Lady Guinevere and the Rogue with a Brogue - Julie Johnstone Page 0,64
need to hang on to the hope, especially now that they were irrevocably bound for life. The kiss had ensured that, or rather, being discovered in the woods had.
His blood pumped hard through his veins. This night would set the course of their life together. Would it be a marriage of hope or distrust? He felt like a bumbling lad of ten summers rather than a grown man.
“Your Grace,” the butler said, waving a hand at the closed parlor door, “Lady Guinevere is just in here with—” the man paled considerably “—the others.”
Asher frowned at the man’s increasingly strange behavior but said, “Excellent. Then should ye not announce me?”
The butler looked distinctly uncomfortable but inclined his head in agreement. He knocked on the door, and when a call to enter was given, the man opened the door and announced Asher.
He hadn’t expected a warm greeting, given the circumstances he and Guinevere had been discovered in, but nor had he expected the words Guinevere’s mother bellowed.
“Oh, good heavens! Not now! Not with Kilgore still here, possibly offering for her!”
Asher’s entire body tensed, and hope slipped, but he tapped the butler’s shoulder, who turned to face him, mouth agape. Asher motioned for the man to step aside and moved into the room, sweeping his gaze over Guinevere’s father first, who arched his eyebrows before narrowing his eyes at Asher, and then Guinevere’s mother, who at least had the good sense to look appalled.
“Oh my. Oh, Your Grace,” she rushed out, but instead of moving toward him to curtsy, she almost tripped over a rug in her haste to move in front of the window. She was too late, though. Asher’s blood went cold at the sight of Kilgore kissing Guinevere.
Damn Kilgore. Damn Guinevere. And damn himself for being such a fool for her again and sodding again.
Guinevere’s mother blabbered beside him, demanding his attention, but he stared straight ahead, unable to rip his gaze from Guinevere and Kilgore. She did not shove Kilgore away. They stood, locked in their kiss. Fury crackled inside Asher, and he turned abruptly from the window. His gaze crashed into the hard one of Guinevere’s father. The man didn’t like him, though Asher supposed it was not surprising considering the past and the very recent compromising of his daughter.
“It seems I’m no longer needed here,” Asher clipped. Now protecting himself was all there was.
“Oh, Your Grace—” Guinevere’s mother started to cry out, but Fairfax interrupted.
“Silence, Georgette,” Fairfax stated in a firm but gentle tone. The warning look on his face, however, was forceful.
Lady Fairfax opened and shut her mouth several times before finally deciding to listen. She clamped her jaw shut and sat with a loud sigh.
“Your past actions and today’s letter,” Fairfax said, picking up a piece of foolscap from his desk, “would lead me to believe this—” he waved a hand toward the garden “—should be a happy turn of circumstances for you.”
Asher frowned. “What part of my letter leads ye to believe that?”
“The part in which you stated these were unfortunate circumstances.”
It was not the best choice of words now that he thought about it, but he’d had no sleep. “I was not referring to the lady but to the event that led to our betrothal.” And to the fact that she wanted Kilgore.
“Ah.” Fairfax’s countenance relaxed immediately. “I was hoping that was the case. Since it is, I extend an invitation for you to remain until, er, we know how things should unfold.”
“I must decline,” Asher replied. He’d seen how things were unfolding.
He’d be damned if he was going to wait around like an eager pup to learn if Kilgore had asked Guinevere to wed him and she had accepted. It was more than his company and his pride in the balance now. It was the very real need to protect himself. He kept trying to relinquish hope. He’d thought he’d managed it on several occasions, but it kept springing back up like a weed to taunt and tease him. The kiss between Kilgore and Guinevere seemed to be a blinding indication that he had to relinquish hope. She’d just crushed it under her delicate slipper, after all. Only a fool would continue. Only a fool would have ever come to London to meet a father who had not wanted him, but he’d done that, as well. He had to quit being a fool.
“If ye would, please tell yer daughter that I will consider our informal betrothal formally broken.”