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When Kilgore did not answer, Guinevere felt compelled to. “It goes well, my lord. We are practicing our skit now.”

“Do tell what it shall be,” Talbot said.

Guinevere opened her mouth to answer, but Kilgore spoke. “Richard III, Act One, Scene Two, where the lady allows herself to be seduced by the man she hates.”

“Excellent choice, Kilgore. We’ll leave you to it.” Talbot turned, but Lady Constantine did not move. She stood in the doorway, looking quite stricken to Guinevere, and it occurred to her in that moment that Lady Constantine might have a tendre for Kilgore.

“My lord,” Guinevere said to Kilgore. “Perhaps you ought to speak with Lady Constantine?”

He frowned. “Whyever would I do that? We have no business with each other, do we, Lady Constantine?”

“No,” she said, her face having gone pale. “I will leave you now.”

“At last,” he replied rudely.

The moment the door clicked shut, Guinevere scowled at Kilgore. “I think you should be kinder to her,” she said, barely resisting the urge to scold him like a naughty boy.

“I was not unkind,” he rejoined. “I simply have no need to speak with the lady.”

“Are you certain?” Guinevere asked, watching him.

He met her stare straight on. “I’m certain. I am no good for the lady, just as certain as Carrington is no good for you.”

“Pardon?” she asked, though she had heard perfectly. Her heart had already sped with his words.

“Never mind,” he said, glancing again at the book in his hands. “I spoke out of turn. Shall we continue?”

She could not proceed forth, in her life or this skit, without answers. “Not that I care at all,” she began, trying to sound nonchalant, “but why is it you think Carrington would be no good for me?”

He jerked his gaze up to meet hers. “If I tell you, I fear it will hurt you. Do you wish me to tell you knowing this?”

“I wish you to tell me,” she said slowly as unease gathered within her.

“Very well.” Kilgore sighed. “I once again find myself a slave to circumstances only partially of my making.” Before she could ask him what he meant by that, he said, “Carrington never desired you. It was a game to him to spite his father.”

She shook her head. “No, I asked him, and…and he told me that at first he wished to spite his father, but after he met me, his interest was true.” The doubt in her clamored, but she did not want to listen.

The look of pity Kilgore gave her sliced open the wound that had never quite healed. Her mind rebelled against that look.

Finally, he shook his head. “Well, Elizabeth herself told me Carrington had pursued her and that he had said his pursuit of you was only to spite his father, and he would break it off since he had accomplished his goal. He told her that the night in the library. He asked her to go there with him because she was angry at him for pursuing you.”

Guinevere frowned as a memory stirred. Elizabeth had acted very strangely that night, withdrawn, upset. She had hugged Guinevere at one point and told her she was sorry. Guinevere had questioned her, of course, and Elizabeth had said she was sorry for being so unlively that night, but after everything had happened, Guinevere had wondered if Elizabeth had been apologizing for betraying her with Asher. She certainly would not have been apologizing for a kiss that would not occur until later that night. Guinevere’s stomach clenched and then fell to the floor. She didn’t want to believe Kilgore, but it made sense that Elizabeth had felt guilty because she and Asher were carrying on and she had blurted an apology to Guinevere.

She blinked as the room seemed to grow dark. “I did not realize you and Elizabeth were even friends,” she murmured.

“Of a sort,” Kilgore replied.

She focused on him and narrowed her gaze. “Of a sort?”

“My cousin did pursue her, and I became acquainted with the lady then.”

Guinevere’s brows dipped together. “She never mentioned that.” Then again, Elizabeth had failed to mention several things, like the fact that she wanted Asher.

Kilgore shrugged, but Guinevere nibbled on her lip, still thinking on Asher, wanting to cling to hope. “But why would he lie now? Why?”

“Because it’s a game to him.Youare a game to him. He wants to win you and best me.”

A snippet of the conversation she’d had with Asher in the garden came back to her with startling, unwanted clarity. She’d angrily told him she was not a prize to be won, and he had said,Are ye certain, lass?She also had directly asked him if he was pursuing her because he thought Kilgore was doing so, and Asher had not answered. Instead, he’d said he had never played a game with her. But hadn’t he? He had admitted when he’d first crossed that ballroom the night they’d met that it had been to spite his father. He’d begun it all as a game. How easily she had believed his lies, then and yesterday. She had to press her lips together not to moan her hurt. There had been no declarations of feelings yesterday. Asher was very clever, and she was a thousand times a fool. Why was breathing suddenly so hard? Her stays so tight? The room so horribly hot?