“Lord Charolton.”
“Ahh.” Lilias drew the single word out in a knowing tone. “LordCharlatan.”
“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 LordCharlatan?”
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 LordCharlatan? 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?”
