“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 thetonbecause 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 nobuts. 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 Carrington?”
“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.”
