Lady Guinevere and the Rogue with a Brogue - Julie Johnstone Page 0,65

out. “You cannot mean that. Truly, let us not be hasty and wait until—”

“Georgette!” Fairfax thundered, and though Lady Fairfax flinched, she kept speaking.

“You caused her ruin.” Lady Fairfax sniffed.

There were actually two of them involved in the kiss, but to argue the point was fruitless. He had initiated it. “I’m aware,” Asher replied, having to unclench his jaw to do so. It was why he had not ended the betrothal just now. He would give Guinevere the opportunity to do it. “I was going to say, please tell yer daughter I will consider our informal betrothal broken unless she sends word requesting I return to make it formal. I will await word from her until tomorrow night.”

After that, he intended to leave England and Guinevere behind him, no matter how much he did not want to.

Guinevere shoved Kilgore back and slapped him. “Why did you do that?”

“To help you,” he replied, rubbing his cheek.

“I need to speak to Asher and explain,” she blurted and then turned, getting a glimpse into the study window. “Where is he?” she cried out.

“I do believe Carrington is departing,” Kilgore replied. “That’s what I would do.”

“No! He cannot depart!” She clenched her skirts in her hands as she raced toward the house. She’d wanted him to realize what a fool he was and to see how another would wed her and want her. He was supposed to realize he loved her desperately!

She took the stairs at a most unladylike two at a time and raced down the corridor at a speed that would cause her Mama palpitations if she witnessed it. Guinevere paused, unsure if she should head toward her father’s study or the front door. If Asher had truly left, then she would not chase after him, though God above knew she was good and ruined if he had departed. She ran down the corridor, hearing Vivian and Frederica rushing down the stairs in the distance.

She burst through the parlor door and wanted to weep at the sight of only her mother and father there. “Did Carrington leave?” she asked, hating how breathless she sounded.

“Yes,” her mother wailed. “Did you accept Kilgore’s offer?”

“There was no offer,” Guinevere replied, only then realizing she’d left Kilgore alone in the garden.

“Oh, you’ve ruined everything again!” her mother burst out. “Oh dear. You must run after one of them! Yes, go now!” Mama stepped toward her, but her father spoke.

“Sit down and quit talking this instant, Georgette. And if you refuse my request again, I will cease to allow you to push me about with your every whim!”

Guinevere felt her mouth fall open, as did her mother’s. Papa never raised his voice, even when he endured a great deal from Mama, but he did indeed look and sound vexed now.

Her father stepped toward her and took her by the shoulders. “You must make a choice, Guinevere. Carrington has said that he will consider the informal betrothal broken by you unless you contact him to return to make it formal. He will wait until tomorrow night.”

Asher no doubt was waiting in hopes that she would be the one to break the informal betrothal. Tears pricked her eyes.

Her father studied her for a moment, then said, “If you do not wish to wed him, if your affections are engaged by Kilgore, we will not force you.”

“What?” Mama cried out.

“No,” Guinevere whispered, her heart squeezing at her father’s kindness. “I would not only ruin myself but Frederica and Vivian, too. I cannot allow that.”

“What of Kilgore?” her father asked.

“It’s very complicated,” she whispered, burying her face in her hands. “He—” The tears started trickling down her face. “His affections belong to someone else.” She could not explain it all, for she did not really understand all the intricacies of why Kilgore had pursued her. He had used her, to be certain, but he had done it for love—of that much Guinevere was certain, so she would forgive his transgressions.

“Hmph,” her mother said. “He has a most odd way of showing such a thing.”

“There is only the one offer,” Guinevere clarified, her heart aching so bad that she wanted to wail.

Her father hooked a finger under her chin and lifted it until she was looking at him. “I do not think your future is as dire as you think.”

“Oh, Papa! If you only knew!”

“Do you wish to tell me?” he asked.

The prospect was most mortifying. How did one tell their father they were but a game to a man? “No,” she