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

by Julie Johnstone

  Should he warn her? The part of him that wanted to protect her told him to, but his pride wanted her to choose him no matter what. He had been playing a game indeed. With himself. He hadn’t come here simply to pursue Guinevere to save his company. The moment he’d kissed her again, hell, maybe even the moment he’d seen her fall from that tree, something had been set in motion within him. A need. No, several needs. A need for answers. Possibly something else. And not just desire. Something more. Something deeper. Something with strong emotions attached to it. The kind that would definitely make him a clot-heid once again.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Do not allow yourself to be locked in any gardens today,” Vivian warned, her voice threatening.

  After another sleepless night caused by Asher, not only was Guinevere too tired to protest that she would not be so foolish twice, but she was not entirely certain it was true. Despite the fact that Asher had admitted he had first pursued her to spite his father, he had also said that immediately after meeting her, he had been struck by her beauty and her wit. And she was so foolish that she wanted to believe it. That desire would no doubt lead her behind some closed door where she was not supposed to be, risking her sisters’ futures. And that was precisely why she had been hiding in her bedchamber since yesterday. She needed to sort things out in her head.

  “Guinevere, did you hear me?” Vivian said.

  Guinevere blinked her eyes and nodded at her sister, who stood beside Lilias just inside Guinevere’s bedchamber.

  “Mama asked a million questions last night when you did not appear for supper. I did my best not to reveal anything, but when you did not make an appearance for breakfast this morning, why, she’s in a fit unlike any I’ve ever seen.”

  Guinevere winced. That was saying a great deal because Mama had some memorable displays of displeasure in her life.

  “She nearly dragged me from the breakfast room to demand to know what folly you were involved in,” Vivian declared.

  “I’m sorry, Viv.”

  Her sister waved a dismissive hand. “Do not apologize. But as I said, no getting locked in any gardens today.”

  Both Lilias and Vivian gave her an expectant look. They were waiting for her to tell them how she had truly ended up behind not one but two closed doors with Asher yesterday. She was frankly surprised and grateful they had not stormed her room demanding answers before now. After Kilgore had been pronounced the winner of the treasure hunt and he’d chosen her as his partner, giving her a look that could have only been described as lustful, she had blurted that she had a megrim and fled to her bedchamber to hide like a scared ninny.

  She was scared—of herself.

  In less than a sennight, it seemed she’d utterly forgotten the years of pain and heartache Asher had caused her, and all it had taken was a kiss. No, heavens, two—two kisses. She was not such a wanton, weak female that she’d succumbed to Asher’s charms after only one kiss. No, indeed. Two delicious kisses had been required to turn her spine from steel to aspic. She snorted at her own desperate humor and murmured, “I am ‘one who loved not wisely but too well.’”

  “Oh dear.” Vivian exchanged a worried look with Lilias. “She’s quoting Shakespeare again.”

  “Yes, there must be a coil if she’s quoting Othello,” Lilias said. “Tell us what happened. Is your mind in a knot? Did you bite Carrington’s apple again?”

  It did not miss Guinevere’s notice yesterday that when Asher had opened the locked door to the garden, neither Lilias nor Vivian had looked truly surprised, though they had feigned surprise well enough in front of Asher. She suspected they both secretly wanted her to end up with him and were working together to give them time alone, yet not enough time for her to find herself ruined. It was exactly the sort of mission she would have had them employ for SLAR had she been in charge of the mission and not the object of it. For one brief moment she thought to demand they cease their mission, but she knew they would not. They were watching her, possibly—no, probably—trying to manipulate things, but it was done in the name of friendship, love, and the idealism that was the heart of SLAR. The last thought made her smile. She inhaled a long, slow breath and said, “If you are referring to his lips, to temptation come to call, then yes, he offered and I bit like the wanton strumpet I must be. And foolish!” she cried out. “I must be foolish.”

  “Tell us,” they demanded in unison, voices eager and hands grasping her elbows to lead her to the bed.

  She looked between them. “Are we not expected?”

  “Of course we are,” Lilias said. “There is the foxhunt later, and Kilgore awaits you in the library presently to practice the play he has chosen for the two of you to perform before the hunt. I think you better sort your thoughts—”

  “And possibly your heart,” Vivian added, to which Lilias nodded, “before you venture down. I will vow to Mama, without blinking an eye, that your corset gave us trouble.”

  Guinevere offered them a grateful smile. “I am adrift in a sea of confusion,” she confessed and then quickly told them what had happened with Asher in the rose garden.

  When she finished, both women studied her, and she was unsure what they must think.

  “Am I a fool?” she asked. “After what he admitted, after he wed Elizabeth, why do I believe he did not pursue me simply to spite his father? Why do I feel like there must be an explanation for why he was caught in a library with Elizabeth beyond him finding her more desirable than me? Why am I hoping if I allow him to, if I give him the chance, he can explain and he will declare he loved me as I loved him?” Her eyes grew wide, and she covered her mouth with her palm.

  “I knew you loved him!” Vivian crowed.

  “I knew it, as well,” Lilias said with a smug air. “While you have insisted all these years in referring to how you felt for him as ‘a great tendre,’ I knew it had been much deeper—”

  “Much more intense,” Vivian added breathlessly.

  “—than you allowed yourself to utter,” Lilias continued. “I suspect you did so out of fear that you would never forget him and find another.”

  “And look where I am,” Guinevere moaned. “I’ve not forgotten him. I’m the head of a society to rescue foolish women from themselves, and I’m the most foolish of all!”

  “Love is not foolish,” Lilias stated firmly.

  “But it is willfully blind,” Guinevere muttered. “Kilgore is quite obviously pursuing me. Would it not be the wisest course of action to allow him to do so?”

  Vivian snorted. “I would not use the word wise or allow in the same sentence with Kilgore. You have to tread carefully with him. He’s a wolf who does not even bother to disguise it. For all you know, he could well be pursuing you simply to lead you to sin.”

  Lilias nodded. “I, for one, do not believe you can proceed forward with any man until you have answers from Carrington. Has he given you any hints since he returned that his marriage to Elizabeth was for something other than love?”

  “He did tell me he learned all of Shakespeare’s works because of me,” she admitted.

  “That sounds like a declaration of love!” Lilias said.

  Guinevere bit her tongue on agreeing, though the little bubble of hope within her grew. How utterly foolish she would look and feel if she was wrong…

  Vivian, more practical by nature than the other two ladies, said, “Did Carrington say anything else?”

  She shook her head. “If I allow myself to hope and I am wrong, it will be crushing.”

  “Darling,” Vivian said, “I fear you already hope or you would not be hiding in this bedchamber. You have to come out. You have to get answers. And we will be beside you if it is crushing.”

  “This is your future. Just think,” Lilias said, that dreamy note back in her voice and her expression, “you could marry for love.”

  Guinevere had given up on love, had put it on a shelf and let the idea of it get dusty. She was afraid to take it down and embrace it once more.

&
nbsp; Blast Asher! She had to know one way or another.

  The moment the library door shut behind Guinevere, Kilgore said, “I hope your absence at supper last night had nothing to do with your partner for yesterday’s treasure hunt?”

  “Kilgore!” Guinevere cut her eyes to the silver-haired woman sitting by the window that overlooked the formal gardens. She paused in her knitting to smile at Guinevere.

  “Do not fret over my Aunt Lucinda. She could not hear a horn if I blew it directly in her ear,” he said.

  “Is that why you brought her with you? So she can serve as a chaperone when you want to have scandalous conversations with women?” Lilias and Vivian had diverted Vivian and Guinevere’s chaperone, for which Guinevere was eternally grateful, even if they were doing it because they were trying to manipulate the outcome of the situation with her, Kilgore, and Asher.

  She expected Kilgore to produce some ridiculous excuse, but he surprised her by shaking his head. “No. She does not get out much, and she does love a country party.”

  The revelation that he would go out of his way to do something nice for his matronly aunt softened her to him immediately. If she were to end up wed to the man, at least she knew he was not cold. “Careful, Kilgore,” she said. “If people learn your secret, they will not think you half as wicked as you want them to believe.”

  “My dear,” he replied, his voice dropping to a tone that promised shocking wickedness to come, “it is not an act, so do not mistake it. I am every bit as debauched as you believe me to be. Have you forgotten the terrace five years ago?”

  “No,” she replied. “Was it your hope to compromise me then, and since you did not succeed, you have circled back to me?”

  “It was and still is my fondest hope that I cannot compromise you, Lady Guinevere,” he said, turning his back from her to walk over to a table where a book lay. He plucked it up.

  She was utterly tired of confusing men! “Is this some sort of a test, then?”

  He turned to her, book in hand and a surprised look on his handsome face. “No, my dear.”

  “I told you not to call me that. You know it is far too familiar.”

  “Perhaps I want to be too familiar with you,” he said, inching his eyes over her in a manner that suggested he was hinting at an illicit affair.

  “I think not,” she replied. “You just said it was your fondest hope that you could not compromise me.”

  He shrugged. “I’m a man at war with myself.” The resignation in his voice told her he spoke the truth in that moment.

  “Did someone set you on the path of war?” she asked, trying to figure him out.

  He opened the book but kept his gaze on her. “Is it not always someone else who sets us on the path of war, Lady Guinevere?”

  “I think people can set themselves on the path,” she mused.

  “That would be a foolish person indeed.”

  Somewhere in this conversation was the answer to who this man was and what motivated him. She could not say why it was important, but her gut told her it was. “I cannot agree. Consider, if you will, men who go to war to protect another.” She watched him carefully. He stiffened. It was the slightest movement, a tensing of his shoulders, but it was telling. Whatever he was doing, he was doing for the sake of another.

  “That has nothing to do with me,” he said, but his casual words were contradicted by his terse tone. “This subject tires me. Let us turn to more interesting things, such as Richard III.”

  She arched her eyebrows. “Richard III?”

  “Yes.” He strode closer to her. “I have chosen Act One, Scene Two for our skit. I’ll play the role of Richard, of course.”

  He smirked, but she could not match his light humor. Dread filled her at what he wanted them to portray. What would people think? What would Asher think?

  “You have purposely chosen a scene where the lady is seduced by a fiend and agrees to wed him.”

  “Precisely. Did I not tell you I was wicked?”

  She pressed her fingertips to her temples, which had started to pound. If only she had gotten more sleep the night before. “You did,” she agreed.

  “Here.” He thrust the book at her. “You read this line,” he said, pointing.

  Guinevere scanned the page to where his finger was, and her chest tightened as her anxiety increased. “‘And thou are unfit for any place but hell.’”

  “‘Yes, one place else, if you will hear me name it,’” Kilgore said, reading the next line.

  “‘Some dungeon?’” Guinevere felt almost as if she could be Anne in this moment.

  “‘Your bedchamber,’” Kilgore read, not looking at her.

  What was he trying to tell her?

  “Kilgore, are you trying to tell me something?”

  Just then, the door banged open and Talbot appeared. He glanced between them, his eyes widening. “I beg your pardon. I was looking for a place for me and Lady Constantine to practice our skit. I did not know this room was taken. How goes it?” Talbot asked as Lady Constantine appeared in the doorway, as well.

  When Kilgore did not answer, Guinevere felt compelled to. “It goes well, my lord. We are practicing our skit now.”

  “Do tell what it shall be,” Talbot said.

  Guinevere opened her mouth to answer, but Kilgore spoke. “Richard III, Act One, Scene Two, where the lady allows herself to be seduced by the man she hates.”

  “Excellent choice, Kilgore. We’ll leave you to it.” Talbot turned, but Lady Constantine did not move. She stood in the doorway, looking quite stricken to Guinevere, and it occurred to her in that moment that Lady Constantine might have a tendre for Kilgore.

  “My lord,” Guinevere said to Kilgore. “Perhaps you ought to speak with Lady Constantine?”

  He frowned. “Whyever would I do that? We have no business with each other, do we, Lady Constantine?”

  “No,” she said, her face having gone pale. “I will leave you now.”

  “At last,” he replied rudely.

  The moment the door clicked shut, Guinevere scowled at Kilgore. “I think you should be kinder to her,” she said, barely resisting the urge to scold him like a naughty boy.

  “I was not unkind,” he rejoined. “I simply have no need to speak with the lady.”

  “Are you certain?” Guinevere asked, watching him.

  He met her stare straight on. “I’m certain. I am no good for the lady, just as certain as Carrington is no good for you.”

  “Pardon?” she asked, though she had heard perfectly. Her heart had already sped with his words.

  “Never mind,” he said, glancing again at the book in his hands. “I spoke out of turn. Shall we continue?”

  She could not proceed forth, in her life or this skit, without answers. “Not that I care at all,” she began, trying to sound nonchalant, “but why is it you think Carrington would be no good for me?”

  He jerked his gaze up to meet hers. “If I tell you, I fear it will hurt you. Do you wish me to tell you knowing this?”

  “I wish you to tell me,” she said slowly as unease gathered within her.

  “Very well.” Kilgore sighed. “I once again find myself a slave to circumstances only partially of my making.” Before she could ask him what he meant by that, he said, “Carrington never desired you. It was a game to him to spite his father.”

  She shook her head. “No, I asked him, and…and he told me that at first he wished to spite his father, but after he met me, his interest was true.” The doubt in her clamored, but she did not want to listen.

  The look of pity Kilgore gave her sliced open the wound that had never quite healed. Her mind rebelled against that look.

  Finally, he shook his head. “Well, Elizabeth herself told me Carrington had pursued her and that he had said his pursuit of you was only to spite his father, and he would break it off since he had accomplished his goal. He told her that the night in the library. He asked her to go there with him because she was angry at him for pursuing yo
u.”

  Guinevere frowned as a memory stirred. Elizabeth had acted very strangely that night, withdrawn, upset. She had hugged Guinevere at one point and told her she was sorry. Guinevere had questioned her, of course, and Elizabeth had said she was sorry for being so unlively that night, but after everything had happened, Guinevere had wondered if Elizabeth had been apologizing for betraying her with Asher. She certainly would not have been apologizing for a kiss that would not occur until later that night. Guinevere’s stomach clenched and then fell to the floor. She didn’t want to believe Kilgore, but it made sense that Elizabeth had felt guilty because she and Asher were carrying on and she had blurted an apology to Guinevere.

  She blinked as the room seemed to grow dark. “I did not realize you and Elizabeth were even friends,” she murmured.

  “Of a sort,” Kilgore replied.

  She focused on him and narrowed her gaze. “Of a sort?”

  “My cousin did pursue her, and I became acquainted with the lady then.”

  Guinevere’s brows dipped together. “She never mentioned that.” Then again, Elizabeth had failed to mention several things, like the fact that she wanted Asher.

  Kilgore shrugged, but Guinevere nibbled on her lip, still thinking on Asher, wanting to cling to hope. “But why would he lie now? Why?”

  “Because it’s a game to him. You are a game to him. He wants to win you and best me.”

  A snippet of the conversation she’d had with Asher in the garden came back to her with startling, unwanted clarity. She’d angrily told him she was not a prize to be won, and he had said, Are ye certain, lass? She also had directly asked him if he was pursuing her because he thought Kilgore was doing so, and Asher had not answered. Instead, he’d said he had never played a game with her. But hadn’t he? He had admitted when he’d first crossed that ballroom the night they’d met that it had been to spite his father. He’d begun it all as a game. How easily she had believed his lies, then and yesterday. She had to press her lips together not to moan her hurt. There had been no declarations of feelings yesterday. Asher was very clever, and she was a thousand times a fool. Why was breathing suddenly so hard? Her stays so tight? The room so horribly hot?