Lady Guinevere and the Rogue with a Brogue - Julie Johnstone Page 0,55
said, “I hope your absence at supper last night had nothing to do with your partner for yesterday’s treasure hunt?”
“Kilgore!” Guinevere cut her eyes to the silver-haired woman sitting by the window that overlooked the formal gardens. She paused in her knitting to smile at Guinevere.
“Do not fret over my Aunt Lucinda. She could not hear a horn if I blew it directly in her ear,” he said.
“Is that why you brought her with you? So she can serve as a chaperone when you want to have scandalous conversations with women?” Lilias and Vivian had diverted Vivian and Guinevere’s chaperone, for which Guinevere was eternally grateful, even if they were doing it because they were trying to manipulate the outcome of the situation with her, Kilgore, and Asher.
She expected Kilgore to produce some ridiculous excuse, but he surprised her by shaking his head. “No. She does not get out much, and she does love a country party.”
The revelation that he would go out of his way to do something nice for his matronly aunt softened her to him immediately. If she were to end up wed to the man, at least she knew he was not cold. “Careful, Kilgore,” she said. “If people learn your secret, they will not think you half as wicked as you want them to believe.”
“My dear,” he replied, his voice dropping to a tone that promised shocking wickedness to come, “it is not an act, so do not mistake it. I am every bit as debauched as you believe me to be. Have you forgotten the terrace five years ago?”
“No,” she replied. “Was it your hope to compromise me then, and since you did not succeed, you have circled back to me?”
“It was and still is my fondest hope that I cannot compromise you, Lady Guinevere,” he said, turning his back from her to walk over to a table where a book lay. He plucked it up.
She was utterly tired of confusing men! “Is this some sort of a test, then?”
He turned to her, book in hand and a surprised look on his handsome face. “No, my dear.”
“I told you not to call me that. You know it is far too familiar.”
“Perhaps I want to be too familiar with you,” he said, inching his eyes over her in a manner that suggested he was hinting at an illicit affair.
“I think not,” she replied. “You just said it was your fondest hope that you could not compromise me.”
He shrugged. “I’m a man at war with myself.” The resignation in his voice told her he spoke the truth in that moment.
“Did someone set you on the path of war?” she asked, trying to figure him out.
He opened the book but kept his gaze on her. “Is it not always someone else who sets us on the path of war, Lady Guinevere?”
“I think people can set themselves on the path,” she mused.
“That would be a foolish person indeed.”
Somewhere in this conversation was the answer to who this man was and what motivated him. She could not say why it was important, but her gut told her it was. “I cannot agree. Consider, if you will, men who go to war to protect another.” She watched him carefully. He stiffened. It was the slightest movement, a tensing of his shoulders, but it was telling. Whatever he was doing, he was doing for the sake of another.
“That has nothing to do with me,” he said, but his casual words were contradicted by his terse tone. “This subject tires me. Let us turn to more interesting things, such as Richard III.”
She arched her eyebrows. “Richard III?”
“Yes.” He strode closer to her. “I have chosen Act One, Scene Two for our skit. I’ll play the role of Richard, of course.”
He smirked, but she could not match his light humor. Dread filled her at what he wanted them to portray. What would people think? What would Asher think?
“You have purposely chosen a scene where the lady is seduced by a fiend and agrees to wed him.”
“Precisely. Did I not tell you I was wicked?”
She pressed her fingertips to her temples, which had started to pound. If only she had gotten more sleep the night before. “You did,” she agreed.
“Here.” He thrust the book at her. “You read this line,” he said, pointing.
Guinevere scanned the page to where his finger was, and her chest tightened as her anxiety increased. “‘And thou are unfit for any place but hell.’”