“Release me at once!” she hissed, keeping her voice low in case he had arranged for someone to catch him with Lady Constantine and that someone was perhaps very nearly upon them. She could possibly explain away being alone in the library with himifthey were standing on opposite sides of the room, but it would be hopeless if they were chanced upon with her in his arms. The idea of being forced to wed the man made her stomach turn.
“By my reckoning,” Lord Charolton drawled, “my plan should come to fruition in a few short breaths. Patience, my dear.”
“I do not possess much of that,” she muttered. She tried to bring her knee up to injure him, but her blasted skirts prohibited the movement.
He caught her knee with his hand and laughed. “This is an even better picture to present. I think perhaps I’ll kiss you to complete the picture.” He pushed her leg down and pressed the length of his body against hers.
“Lord Charolton, release me!” she yelped, but instead, his lips crushed over hers.
The shock of the unwanted contact stilled her for one breath, but before she could react, he broke the contact. She staggered backward with a gasp as Asher jerked Lord Charolton away from her and then sent his fist into the man’s nose. It connected with a crunch, and Lord Charolton howled, doubling over.
Asher turned toward her, his face a mask of cold, hard fury. “Are ye unharmed?”
Was she? Her heart beat so hard it hurt her ears. She brought trembling fingertips to her bruised, throbbing lips. This was the second time in her life a man had kissed her without asking permission, but at least Kilgore’s kiss, though unwanted, had been gentle.
Asher’s gaze softened to one of concern as he looked between her and the still doubled over Lord Charolton. “Guin?” he said in little more than a whisper. “Are ye all right?”
“You mustn’t call me Guin,” she replied, her voice trembling as terribly as her hands were. She wrapped her arms around her waist and took a deep, shuddering breath. “I’m unharmed. Ash—Your Grace”—she caught herself barely in time—“I fear someone may be coming.”
“Ye have nothing to fear, my lady,” he replied before taking Lord Charolton by his collar to yank the man upright. “I redirected the two gossiping ladies headed in this direction before I arrived here.”
The relief that filled her at his words was dampened by her roiling stomach. She never had been one for the sight of blood.
“You have broken my nose,” Lord Charolton whined to Asher as if on cue with her thoughts of his predicament.
“I’ll break a great deal more than that if ye do not leave this ball immediately. And,” Asher continued, his face and tone growing threatening, “if ye ever even look Lady Guinevere’s way again, I’ll see ye over the barrel of my pistol. Do ye understand me?”
Lord Charolton, a rather peacock of a man, turned green but managed to nod. As he started for the library door, Guinevere said, “And if you ever try to ruin another lady again, the duke will also meet you with his pistol.”
Asher looked at her in surprise, and she shrugged helplessly. She could have sworn he smiled faintly, but he turned his attention to Lord Charolton once more as the man, in his haste to quit the room, knocked into the same table that had trapped her. A few grunts later, Lord Charolton was gone.
Asher, before she even realized what he intended, stepped to the library door and clicked the lock into place.
Her pulse quickened. She wasn’t afraid of him, but she had been nearly accosted moments earlier, and her nerves, which he naturally jumbled up anyway, were tight as knots. When he turned to her, aching concern showed on his face, and to her utter horror, unexpected tears filled her eyes.
“What’s this?” He closed the distance between them and brought his fingers to her cheeks to wipe away her tears.
His touch was so gentle, so tender that she forgot their past for a moment and blurted how she truly felt. “I do not care to feel so helpless,” she admitted, then bit her lip before she blabbed any more of her secrets, such as the fact that Asher’s kisses were the only ones she’d ever received that she had actually wanted. Not that wanting his kisses had done her a farthing of good, but at least she’d been a willing participant.
“I imagine ye don’t.” His thumb stroked the slope of her cheekbone so deliciously that her belly clenched and gooseflesh rose on her arms. Did he realize he was fondling her cheek?
She should tell him to stop, except it felt so wonderful, and hadn’t she imagined just this very thing too many times to recall?
“I can help ye feel better,” he said, his voice sliding over her like velvet.
Had he swayed closer? He must have. She was suddenly awash in heat. His warm breath fanned her face, making her inhale greedily and sigh. He smelled of leather, grass, and oak—so divine that her thoughts felt slippery, save for one. “How can you help me feel better?”
A slow, utterly seductive smile tugged the corners of his lips upward. “Kiss me.”
She smiled. Good heavens! She should not be smiling—or rather, it felt like she was smirking. She should push him away, remind him how improper he was being, and storm out of the room. Except she had lain awake so many nights wondering if she’d imagined how wonderful his kisses had been. His kisses had tormented her. She was quite sure the made-up memory of how perfect they were was the main reason she could not seem to gather any interest for another man. Perhaps if she kissed him now, she could finally set him out of her mind.
Guinevere’s lips started to tingle in expectation, and her heart beat at a dizzying, knee-weakening rate. She had to set her hands to his muscular shoulders so as not to drop into an embarrassing puddle of desire.
“Is that an invitation?” he asked, sounding every bit as devilish as he looked. If ever a man could lead a woman to be improper, it was him.
She couldn’t speak, her thoughts spun so quickly, but her fingers curled in silent entreaty, and the sensation in her lips moved slowly down to the pit of her stomach. She was going to expire if he didn’t kiss her.
“I need ye to show me ye wish me to kiss ye, Guin.” His voice sounded tight, as if he were just barely restraining himself. The thought that she could possibly unhinge this man filled her with a wild sort of exaltation.
