Lady Lilias and the Devil in Plaid - Julie Johnstone Page 0,43
did not like keeping it a secret that, upon learning about the society, her husband had insisted on employing a man to guard all the women from a distance, and she’d had to concede after Asher had made such a convincing and descriptive argument of what could happen to the women in places like the rookery. It was then that she’d realized how naive they’d all been.
“I told him, as ye verra prettily requested, and I omitted the part about Merckle as we agreed,” Asher said, his response disappointingly short.
“How did he react?” she asked, nearly bursting to know. Their plan—hers and Asher’s—had been to discover how Greybourne felt about Lilias, and if he cared for her, which Guinevere was now convinced he did, she would tell Lilias. Guinevere was certain Lilias was wedding Owen due to pressure from her mother, though Lilias had not said as much. She had not said much of anything, actually, which was not like Lilias at all. Just as Asher’s lack of response was unlike him. “Darling, did you hear me?”
One of Asher’s boots dropped to the floor, followed a moment later by the other. “I heard ye.”
Guinevere frowned at her husband’s broad back. “Do you think he might start following her?”
“I couldn’t say.”
“What do you mean?” she demanded, becoming a trifle irritated. When Asher did not answer her, she scooted around him, into his lap, and threaded her arms around his neck. “You are acting very oddly.”
A strained look came to her husband’s face. “I know. And I’m sorry.”
She kissed him on the lips to show him she loved him, even with his evasiveness. “Does Greybourne care for Lilias or not?”
“I couldn’t say.”
“Asher!” Guinevere said, her irritation spiking. “Whatever are you about?”
Her husband let out a long sigh. “A life debt. I’m about a life debt, which Greybourne has called in this verra night.”
“And that means?”
“It means that whatever was said between me and Greybourne tonight will stay between the two of us.”
Guinevere scoffed. “Darling, that’s all you had to say.” She giggled when her husband looked astonished.
“Ye’re not vexed with me?”
“Of course not, darling. By Greybourne demanding this life debt from you—you really must explain that—it tells me everything I need to know without you saying a word. Greybourne would not have demanded such a thing if he did not care for Lilias and wanted to ensure you said nothing to me so I’d say nothing to her!”
Asher’s response was to seal his mouth over hers for a long, drugging kiss. When they broke apart, he said, “Ye are the most brilliant person I have ever known. One of the most devious, as well,” he added, kissing her again.
“So you will not interfere?” It was her turn to kiss her husband, but she started at his neck and worked her way upward to his lips in a fashion she knew he loved.
When she drew back, he said, “With what?” in a thick voice.
“With my helping the two of them come together.”
“Guin,” Asher said, nuzzling her neck, “what do ye have in mind?”
“Well, I cannot very well tell Lilias what I think since I have no proof, and you won’t give it to me with Greybourne’s own words, but I can make sure she goes out on missions, and you could happen to mention them to Greybourne so he feels inclined to follow her. Then, perchance, fate will take over.”
“Ye’re playing with fire, Wife.”
“Then it is a good thing,” she murmured, slipping her night rail off her shoulders, “that I have you to keep me from getting burned.”
Chapter Seven
Nash knew it was a mistake coming to Serafina’s home the moment she opened the door. Still, he pushed himself forward with the rendezvous his sometimes partner in pleasure had requested with the note she’d sent him. He was determined to purge Lilias from his mind, if not once and for all, then, God willing, for an hour of mindless coupling.
Serafina was a widow Nash knew from Scotland who had a home in London as well. She was extremely wealthy in her own right, with a castle near his family’s there, and could do and live as she pleased. That was not necessarily a good thing, though, as the woman liked to indulge in drink and pleasure just as much as, if not more than, most men Nash knew.
She straddled him, her night rail bunching up on her thighs. “Yer mind is not here, Greybourne.”
If she only knew what an understatement that was. His mind