“I’ll make it possible,” he said. “One of the benefits of being a duke, I would think.”
She nodded, because he was right about that.
“I’ll secure a special license, and we’ll wed in a week’s time.”
She worried her lip back and forth, resting her chin on her hands as she looked at him. “It’s not that I do not want to wed you in a week’s time, but Mama will be miserable about it. I know she will somehow make it some fault of mine. I can hear her now:Guinevere,” she said, affecting her mother’s shrill tone,“this could have been the wedding of the Season, but you mucked it up in your usual style.”
“Is yer mother why ye hate the wordbut?” he asked angrily.
She bit her lip, half wishing she had not been so honest. Maybe he would see the faults in her unusual personality that her mother saw. Drat! He might not have thought them faults if she had just kept quiet. “I, well—”
“Guin,” he said gently, pressing a kiss to her forehead and then her nose, “I don’t care what yer mother thinks, nor should ye. One week,” he said firmly. “I’ll not wait any longer than that to have ye as my wife.”
Chapter Fifteen
He still stroked Guinevere’s shoulder well after she had fallen asleep. He stared at her peaceful face, listening to the reassuring sound of her soft inhalations and exhalations, and cradled her as she curled against him. His fingers bent protectively against her skin.
She was his. She would be his wife. She wanted him, had given herself to him. She belonged to him.
Mo ghraidh… my love.
The words had slipped out of his mouth. He didn’t regret them—they were true—but he couldn’t say it like she needed it. Not yet.
Her confession about her mother came to his mind. Damn the small-minded woman. She would never be able to understand just how intelligent and different Guinevere was, not lacking. She was more than a beautiful face or a fancy dress. And she was a damn sight more than the dowry that came with her hand or a means to save his company.
He stroked her silky hair, thinking about his father, Kilgore, Elizabeth, and all the lies. Kilgore had pursued Guinevere and kissed her on the terrace that night with the intent of seduction, andshehad pushed Kilgore away.His sodding pride.It was a damn curse.
Elizabeth had manipulated him. Of course she had. She had needed a husband for the child she had been carrying, and he had been an easy mark, the fool that he was. Had Elizabeth planned for them to be caught in the library that night, too? He lay there trying to recall if she had seemed shocked when they were discovered. He thought so, but hell, he honestly couldn’t remember. He would not be surprised if she had planned it, though it was astonishing to think she had possessed the wherewithal to think of such an elaborate scheme.
Guinevere mumbled in her sleep, and he stilled, listening. “Unfortunate circumstances. Unfortunate. Unfortunate.”
Damn.He needed to learn to choose his words with more care, especially where Guinevere was involved.
“Kilgore’s complicated,” she muttered.
Sodding bastard.Why was Kilgore in her dreams?
He inhaled deeply, her flowery scent surrounding him, her body pressed warmly against his. He would not be jealous. She had chosen him, had given herself to him, was weddinghim. She had explained what had happened on the terrace that night years before and tonight, and that was where he wanted to leave his doubts about her and Kilgore—in the past. He had a bone-deep certainty that those doubts would destroy them if he didn’t bury them.
“I forbid it!” Guinevere’s mother shrieked in the early evening of the next day.
Guinevere stood beside Asher, who had just come to call, in the parlor. He looked especially fine this evening in dark breeches, top-boots, and a dark coat cut to fit his broad chest to perfection. So much so that she had trouble pulling her gaze away from her soon-to-be husband. She ran a smoothing hand down her green silk skirts, anticipation for their wedding rising within her. Ever since Asher had woken her that morning with a kiss and a promise to return this afternoon to tell her parents their plan, the only thing she had been able to think about was what had occurred between them the night before and all that had been revealed.
“You cannot wed in a week!” her mother cried.
Guinevere loved how unperturbed Asher looked by her mother, and she especially loved when he said, “I assure ye, Lady Fairfax, we can. I arranged it this morning with the Archbishop—”
“But we did not consent,” her mother groaned.
“I did,” Guinevere’s father said, speaking up.
Mama gasped. “What!? Fairfax, how could you?”
“Simple, my dear,” he replied with a surprising air of nonchalance. “Carrington called on me very early this morning.”
Her father’s gaze landed on Guinevere, and she squirmed, feeling utterly certain he somehow knew about last night. But that was impossible. Asher had successfully slipped away unnoticed. He must have returned while she was still abed to call on her father.
Her father smiled gently at her, and she exhaled as he focused on her mother once more. “He made a case for a special license, and I saw no reason not to consent.”
