Chapter Seventeen
Asher found it impossible to tear his attention away from his wife’s lovely form as she ascended the stairs behind Thornhill, but when she disappeared from his sight, he refocused on Pierce. He felt sorry for him, but he wanted Guinevere to himself for a while. He’d waited five years for this.
Asher considered what to say without causing unnecessary strife between himself and Pierce. I want you out as soon as possible wasn’t exactly an olive branch.
“It’s funny your wife’s lady’s maid should be mentioned,” Pierce said.
Pierce’s long pause suggested he wanted Asher to speak. “Why is that?”
“Well,” Pierce started, motioning for Asher to follow him.
Asher sighed, wanting to go to Guinevere, but he also did not want to make his relationship with Pierce any more strained than it was, so he relented.
As they moved through the corridors, Pierce said, “Because I was going to tell her that I saw her lady’s maid, Miss Ballenger, on her errand to Kilgore’s home last week.”
Every fiber of Asher’s body warned him against going down this path, but he damn well could not leave that statement unexamined. “I see,” he said, unease stirring inside him as they entered the study. Asher closed the door behind them.
Pierce, unsurprisingly, fixed himself a drink before continuing. “I wanted to tell your wife how very professional her lady’s maid is. It’s refreshing to meet servants who know how to keep a stiff upper lip. So many of them blab one’s private affairs these days. I confess I tried to pry out of her why she was on Kilgore’s doorstep so early in the morning, but she offered me a bold lie without batting an eye. Of course, the woman does not know that I know she was lying, and I let it pass because I am a gentleman. If I’d not been coming home from the club, I’d have never seen her. Quite coincidental.” Pierce sat back while taking a drink.
A tic started at Asher’s right temple. “How early is early?”
“It was eight in the morning.”
Damn. He pushed back against the instinct to let jealousy rule him. He’d done that once before, and it had cost him Guinevere. “And what exactly did Ballenger say that makes ye think she was lying?”
Pierce looked suddenly reluctant. “Now, Carrington,” Pierce said, his tone stern. “Just because the lady’s maid lied does not mean your wife was involved in anything illicit.”
Asher’s mind had not fully gone to the possibility until that moment. He flinched with the thought. “What did Ballenger say?” he repeated, his temper stirring.
Pierce pressed his lips together, but finally answered after a pause. “She claimed she was there to deliver a message from Fairfax to Kilgore that the children’s orphanage meeting had been canceled.”
Asher frowned. “Though it is hard to believe that Kilgore has the capacity to think of anyone other than himself, I don’t see why ye believe Ballenger offered ye a lie. Perhaps Fairfax’s usual messenger was busy. Perhaps she volunteered.”
“Each of your points is noted and valid,” Pierce replied, finishing his drink and setting the glass on the desk. “But I, too, sit on the orphanage board, and Fairfax let me know a day earlier by way of his footman that the meeting was canceled because Kilgore had told Fairfax that same morning that he had to go out of Town on personal business.”
Sodding Kilgore. Why did everything come back to him? And damn it all that it did seem as if Ballenger had lied. Whether she was lying to cover up something for Guinevere or not was the question. He didn’t want to doubt his new wife, but trying to keep all the doubt out was like trying to hold back a tide—impossible.
He stood, not wanting to battle with himself in front of Pierce. “I appreciate ye telling me, but I trust Guinevere.” It wasn’t entirely true, but he wanted it to be. And he felt guilty that it was not.
“You bloody well should trust her,” Pierce said, scrambling clumsily to his feet and swaying a bit as he stood. “I wasn’t implying that your wife was engaged in anything untoward with Kilgore. I’m sorry you jumped to that conclusion. I suppose upon thinking about it, I can see how you might doubt your wife given the way she and Kilgore have seemed to flirt, and the skit at the house party, not to mention his wager in regard to her.”
Asher clenched his teeth in irritation. He knew Pierce was trying to help, but he was not doing so.
“There’s always divorce, I suppose,” Pierce said, “if you think she may be cuckolding you.”
“Do not say another word.” Asher had had enough. And by Pierce’s stiffening, he had enough wits left in that soggy brain to realize it and nodded. “Would it not be more comfortable for ye to stay in the country while ye await yer townhome being redecorated?” It was the nicest way Asher could think to tell Pierce he wanted him gone so that Asher could be alone with Guinevere.
Pierce hitched an eyebrow. “You desire privacy?”
“I do,” Asher said, deciding not to mince words.
“I have some business to attend to here, but if you wish me to depart sooner, I can stay with a friend or—”
“Nay.” Asher felt like an ass what with Pierce being so accommodating. “It’s a big home; we’ll manage. At any rate, I might need yer signatures on some paperwork from the solicitor.”
“Ah, eager to get your hands on the fortune, are you?”
Asher did not miss the hardening of his brother’s eyes. It was to be expected. Pierce had grown up pampered and privileged, and now much of that was being taken away. Asher had grown up knowing scarcity and scrapping, and he had worked for everything he had, even when he could have taken aid from his father. He was glad in this moment that his pride had stopped him. He’d made it on his own, and even if everything disappeared tomorrow, he knew he’d survive. He was not so certain about Pierce. Which was why he said, “If ye’d like to learn the distillery business, I’m happy to show ye. There will always be a place for ye in my company.”
“I’m the son of a duke,” Pierce replied, his tone bitter. “I’m not meant to work. I’ll make a match that will set me to rights.” Asher frowned before he could stop himself, and Pierce narrowed his eyes. “You’ve quite the ballocks to stand in judgment of me when you wed your current wife for money.”
“I damn well did not wed Guinevere for the inheritance,” Asher shot back, irritated, but he wasn’t about to stand around revealing his innards to Pierce. “Now, if ye’ll excuse me.”
He didn’t wait for an answer but was out the door and taking the stairs two at a time to get to Guinevere, but he slowed the closer he drew to his bedchamber. Why the hell had Ballenger gone to Kilgore’s? He gripped the door handle and made a decision. He’d mention it to Guinevere, and if she seemed to be truthful in her response, he’d tear down the wall he’d kept partially between them. But if she prevaricated, well… He didn’t want to entertain the thought. It sent him to dark places he wanted to forget.
He entered the room, shut the door, and found Guinevere lying on the bed asleep. He paused and stood over her, drinking her in. Her dark lashes fanned her creamy skin. Her rosy lips were parted ever so slightly, and her mahogany hair framed her perfect face, beckoning him to run his fingers through the silken strands. Even in sleep, she made his chest squeeze, his blood pump faster, and his need to possess her flare, but he did not just want to possess his wife’s body. He wanted her heart, damn it.
He slipped off his boots, divested himself of his outer layers, and climbed carefully onto the bed, trying not to wake her. But the bed creaked under his weight, and her eyes fluttered open, shining a brilliant green and appearing innocent. She stretched, and a slow smile turned up the corners of her luscious lips.
“I was dreaming of you,” she whispered, offering him the sweetest shy look. This woman could not be deceiving him.
“Were ye now, lass?” he asked, lying on his side. He rested his head in his hand and used the other hand to brush her hair away from her face.
She nodded. “I dreamed you were absolutely beso
tted with me.” She pursed her lips in a teasing smile.
He was. Hell, he was, but did he say it now? Did he hold back? “I had an interesting talk with Pierce just a moment ago.”
Her reaction was slight. A flicker of apprehension in her eyes that was quickly gone. He would not have noticed it if he wasn’t searching, staring, and hoping she’d have no reaction. Something inside him went hard, and his jaw clenched. He would not assume, and yet…
“Did you?” Her voice was higher than normal, her eyes slightly wider.
Damn Kilgore to a slow painful death. Did he have Guinevere’s heart? Had he failed to offer for her so she had wed Asher, given the situation.
“Aye,” Asher said easily enough, though anger had firmly settled in his throat. “Pierce encountered yer lady’s maid outside Kilgore’s home last week.”
She went from looking wary to downright frightened. The color on her face drained, and the pulse at her neck became rapid. Asher imagined all the ways he would like to rid himself of Kilgore.
“What did Talbot say?” Guinevere squeaked.
“He said that Ballenger had been quite unwilling to tell him why she was there, but he finally pried out of her that she was there to deliver a message that a meeting of the orphanage board had been canceled. He thought it commendable that yer lady’s maid wished to keep private affairs private.”
“Yes,” Guinevere murmured. “It is quite commendable.”
“Ye don’t suppose Ballenger and Kilgore are—”
“No!” Guinevere gasped. “I don’t suppose that at all, and you shouldn’t, either. Ballenger is a respectable woman.”
Asher studied his wife’s incensed face. If she were guilty of sending her lady’s maid to give a message to Kilgore on her behalf, it certainly would have behooved her to let him believe that Kilgore and Ballenger had some sort of illicit relationship. Yet Guinevere had not done that. She had defended Ballenger. He didn’t know why the lady’s maid had gone to see Kilgore, but he would damn well not believe the worst of Guinevere unless he had proof. He’d move forward slowly and carefully, and reacquaint himself with Guinevere once again. And he couldn’t think of a better way to start than with a kiss.
“Point taken, Duchess,” he said as he leaned forward and covered her sweet mouth with his.
Her heart raced with worry, but when Asher claimed her mouth, desire chased it away. Surely, if he was vexed with her or if he doubted her, he would not be kissing her, would he? The slide of his tongue on the crease of her lips stole the questions from her head as her body responded. His tongue stroked her lips, then demanded entry, and with a groan of need, she parted her mouth, hungry for all of him. His hand skimmed up over her belly to her breasts, leaving a path of gooseflesh and causing a throbbing ache at the juncture of her thighs.
With an ease that shocked her, he slipped his fingers inside her gown and under the layers constraining her, and found her nipple. He teased her with his fingers, fanning the flames of desire that licked her insides and made her core tighten, and then he tormented her with his hot mouth. He suckled and pulled and lightly nipped until she thought she would go mad.
She threaded her fingers in his hair, needing him to do more, pushing him closer, desperate for the hot caverns of his mouth on her skin.
He pulled away and proceeded to do the same to her other breast, but it wasn’t enough. She wanted to feel him, hot flesh to hot flesh, his hardness to her softness, and then she wanted him to enter her, take her, claim her as his wife. But she could not ask! Lord above, no! Instead, she gave a frustrated sigh, and a low chuckle emanated from him before he rose up to his knees, breaking all contact.
His lips curled wickedly, and the look on his face… Heaven above, he was as hungry and desperate for her as she was for him. It emboldened her that this man, this man, so beautiful, so honorable, wanted her, saw her, had chosen her.
“Tell me what ye want, lass.”
It was a command that she was suddenly more than willing to obey. “You,” she said, rising up to run her hands over his corded stomach, steel chest, and massive shoulders. She scrambled to her knees, heart pounding in her chest. “You,” she said again, pressing a kiss against his neck as she fumbled with his shirt, only just realizing all his outer layers were gone.
She drew it upward, exposing his skin, and the temptation to kiss him was too much. She leaned down and kissed his stomach, feeling his muscles tense beneath her touch. That she could cause such a reaction in him bolstered her even more. She pushed his shirt higher, kissing her way up his chest as she did so until he lifted his arms. She drew his shirt up, having to stand to do so. She threw it, losing her balance and starting to fall backward, but Asher’s arms came around her like bands of steel.
He caught her, his heart pounding against her through her thick gown. “Too many layers,” she murmured.
“Let me help ye with that,” he replied, somehow scooping up her legs and sending one arm under them before standing with them both. He set her on her feet and stared down at her, his eyes blazing with need. “Too many layers, ye say?” he asked, then bent his beautiful dark head to lick a wicked path across her chest at the edge of her bodice.
Her breasts became fuller than they already were, and the ache made her groan. “Yes,” she gasped. “Too many.”
“Then we shall rid ye of them.”
Suddenly, his hands were on the gleaming silk, and he rent it apart, fully exposing her breasts now. Her momentary shock disappeared as he cupped her breasts in his hands, then proceeded to flick his tongue over her left nipple, then her right. All the air left her lungs as exquisite pleasure ripped through her, making her tremble. She ran her hands up the muscles of his back and then down over his perfectly formed buttocks, and gave him a squeeze.
He paused in his ministrations to lift his head and offered her an arresting smile. “So ye want to get playful, aye, ye wee wicked lass?”
His brogue had turned heavy, and it made her belly flutter in anticipation. Asher may be a duke now, but he’d grown up having to fight to survive. He didn’t suppress his emotions as most Englishmen she knew did, which was what had first drawn her to him. There was nothing cool about him. He was an inferno, and she wanted him to burn her, brand her with his body and his love.
“I want to be wicked with you,” she confessed, heat singeing her cheeks at her bold words.
“Ah, lass.” He stroked a hand down between her breasts, across her belly, and to her skirts, which he slowly lifted with both hands. “I’m more than happy to oblige.” And as quick as a few breaths, he had her unmentionables off as well as his remaining clothing. She helped him, of course, with desperate tugs and pulls at his trousers, and when he stood before her, she stared at his beautiful body unabashedly. Every inch of him was virile and honed and hers.
He crooked a finger at her while smiling suggestively. She stepped toward him only to have him reach out and grasp her by the waist and tug her firmly against his body. Desire spiraled through her. His hand was on her thigh, then lifting it and hoisting her leg over his hip, and then her other foot left the ground as he drew her up, one hand under her buttocks and one still on her leg. He moved her backward with ease until her spine pressed against the wall. Her breath came out in harsh, uneven spurts, and his own breathing was ragged in her ear as he leaned forward. “Ye are my wife now, and ye are mine.”
He hesitated long enough for his eyes to meet hers. He hitched one eyebrow, and she knew he was making certain she was ready for him. “Yes,” she said, breathless, unable to manage more than that. “Yes. Yes.” And with that, he slid into her, filling her.
He began to move in a slow rhythm that built the heat within her until she was demanding, in a most unladylike voice, that he go faster. He obliged with a devilish grin, and everything faded but the two of them. The swell of his muscles under her fingertips. The heat of him. The dizzying motions that made her core tighten more and more until everything inside her felt as if it would burst, and
her body coiled before wave after wave of ecstasy flowed through her.
Just when she thought she would never experience a greater pleasure in her life, he hoisted her higher and drove all the way into her as his own body tightened, his fingers curling into her skin, a guttural growl coming from him, and then he filled her with his seed as he captured her mouth for a long, sweet kiss.
“Ye are mine,” he said in her ear once more. The words reminded her of what her mother had said about even the most confident men needing reassurance.
Gathering her courage, she pressed her lips to his ear and said, “I am yours. Never doubt it. I love you.”
He stilled completely, and her heart skipped several beats as he drew back and their gazes collided. Would he tell her, as well? He set her on her feet and pressed her hand to his pounding heart. “Mo chridhe.” He cupped her face then, leaving her hand on his chest as his heart thumped against the tingling pads of her fingers. He gave her a soft, reverent kiss, and said, “If ye are giving yer love truly, I will take it, mo ghraidh.”
Truly? If?
Guinevere barely resisted the urge to bite her lip in consternation. He doubted her.
The realization struck her hard. Could she blame him when she coupled the things she’d said to him since his return to England about Kilgore with the skit she had foolishly gone along with and then her lady’s maid being at Kilgore’s house? She could try to explain, but however would she explain sending a note to Kilgore to meet her? Thank God Kilgore had been out of Town, and she’d not risked trying to contact him again. It had been the most dull-witted decision of her life. She would simply have to prove herself, and in time, when he was ready, he would tell her what mo ghraidh and mo chridhe meant. She would wait. She could wait. He may have not said the words yet, but he was showing her in little ways with his tenderness and his caring looks and gentle kisses. She refused to believe otherwise.
Chapter Eighteen
Lady Guinevere And The Rogue With A Brogue (Scottish Scoundrels: Ensnared Hearts Book 1) Page 22