Lady Guinevere and the Rogue with a Brogue - Julie Johnstone Page 0,58

not care,” she admitted, “but I have sisters.”

“Ah, I see.” He nodded. “Do you want an offer from me?” he repeated.

“Are you extending one?” Her heart had stopped beating, not out of anticipation but dread. She was about to enter into a union devoid of love.

“I will if you wish it, or I can vow not to give you a bit of attention after our skit so that anyone of reason will assume the skit was just a skit.”

Anyone of reason? She had no notion what he meant by that, and she was mentally too taxed to try to dissemble his words. For herself, she no longer cared about love. Her heart felt dead. But what of Lady Constantine? She could not ruin someone else’s chance at happiness. She would simply have to find someone else to marry for her sisters’ futures to be ensured.

“No, do not extend me an offer,” she said, a suffocating sensation tightening her throat.

She thought she saw him relax a bit, though she could have been imagining it.

“What of the skit?” he asked. “Are you willing to portray it with me?”

The tension in his voice cut through her own worries for a moment, and she studied him. There was a tic at the right side of his jaw. His left hand was relaxed, but his right was clenched. Understanding gripped her. “This has never been about you trying to seduce or wed me. It isn’t even really about me.”

He simply stared at her silently.

“You are trying to protect the woman you love,” she said, prodding.

“You have read too many of those Gothic novels,” he replied, his tone affecting boredom. “I love no one but myself. You have escaped wedding a monster.”

She was right. She knew she was, but he would never admit it. “I’ll play my part for the skit, but afterward, no more attention. I have my sisters to think of, though I wish you and your cold heart future warmth.”

He grabbed her hand then, surprising her, and an earnest look came over his face. “If you should decide you need my sooty self to offer for you, I will. You have my friendship, though I understand it likely does not seem of great value, from this moment forward.”

She squeezed his hand, noticing then that it was scarred. Kilgore was a man of many secrets, but one she thought he had just unwittingly revealed was that he did not think much of himself. “I will gladly take your friendship. Now come, let us make everyone believe we are bound to be lovers.”

Chapter Twelve

Asher stared slack-jawed as Kilgore portrayed a seducer and Guinevere portrayed a woman on the brink of succumbing to the seduction. Fury burned within him, and an invisible hand pressed against his chest. It might as well have been Guinevere’s hands pressing down, crushing him, crushing hope. Lost hope in someone wasn’t new to him, but being intimately familiar with the emotion did not lessen how deep it could cut. His chest was on fire.

Damn Kilgore for choosing this scene.

He was quite obviously trying to seduce Guinevere, and she appeared to welcome it. Asher had thought their heated encounters indicated that Guinevere wanted him, but seeing her now, he suspected he had not been in danger of Guinevere making him a clot-heid once more because she’d already done it. She’d managed to shred his pride twice in his lifetime.

The need for self-preservation flared hot and bright. Growing up without a father had instilled that need deep within him, and it made him feel almost feral now. He no longer wanted an end to this or answers from Guinevere. He simply wanted distance. Still, he couldn’t leave yet. He would warn the little fool that she was swimming in dangerous waters with Kilgore. Even after all that had occurred, he didn’t have it in him to simply let her drown.

Around him, people whispered furiously around the parlor, speculating, no doubt, on the relationship between Kilgore and Guinevere. To his right, Guinevere’s mother kept gasping and looking as if she was going to faint. Finally, the play ended. Shattering silence descended for a moment. No one clapped. It was as if he were watching Guinevere’s downfall in slow motion. He could not allow it. He wished he could be that cold, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t let her be destroyed that way. He stood, and at the same moment, Lady Constantine stood, as well, from her place directly across the room from him. They