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

by Julie Johnstone

  “Guinnie,” her sister murmured softly, taking up her hand and squeezing it while Lilias hugged her. “Whatever is vexing you?”

  She bit her lip, ashamed to admit the truth, but she had to confide in someone. “He makes me wanton and wicked. I had thought I had conquered it, but all it took was one moment last week trapped in the library with him, and I was like Eve in the Garden of Eden.” She pressed her fingertips to her pounding temples as Vivian and Lilias both gaped at her. She knew she was making no sense. It was all a muddled mess in her own head, for heaven’s sake. “I cannot take a bite of his apple ever again!” she wailed.

  “What?” Vivian gasped.

  “Perhaps you ought to start at the beginning,” Lilias said, her voice calm but her blue eyes as wide as saucers.

  Guinevere nodded and, taking a deep breath, quickly told them how Asher had burst into the library just as she was confronting Lord Charolton and how he had planted a facer to the man and then threatened him. And then she told them about the kiss.

  When she was done speaking, silence descended between the three of them. Both women stared at her, making her feel as if she were an insect being studied.

  “You actually said, Do not be a blind fool?” Vivian asked.

  Guinevere’s cheeks burned even hotter. “Yes, he discomfited me.”

  “I daresay,” Lilias replied, smirking. “I thought you sounded rather breathless on the other side of the door, but I never imagined you were in the library with Carrington.”

  “I’m sorry I lied to you.”

  Lilias waved a dismissive hand. “Think nothing of it,” she said so readily and airily that Guinevere suspected Lilias was keeping secrets of her own. “It’s very lucky that Carrington was in that part of the house, but does it not seem odd to you? Why would he wander into the library during the middle of a ball?” She stared at Guinevere as if she was supposed to have the answer.

  Guinevere frowned. “I did question that, and I made a complete cake of myself by asking him if he had followed me, and he told me in no uncertain terms that he had not.”

  Lilias nibbled her lip for a moment. “I suppose he could have been meeting someone else, another lady—”

  Lilias’s words and Vivian’s accompanying nod made Guinevere’s stomach clench. She’d already considered that he might have come upon her when he was trying to have an illicit rendezvous with another woman. How dreadfully embarrassing and beyond the pale of him to kiss her!

  “Or,” Vivian said, “he could have simply wanted to get away from the crush. Did you not say Carrington never had a taste for London Society?”

  Guinevere shrugged. “I’m sure I did say it, but he had taste enough for Elizabeth, didn’t he?”

  That silenced both her sister and Lilias for a moment, but then Lilias took a deep breath and said, “What if we missed something in our examination of what occurred between Carrington and Elizabeth? What if she somehow trapped him?”

  Guinevere opened her mouth to protest, but Vivian spoke before she could. “What if Carrington did follow you to the library?”

  She hated how her sister’s words made a little bubble of hope open within her chest. She would not be so foolish. “He did not follow me. I already told you as much.”

  “Honestly, though, Sister,” Vivian said, sounding a trifle exasperated, which was not like her at all. “What do you suppose he would have said? If I followed someone and then they demanded to know if I had, I would not admit it unless I was certain they had wanted me to follow them. When you asked Carrington if he had followed you, what had you been talking about?”

  “Lilias had just said I ought to consider Kilgore if he was truly pursuing me this time, and that reformed rogues make the best husbands.”

  Lilias nodded. “I’m positive they do.” Her tone was wistful. No doubt she was thinking of Greybourne.

  “Well there you have it!” Vivian announced. “Whyever would a proud man admit to following you directly after Lilias announced that you should allow Kilgore to pursue you?”

  That same bubble of hope expanded a little further, but Guinevere sternly reminded herself of the past. “You,” she said to her sister, “have been spending too much time with Lilias, who reads too many Gothic novels.” She eyed Lilias, who blushed. “Let us not forget the truth that Carrington only pursued me to spite his father.” When both women opened their mouths as if to protest, Guinevere held up a silencing hand and said, “Recall, if you will, that I got that information from Carrington’s father, who told it to me by way of apology for his son’s treatment of me.” It shamed her to the core to acknowledge how foolish she had been, but it did her no good to embrace a fantasy. And when both women stayed silent and looked chagrined, she knew they realized the truth of the situation, as well.

  “I’m glad that’s settled,” she said, her lungs suddenly feeling as if they no longer worked properly. “Let us not speak of Carrington linked with me ever again.”

  “Yes, of course,” Vivian said, “but—”

  “No buts!” Guinevere replied, a tad sharper than she’d intended, but her patience was expiring. “I have to be wise for myself as well as you and Freddy. And it does not come naturally,” she said with a weak laugh. “I had always imagined a grand love for myself, that some man would come along and see my special worth, appreciate my unique qualities. So when Carrington appeared and it seemed he did, well, I…I got carried away with my own fantasy. But in the end, Mama was right. Grand love is for novels, and men only appreciate me for my appearance and dowry, except perhaps Kilgore, who I suspect simply enjoys being perverse and doing the opposite of what people expect of him.”

  “Guinnie.” Vivian set her hand on Guinevere’s arm. “You do not mean that.”

  “Which part?” Guinevere asked, feeling suddenly extremely tired.

  “The part about grand love only being for novels,” Vivian answered. “What of all the late-night stories you told Freddy and me that Grandmother Sara told you of her and Grandfather Edward?”

  Guinevere sighed. Her grandmother had been a renowned hoyden who had ridden horses like a man, spoke her mind in public, and openly pursued a love for writing the very novels which Vivian and Lilias read constantly. She had been ostracized because of it, but she had refused to change and had found a grand love because of it with Guinevere’s grandfather, who had read one of her columns, which she published as a man. But then she had been revealed, and he was determined to meet the woman bold enough to do such a thing.

  And of course, the thing of Guinevere’s fondest hopes for herself—Grandfather had proposed to Grandmother in a field of wild purple lilies. They’d wed, and she had been tolerated by the ton because of Grandfather’s position but never embraced, which had always shamed Mama, who was, of course, the exact opposite of Grandmother Sara.

  Guinevere almost wished now that her grandmother had not filled her head with the tales of her life with Grandfather. That way, Guinevere would have never imagined she could have the same. “I should not have passed all those tales along to you.” Guinevere rubbed her aching temples. She and her grandmother had been especially close, and Grandmother had often commented, before she grew very sick and passed, that Guinevere reminded her of herself.

  “But, Guin—”

  “Dearest,” Guinevere said, patting Vivian’s hand, “I told you no buts. Grandmother Sara fancied that I was like her, and I imagined myself being able to live as I wished, with a husband that would adore my eccentricities, but it’s not to be. It’s time to face it before I ruin your and Freddy’s futures, as Mama has so wisely reminded me. I must settle on a husband, and if necessary, I’m inclined to allow Kilgore to pursue me, if he truly wishes. I imagine he will be a distracted husband, which will allow me to easily continue my work stopping rogues, and that is one of my fondest wishes.”

  “Oh, Guinnie,” Lilias said, “this makes me terribly sad for you. Are you certain that you should not investigate further what might be between you and Carrin
gton?”

  “I’m certain,” Guinevere replied, “that there is nothing that will lead to a future.” Desire on her part did not count. Many a woman had found their lives utterly ruined because of desire. “Even if he had ever seriously entertained the idea, which we all know he did not, there is no way to explain away how he wed one of my once dearest friends. He never offered any sort of explanation then, nor did he last night, which tells me there is none to offer.”

  “Yes, but the way he looked at you at the ball—” Lilias began, but Guinevere shook her head.

  “As a cat who has found a mouse to toy with,” Guinevere finished. “Do not imagine that which is not there. Now promise me, both of you, no more talk of him in regard to any sort of future with me.”

  Lilias and Vivian looked at each other for a long moment. “So you are set upon Kilgore?” Lilias finally asked, breaking the silence.

  Guinevere nodded. “I suppose I am, if he is truly wishing to court me. I imagine I’ll not know that for certain until I return to Town.”

  Lilias smiled wickedly. “I imagine you’ll know sooner. Mother invited him.”

  Guinevere willed her heart to skip a beat at the news, but the thing just thumped along at its normal pace. This would be her life though, so she might as well embrace it. She forced a smile to her lips that felt as if it would split her face. “Excellent.”

  Lilias snorted. “You need to work on your feigned enthusiasm, darling, if you want Kilgore to truly believe you desire him.”

  “My experience with desire is that men want you when they think you do not want them,” she replied mulishly, thinking now on Asher once more.

  “If that’s so,” Lilias said, stretching and yawning, “then you should flirt with Carrington to bring Kilgore to heel. If—” she quirked an eyebrow “—that’s what you truly want.”

  “Did I not say it was,” Guinevere said, feeling vexed with Lilias for doubting her.

  “I suppose you did,” Lilias replied, not sounding as if she believed Guinevere at all.

  “I’m beginning to think,” Vivian muttered, “that we—” she motioned between herself and Lilias “—need to focus our collective attention on you, Sister. Between Kilgore and Carrington, if you were anyone but, well, you, we would have you at the top of our list for women who need our aid at our next SLAR meeting.”

  Guinevere ignored her sister’s ridiculous statement, though she did note that Lilias and Vivian exchanged a conspiratorial look, as if they might actually do what Vivian had suggested. Guinevere’s thoughts, though, were on Asher. It would be a nice boon to her pride if Asher saw that Kilgore was indeed pursuing her, but she vowed she would not be so conniving as to play such games. Now, if Kilgore wanted to flirt with her in front of Asher… She found she rather anticipated the thought of being able to show the pompous man that he had been incorrect to think Kilgore would not pursue her. She knew she ought not care, but honestly, after all she had endured because of him, it would be nice to make him see that other men found her impossibly desirable, even if it were not true.

  Chapter Nine

  Being trapped between two mothers who were clearly hunting for a husband for their daughters made Asher question why he had accepted the invitation to this house party. He’d never heard anyone talk as rapidly as his hostess, the Countess of Barrowe, did when she listed all of Lady Lilias’s accomplishments. That was, until the Countess of Longford spoke. She told him no less than four times that he should call on Lady Constantine again, and in between each time, she listed a virtue of her daughter’s. And she did all of this without taking a breath, as far as he could tell.

  Neither of these women knew a damn thing about him beyond the fact that he was a duke. It irritated him. Had they met him years earlier, before he had discovered that he was not a bastard, that his father was alive and a duke, these women would not have wanted him as a husband for their daughters. They would be appalled to learn how poor he’d grown up. The thought stirred a memory of him once telling Guinevere how he’d had to forage berries from the woods for him and his mother when they’d had nothing to eat. Guinevere had not gasped. She’d looked at him proudly and said he was the most resourceful person she’d ever known. His chest tightened at the memory. That was the Guinevere who had entranced him. Clever minx. How had the lass known just what to say to lower the guards he’d raised before first coming to London?

  Movement at the door to the parlor caught his eye, and in strolled Guinevere as if he’d conjured her with his thoughts. The air in his lungs disappeared as he drank her in.

  If she had looked ravishing in red at the Antwerp ball, then tonight she looked glorious in green, like a fresh petal. Desire gripped him, but he would control it. He was here to discover if her affections were truly given to Kilgore, and if not, he would pursue her to save his company.

  And as if the devil had heard himself being thought of, Kilgore sauntered into the room. Asher stiffened when the fool’s gaze alighted on Guinevere, and the man smirked. Was Kilgore toying with Guinevere?

  “Pardon, Lady Barrowe,” he said, interrupting the woman midsentence. He sidestepped both Lady Barrowe and Lady Longford and didn’t give a damn that he’d been rude, nor that the women no doubt found him lacking in social etiquette. He got no more than five steps across the room toward Guinevere when Lady Lilias stepped directly in his path and stared at him with an expression of intense scrutiny and a tad bit of mutiny.

  “Lady Lilias,” he said, keeping his gaze firmly locked on Guinevere as she stood face-to-face with Kilgore, who reached up and brushed a lock of her hair away from her eyes. Asher imagined ripping the man’s arm from his body.

  “Your Grace, I have not had the opportunity to impart to you my condolences on the passing of your father. Or Elizabeth, for that matter, since I’ve not seen you in so many years. I’m certain you must have been—still are—most devastated.”

  Asher ripped his attention from Guinevere to the lady before him. Guilt needled him that he was, in fact, not devastated, nor had he ever been when Elizabeth had passed four and a half years ago. Saddened, yes, that her life never had been what she wished, for their inability to make each other happy, for his foolishness that had thrown them together. As for his father, Asher was regretful that he had never truly known him. Then again, the more Pierce revealed, the more Asher wondered if he would have liked their father. Though, Asher was only getting Pierce’s view, which was no doubt tainted.

  “Thank you,” he said, keeping his voice suitably neutral.

  Lady Lilias studied him with lowered lashes, but nevertheless, he could tell that she was scrutinizing him. What was the lady hoping to discover? If he had made amends with his father? If he had loved his wife? Had Guinevere sent Lady Lilias to discover something?

  The errant thought irritated him. Lady Constantine’s fanciful imaginings that Guinevere had—what had been the woman’s words?—a passion. Yes, that was it. Lady Constantine had said that Guinevere had a passion for him. As in she more than desired him. He thought not, however, or she would never have betrayed him before. She desired him as he did her. Nothing more.

  “I’ve heard rumor that you are taking up residence in London. Is that permanent?” Lady Lilias asked.

  “I imagine I’ll move between my London home, my country home, and Scotland,” he said, his gaze landing once again by Guinevere. She was laughing, her head thrown back, as only Guinevere could do. There was no polite tittering for her. She had a rich, full laugh.

  Lady Lilias cleared her throat, and he dragged his attention back to her. Her gaze was riveted on his face. Was she watching him watch Guinevere?

  “Her laugh embarrasses her mother,” Lady Lilias said in a low, matter-of-fact tone. Indeed, the woman had been watching him watch Guinevere.

  “It is her mother who should be embarrassed to try to change that which is perfect,” he replied. Best to lay the foundation for winning over Guinevere’s best friend if he was going to get Guinevere’s consent to
wed him. Of course, it was true that her laugh was perfect and her mother was a fool, so he had stated true facts, not flowery words spouted by a man in danger of falling again.

  “That’s what I think, as well, Your Grace. It is my fondest hope, as her dearest friend, that she makes a match this Season with a man who will appreciate all the things about her that make her unique.”

  “Ye are a good friend to have such hopes for her.” He searched Lady Lilias’s face for a sign of what she was after from him.

  “What do you think of Kilgore?” she asked, darting her gaze past Asher for a moment. He did not have to look to know she had glanced at Guinevere and Kilgore.

  “I do not believe he can be reformed,” Asher said, recalling her words from the other side of the door last week. It seemed to be another indicator that Guinevere wanted to reform Kilgore, but maybe he had misinterpreted it as Lady Constantine had suggested.

  Lady Lilias’s eyes widened. “I see. Do you like the pianoforte, Your Grace?”

  “Nay.”

  “What of embroidery?”

  She shot the question at him like an expert marksman. He studied her with newfound respect. The woman was slight in stature but full of confidence. He could only imagine the trouble in which she and Guinevere must embroil themselves.

  “What is your position on women who don’t embroider?” she asked.

  “I would say they are smarter than most. Seems a devil of a boring way to spend one’s time.” He winced, realizing she might well embroider. “Ye do not happen to embroider, do ye?”

  She grinned. “I do actually. It calms me.”

  “I beg yer pardon,” he replied, his impatience with the conversation rising. He didn’t see how this was a mission to uncover information for Guinevere.