother, frail and near death, floated in his mind. He’d been shocked