Lady Guinevere And The Rogue With A Brogue (Scottish Scoundrels: Ensnared Hearts Book 1)

by Julie Johnstone

  Guinevere grinned at her sister. “He’s not worth it, dearest.”

  It wasn’t lost on her that she’d not always thought that. Why, she had ridiculously believed for a full sennight after his betrothal was announced that it had somehow all been a horrible mistake. She had kept telling herself he would not do that to her, and Elizabeth would not do that to her. They both had done exactly that to her.

  “Were you terribly shaken to see him, Guinnie?” Frederica asked as they moved toward the door.

  “Not terribly,” Guinevere said, willing it to be so.

  “What will you do if you encounter him at tonight’s ball?” Vivian asked.

  They departed Guinevere’s bedchamber, Guinevere and Vivian heading toward the stairs and Frederica giving them a wave as she moved toward her bedchamber.

  “I’ll not even give him a second glance,” Guinevere said more to herself than Vivian. “Why would I? He is not important to me, and I must turn my sights tonight to intervening in Lord Charolton’s plot to compromise Lady Constantine Colgate for her dowry. Not to mention, I need to find a man I can tolerate as a husband. I’ll be far too busy to notice the Duke of Carrington, even if he stood on his head in front of me.”

  Chapter Four

  “Who is our target tonight?” Lilias asked as Guinevere peeked through the cluster of potted plants they strategically stood behind.

  “Do you not remember?” Guinevere growled, then bit her lip at her irritability.

  “My, you’re in a particularly sour mood. Could it be your encounter with your old inamorato?”

  “You know perfectly well that Carrington was never my lover.” Guinevere tugged at her dress, which did nothing to aid her plight. She could not take a proper breath!

  “I know, but if your life was more like one of the Gothic novels I read, he would have been,” Lilias said with a dreamy note to her voice.

  “Lilias Honeyfield, if people knew who you truly were, they would be shocked.” Guinevere settled her gaze on her friend, who once again was wearing hideous spectacles she did not even need. “You look like a most severe governess,” she said with a shake of her head.

  She swept a look over Lilias. Her lovely blond hair was pulled back in a bun so tight that it tugged her naturally round eyes into more of a catlike shape. And her gown! It was the worst one yet.

  “I cannot believe your mother let you come to tonight’s ball in that gown,” Guinevere said, taking in the brown, high-necked, and unforgiving silk. “That color does not complement you, my dear.”

  “I know,” Lilias replied with a grin. “And Mother is in Bath taking a restorative cure. She’s had another dark mood come over her.”

  “Another one?” Guinevere asked, pity for her friend rising in her. Ever since Lilias’s father had passed away seven years ago, Lilia’s mother had changed greatly from the woman who had been so full of life. She was beset with megrims where the slightest noise set her to raving, and she would have weeks where she would not get out of bed. Sometimes she would be overly attentive to Lilias, trying almost desperately to get Lilias wed, and other times, she would ignore her completely as if she quite forgot she was even there.

  “Yes.” Lilias looked sad for a moment. “She says my inability to obtain a marriage offer has made her deathly ill.”

  “You know I’m not a champion of marrying without love, but you cannot possibly fall in love again if you never forget Greybourne and turn your sights elsewhere.”

  “Greybourne has nothing to do with why I have not wed.” Lilias waved a dismissive hand. “I forgot him ages ago.”

  Guinevere knew better than to waste her breath arguing with Lilias. Her friend had loved Greybourne likely since the day she’d met him, and Guinevere feared that would remain her friend’s unfortunate state until her dying day, despite the fact that Greybourne had made it clear, in a letter no less, that he wanted her to forget him.

  “Why did you miss the last SLAR meeting?” Guinevere asked, using the abbreviation they all did to refer to their secret society of ladies.

  “Mother forced me to allow Lord Snyde to call.”

  Guinevere bit her lip on encouraging Lilias to accept her neighbor’s obvious desire to court her. If she even dared to try to persuade Lilias, her friend would remind her of her own need to move on with her life, which she needed no reminder of nor was she in the mood to hear. Notes of the harp began to fill the ballroom, and couples formed on the dance floor. She suddenly wished Asher could see her dance now. She had been a dreadful dancer years before, all left feet and—Drat! She should not care if the man knew she was now quite an accomplished dancer, even if showing off her skill would make her feel good. It was silly.

  “So, who is our target?” Lilias asked again.

  “Lord Charolton.”

  “Ahh.” Lilias drew the single word out in a knowing tone. “Lord Charlatan.”

  “Just so,” Guinevere replied to the nickname they had given the lord. He’d gambled his fortune away two years prior, which everyone knew, and since then he’d twice tried to snare a poor, unsuspecting heiress to fill his coffers and bear the title of ill-fated wife.

  “Who has the louse decided to try to seduce this Season?”

  “Lady Constantine Colgate,” Guinevere answered, wishing for the hundredth time that her laces were not drawn so blasted tight.

  “Hmm. I’ve not heard a whisper of that, nor seen a hint of it. How did you discover Charlatan’s newest nefarious plan?”

  “Huntley mentioned it in passing,” Guinevere said.

  Lilias’s eyes went wide. “Do you think your brother knows of SLAR?”

  Guinevere shrugged. “I would think not. If he did, he would put a stop to it, but then again, Huntley can be so contrary. He’s terribly rigid, except when he’s not.”

  They both laughed.

  “Shall we find Lord Charolton or search out Lady Constantine and simply warn her?” Lilias mused.

  “Let’s find Lady Constantine. She seems astute enough. I think a simple word to the wise will suffice.”

  Guinevere began to scan the ballroom for Lady Constantine. She passed over men who wore dark formal attire twirling tittering ladies in lace and silk. She skirted around clusters of harmless young ladies and gossiping dowagers, and past eager marriage-minded mamas and their equally eager, in some cases, daughters.

  And then her attention stalled on a small group of well-known unrepentant rogues. She blinked in surprise to see the Marquess of Kilgore in the group. His black hair blended with his black cravat and black attire. It had been an ages since she’d seen him, and she was glad of it. Every time she encountered the man in the past, he’d scandalously reminded her of the time he had kissed her without asking permission and that his invitation to sin still stood.

  He was conversing with another man, who matched the tall rouge’s height perfectly, but she could not see that man’s face as his broad, muscular back was to her. Something about that back seemed oddly familiar. As she stared at it, Kilgore stopped midsentence and raised his eyebrows at her in wry amusement.

  Suddenly, the man with the familiar back began to turn toward her, and she sucked in a sharp breath as Asher’s proud profile came into view. Strong jaw. Full lips. Aristocratic nose that looked like his father’s. She wagered he hated that perfect nose given the disdain he still seemed to hold for his sire.

  “Guinnie, what is it?” Lilias asked. “Do you see Lord Charlatan?”

  Guinevere could not talk. Asher, the scoundrel, had once again stolen her ability to speak like a sensible human being. The dark slash of his brows hitched ever so slightly and would likely have been unnoticeable to anyone but a woman who had once memorized every gesture he made.

  He saw her. A devil-may-care smile slowly, deliciously tilted up the corners of his generous mouth, but then Kilgore said something and gestured toward her hiding place. Shock registered as the smile on Asher’s face disappeared, replaced by a menacing scowl.

  Whatever
had Kilgore said to make him so angry, and why the devil must Asher be here and looking so vexingly handsome? He toyed with her concentration, which was irritating in the extreme.

  “‘Fire burn and cauldron bubble,’” she blurted.

  “Guinevere Darlington,” Lilias whispered low, “you just quoted Shakespeare.”

  Guinevere groaned in response.

  Lilias stood on tiptoe beside Guinevere as she stretched to see over the crowd. “What’s vexing you? Is it Lord Charlatan? Has he already gotten to Lady Constantine?” She paused, waiting for a response. “Guinevere!” Lilias demanded, stomping her foot. “Answer me!”

  Her friend’s rare display of temper broke the spell Asher held over her. “It seems,” she muttered, “that tonight’s ball is full of louses. My gaze is drawn to the Marquess of Kilgore and the Duke of Carrington, both of whom are standing in a group to the left of the orchestra.”

  Guinevere forced a laugh so she would look as if she were talking pleasantly while watching the revelers. In truth, she was quite unable to tear her gaze away from Asher. Thank the heavens, Kilgore had spoken to him once more and Asher turned to respond.

  Guinevere took a moment to really study him. The way he filled out his dark evening clothes was scandalous and enticing. She drank him in, deciding he was like a forbidden liquor. The kind her father kept in his office and told her women were not allowed to drink as it was inappropriate, and a woman’s delicate constitution could not handle the strong taste. It was rubbish.

  “My, Carrington has aged nicely,” Lilias murmured.

  “Do bite your tongue,” Guinevere snapped and jerked her gaze away from Asher, but not before his dark gaze glinted into hers. Had he seen her staring? No matter. Her heart hammered viciously. He could never prove it.

  Lilias gave her a sympathetic look. “Does he make your heart beat too fast still?”

  “Don’t be a ninny,” Guinevere responded. “He no longer affects me at all.”

  “You’re quite flushed,” Lilias said in a gentle tone.

  “That is because I’m eager to find and stop Charlatan from pursuing Lady Constantine.”

  “Oh!” Lilias clutched Guinevere’s arm. “There they are! He’s just approached her.”

  Guinevere looked into the crowd once more, careful to avoid the area to the left of the orchestra. “Where? I don’t see them.” She raised to her tiptoes. It was frustrating to be short at times like these!

  “To the left of the orchestra. Directly behind Carrington, Kilgore, and the other gentleman.”

  Guinevere frowned. There was another gentleman who’d been standing with Asher and Kilgore? Reluctantly, she looked at them once more and stilled at the sight of Asher watching her watch him. He looked away but not before she’d seen him. She’d wager all her pin money on it—if she were allowed to wager, but of course she was not because women were suppressed, if you asked her. No one did, of course, because women were not allowed to have opinions. Well, except behind closed doors with other women of like mind.

  “Hurry, Guinnie, you must entice him away from her,” Lilias ordered, going from clutching Guinevere’s arm to tugging on her hand as she led them toward Lord Charolton, forcing Guinevere to nearly stumble.

  “Lilias,” Guinevere whispered low and close to avoid anyone overhearing as they drew near the edge of the crowd. “Why me? You do the enticing, and I’ll warn Lady Constantine.”

  “No,” Lilias murmured, twining her arm through Guinevere’s and laughing. Lilias truly was quite good at subterfuge. It had to be all the Gothic novels she read. Her friend pressed close to Guinevere as they skirted the edge of the dancers and wove their way through the press of bodies. She leaned in as if to tell a titillating bit of gossip. “You know I’m no good at flirting and tempting. It must be you. You are an Incomparable, whereas I’m quite comparable.”

  “That you think I’m an Incomparable is merely proof that you are my dearest friend.”

  “It’s true, but I am also your dearest friend.”

  The closer they drew to the orchestra where Asher had been standing, the harder her heart pounded. When he came into view, she stumbled, struck by the clear picture of him. He looked like an angel cast from Heaven with his dark hair, eyes, and clothing, the chandelier above him washing him in glimmering light. His shoulders filled his coat out in a way that should be forbidden, making her want to peel back the layers to see if he was as perfectly formed as she had always imagined. His shadow of a beard—quite scandalous—gave him an even more masculine aura than he already possessed. He might be a duke now, but Asher would never be soft. He had a ruggedness that no title could hide, and that made him impossibly appealing. She imagined he was quite commanding in the bedchamber.

  Oh! She should not be imagining such things. Her cheeks heated as his keenly observant eyes came to her, and for a moment, she was transported back to the night she’d met him. Just as it had been that night, everyone else around them faded away.

  She blinked away the past as Kilgore stepped into her and Lilias’s path, causing them to come to a halt.

  “Lady Guinevere,” Kilgore said, capturing her gloved hand before she knew his intention. He drew her fingers to his lips and pressed a kiss to the top of her hand while smiling devilishly at her. Yet, his smile did not warm his cool gray eyes. “I’ve missed you,” he added. His voice was so suggestive that she found herself quickly glancing behind him to see if Asher had heard. For an instant, contempt filled Asher’s eyes before he turned from her and began to speak to the man beside him, whom she did not know.

  She had the irksome feeling that Asher’s disdain was for her and not Kilgore. How dare he! After how abominably he had once treated her! Did he think somehow less of her because Kilgore’s words suggested some sort of wicked liaison between the two of them? It irked her that unmarried men could behave however they wished, but unmarried women were crucified if they were not always above reproach.

  “Dance with me, bean bhàsail.”

  Kilgore’s silken voice drew her attention firmly back to him, and there was something lazily seductive in his look. “What did you call me?” she asked.

  That seductive look intensified. “Bean bhàsail.”

  She frowned. “What language is that?”

  Kilgore smirked now. “Gaelic.”

  The heat of a blush swept her. Kilgore was teasing her. “How very interesting,” she said, striving to sound bored. “I was not aware that you knew Gaelic.”

  Blast the man. Her reaction seemed to amuse him. “There’s much about me you do not know,” he said, “which is why you should dance with me.”

  Lilias was still pressed close to Guinevere’s side but released her, as if she thought Guinevere might agree to dance with the man. She scowled at Lilias before frowning up at the black-haired, gray-eyed rogue. She had never understood why he’d pursued her five years ago, and to this day, she still did not know, except perhaps that he saw her as something different to be tried beyond the affairs he was whispered to have.

  “I take it our nearness has rendered you unable to speak. I do have that effect,” he said, humor in his low voice.

  She tugged her hand away from his grasp. “I’m perfectly capable of speaking.” She infused a tart edge to her voice. “This next set is taken,” she lied, casting a look toward Lord Charolton and Lady Constantine. The rogue still stood in front of her, and though she looked quite bored, she was handing him her dance card. Drat! They needed to move now. “If you’ll excuse me.” She proceeded to sidestep Kilgore, but he surprised her by catching her elbow.

  “The next dance, then?” he asked, the corners of his mouth lifting into a smile.

  “My lord,” she said, casting a beseeching look at Lilias, who shrugged helplessly. “I hardly think you would wish to waste a dance on me.”

  “You could never be a waste, my lady.”

  Good heavens! The way he had said my lady made it sound as if they were quite intimate. What would people think? Gui
nevere would be all the gossip again, which would harm her sisters’ chances at making good matches. She did not believe for one moment that Kilgore wanted to court her.

  “Kilgore,” she tried again, starting to feel a sense of desperation as Lord Charolton was now leading Lady Constantine to the dance floor. It could be a catastrophe if Lord Charolton managed to charm Lady Constantine before they could intervene. “Do you not have a particular sort of lady you normally, er, dance with at the start of each Season?”

  “I see someone listens to gossip,” he chided, as if she were a naughty miss just out of the nursery. She was awash with guilt. What if gossip had been wrong?

  “I apologize if I’ve misjudged you,” she said.

  He leaned close, too close for what was proper, and said low, “You did not misjudge me, but I tire of my life, and you are the one woman who has failed to succumb to my charms.”

  In Guinevere’s side vision, Lilias’s eyes popped wide. Were Guinevere’s eyes like twin saucers, as well?

  She was just about to flay Kilgore, but something occurred to her. Perhaps she was dismissing him too quickly. He was handsome, and he smelled rather good, but it was neither of those things that truly had her attention now. What she liked about Kilgore was that he did not make her feel as if a storm swirled inside her as Asher had once done. Her heart was deadly calm. She was supposed to be finding a man tolerable enough to wed, one who appreciated her wit and not just her face and dowry. Perhaps Kilgore was her prime candidate.

  So, on a whim—a likely reckless whim, at that—she said, “And you wish to make me succumb this Season?” She hitched her eyebrows challengingly at him. She felt positive he’d been trying to shock her. What would he do now?

  The playful look that had been on his face vanished, and his countenance became serious. “Quite the opposite, Lady Guinevere. I pray you don’t succumb and prove me wrong. So, might I have the next dance?”

  Kilgore was most definitely intriguing, and that was more than she could recall thinking of any man since Asher, especially the four who had offered for her in the intervening years. If she had to take a husband wouldn’t it be far better to at least find him intriguing, but not to be in danger of his stealing her senses? “One dance,” she agreed, “but it will have to be the last one.” She needed time, after all, to foil Lord Charolton’s plans for Lady Constantine.