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 asRichard 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.
