Lady Guinevere and the Rogue with a Brogue - Julie Johnstone Page 0,92
of listening to ye speak about the plight of the orphans in London, which ye informed me Parliament needed to take up, I was captivated.”
“Did I really say that?” She honestly did not remember what she had said when she had first been introduced to him. She’d been utterly struck foolish by his handsomeness.
“Aye, ye did,” he said, kissing her nose, forehead, and lips. “Ye know the rest.”
She certainly did, and she did not want to think on it for another second. “Did you go back to Scotland after that because of your distilleries?”
“Aye, but it was not the only reason.” He let out a long sigh and scrubbed a hand over his face. “Once everything occurred with us and Elizabeth, I didn’t want to stay. I did not want any part of the ton or, honestly, my father. I wanted to succeed or fail on my own.”
“Unlike him,” she said.
“Unlike him,” Asher echoed.
“So why come back?” she asked. “Why return to London when he died? I assume he reached out to you over these last five years.”
“He did.”
“You did not respond?” she asked, though she knew the answer from the hard look in his eyes.
“Nay. I denied him as he had denied me so many years before. I suppose that was why I came back in the end—guilt and a realization that in doing what I was doing, I was behaving just like him, which made me no better than him. I wanted to be better, as my mother had wanted me to be, too, so I returned to claim the title and try to find forgiveness.”
“And have you forgiven him?” she asked, watching him.
“I want to.” Asher looked contemplative and grim. “But he made it hard. Even from the grave, he tried to control me.”
She tilted her head. “What do you mean?”
Asher stared at Guinevere for a long moment, thinking about what to say. He did not want to tell her of the will and have her think he had married her because of the money. It had been, and always would be, about her.
He stroked his fingers over the silken skin of her shoulder. The trust growing between them was new and fragile. He wasn’t about to jeopardize that.
When they had more time together, he would tell her. When he trusted that she would not be hurt, that she would believe, when he had told her what mo ghraidh and mo chridhe meant.
Instead of answering her question, he kissed it away, which led to much more than kissing.
When they were spent once more and lying with their damp bodies molded together, Guinevere yawned and her eyes fluttered shut. Asher traced his fingertips over her back and into her hair, enjoying the feel of her, the smell of her, the gift of her as his wife. He could trust her.
She opened her eyes, looking so lovely while on the verge of sleep, and said, “Tell me one of your fantasies. I told you one of mine.”
“My fantasies are not sweet as yers, mo ghraidh.”
Her lips curled into a fetching, wicked smile. “Tell me, Husband. Maybe I will be willing to make one of your fantasies come true.”
God, but he loved the sound of that from her persuasive lips. He thought for a moment and settled quickly on one of the many fantasies he’d had of things he would do with her since they had met. “I do not wish to shock ye.”
“I wish it,” she said, stroking her fingernails down his stomach to his groin. She gripped him.
Oh, she was a wee wicked lass, and he loved it.
“I’ve a fantasy of taking ye in a private pleasure room at the gaming hell where I am partial owner.” It was a dream he’d had ever since a woman with Guinevere’s coloring had proposed he take her in one of the private pleasure rooms at the Orcus Society.
Her eyes went wide, and he instantly regretted telling her until she said, “I’m deliciously shocked and eager to make your fantasy come true.”
Every ounce of blood in his body went to his groin. “Ye would not be afraid to—”
“I will wear a mask!” she interrupted, scrambling to her knees and leaning over him, eyes bright, hands on his chest. “It will be wicked! When can we go to this club? I didn’t know you even owned one.”
“Saints preserve me, I’ve wed a bean bhàsail.”
“I am no temptress,” she said, yawning again.
Asher frowned. “How do ye know what bean bhàsail means?”