Lady Guinevere and the Rogue with a Brogue - Julie Johnstone Page 0,69

the page, and he began to read.

Carrington,

My father expects you to call upon him tomorrow to formalize our betrothal and my dowry. Noon will do nicely. If you wish to see me, as well, I will be home.

Yours,

Guinevere

Wordlessly, he handed the missive to Beckford to read as he turned Guinevere’s words over in his mind. She’d chosen him, but it was cold. Formal. Just as his marriage to Elizabeth had been. Except there was one distinct difference. He wanted more from Guinevere, and that gave her immense power over him.

“Go now,” Beckford said.

Asher frowned at his friend. “Why would I do that?” He wanted to. God, how he did.

“You obviously want more, and if you are not going to get more than this from this woman, you should not wed her, whether she’s ruined or not by that decision. If I were you, I’d want to know if she has put Kilgore behind her truly, and you cannot have that conversation in some drawing room with people hovering on the other side of the door.”

Beckford was right about one thing. Asher needed to know why she had chosen him. She’d just kissed Kilgore or allowed him to kiss her. Why had she chosen him, then? He wished he didn’t want to know, but he did.

Chapter Fourteen

Guinevere could not sleep. She tossed and turned, punching her pillow, then staring at the ceiling. She squeezed her eyes shut for the hundredth time, but the blasted brown-eyed heartless Scot appeared behind her eyes again. She muttered the darkest curse she could think of, then kicked her covers halfway off. It wasn’t even very warm outside, but her bedchamber felt suffocating. It was ire. Ire was making her unreasonably hot. It was not her heart breaking. Upon seeing her puffy, tear-stained face in her looking glass earlier that evening, she had resolutely decided she would not allow her heart to break yet again for a man who was not worth it.

“Black-hearted scoundrel,” she hissed into the dark, shoving the last remaining bit of her coverlet off her legs. Still, she felt as if she was in flames.

She got out of bed, tugging her clothing down, and coiled her hair into a loose knot at the nape of her neck. How dare Asher play games with her life, not once, but twice! How dare he leave her house without making their betrothal official! How dare he not storm out into the garden and demand Kilgore quit kissing her? Or even better, he should have ripped Kilgore from her and claimed her as his own! She didn’t care if it was unreasonable. How dare he have stolen her heart five years ago and rekindled the hope she had struggled in vain to extinguish! She did not want to wed him.

And yet… She yanked on the knot she’d just made of her hair, and it unwound and fell down her back to rest at the curve of her spine.

And yet, she would wed him. Oh, how she hated him, even as part of her, she had to admit, still loved him. But he did not love her, so she needed to nurture that hate and kill the love.

The thought brought no comfort. It was not in her nature to hate, but she would make an exception for him. She wrapped her arms around her waist tightly as she leaned against her bed, thinking of the future that stretched before her. Loneliness. Longing. Unrequited love.

No! She clenched her teeth. Not that. She would not let him know she had ever loved him.

Tears pricked her eyes as she fought to overcome her feelings and be strong for her sisters. She blinked as she trudged toward her window, her vision blurry.

She undid the latch of the sash window and opened it. She looked up to take a deep breath of fresh night air and yelped. There, on her balcony, with the moonlight shining upon him like the marauding heart thief that he was, was Asher.

“Hello, Guin.”

His voice slid over her like a warm waft of air, causing a ripple of gooseflesh to shiver over her skin. She could not move. She could hardly breathe. And every thought was one of a rapidly increasing awareness of her desire for this man who had the power to destroy her.

He raised his arms and set his hands somewhere above the window. She swallowed, her heart moving to her throat. He was sans cravat, and his shirt was open to show just a bit