Lady Guinevere and the Rogue with a Brogue - Julie Johnstone Page 0,93

which made him uneasy. Silence stretched for a moment, and then she said, “Kilgore called me that at the Antwerp ball, and I asked him what it meant.”

“I see.”

And he did see. His fist in Kilgore’s face over and over.

And how the devil was Kilgore familiar with Gaelic?

She leaned toward him, her bare breasts brushing against his chest, and she kissed him. His body stirred in immediate response. “I’m your temptress, Asher. Not his. I’m your wife.” Wickedness gleamed in her eyes. “And as my husband, you have the right to take me again if you wish it.”

“I wish it,” he said, hoisting her over to straddle him, forgetting everything else in the moment but the two of them.

The day was perfect from the moment she awoke, which was indulgently late. The sun was high in the sky, sending rays of bright light into their bedchamber, and when she sat up, she gasped at the sight of vases full of lilies all over the room.

Asher was gone, but in his place on the bed was a green silk mask and a note. The bond between them seemed to be growing stronger every day. Maybe tonight he would tell her that he loved her. She picked up the rolled parchment, untied the ribbon, and read the note.

I’ve gone to attend to business. I’ll return by six for supper. Be dressed to go to the Orcus Society. The mask is for tonight.

Asher

A thrill shot through her at the thought that tonight she would get to make Asher’s fantasy come true.

“My lady,” Ballenger called from the door, making Guinevere smile that her life here was truly starting. “Will you break your fast now?”

Guinevere made the spontaneous decision to eschew normal tradition. “I’ll come to the drawing room this morning.”

“Very well. I’ll tell the downstairs maids.”

Anticipation filled her as she scrambled off the bed, washed, dressed, and rushed downstairs to calm her growling stomach. She smiled as she strode toward the drawing room for breakfast. She would need plenty of strength for tonight, after all. When she entered the room, she came to a halt, surprised to find Talbot at the table, teacup in hand. He rose and offered a leg before sweeping a hand toward the chairs and smiling at her. For the first time in quite a while, he looked bright-eyed and presentable.

“I see we both indulged in our sleep today,” he offered affably.

“Yes,” she said, exhaling a relieved breath that he seemed in a pleasant mood. She sat beside him as a servant approached her. Guinevere requested a cup of hot chocolate, and once she was served and the servant departed, she chose a honey cake from the tray on the table. When she looked up, Talbot was staring at her. “I was up late with—” She stopped her confession, blood heating her face.

Talbot laughed. “As you should be.”

She took a bite of the honey cake, wanting to give herself time to recover from the embarrassment of practically admitting she was engaged in marital bliss in her husband’s arms into the late hours of the night.

“I’m happy to hear that the marriage between you and Carrington seems to be going so well, considering.”

Guinevere swallowed the food in her mouth, which suddenly tasted like dust. “What do you mean ‘considering’?”

He looked wholly uneasy, which did nothing to help Guinevere’s sudden discomfited feeling. “I—Well, I—Please forget I mentioned it,” he said, starting to rise.

She couldn’t say what made her do it, but she reached out and put a hand on Talbot’s arm to stop him. “Please,” she said, “what do you mean?” He was surely speaking of her and Asher’s past, and she should not be allowing herself to worry at all, but it was an odd comment for Talbot to make.

With a wary yet resigned look, he sat with a sigh. “I wish I had not said anything,” he muttered more to himself than to her.

“Talbot,” she said, now determined to hear what he had to say. “We have been friends of sorts for a great many years. If you know something you think I should—”

“I thought you knew,” he interrupted, jerking a hand through his hair. “I would not have said a word if had I known that Carrington had not…” He let his words trail off, and he started fidgeting in his chair as if he wanted to be anywhere else.

“I’m very pleased to see that you feel loyalty to your brother,” she said, meaning it, her heart now thudding