“There’s always divorce, I suppose,” Pierce said, “if you think she may be cuckolding you.”
“Do not say another word.” Asher had had enough. And by Pierce’s stiffening, he had enough wits left in that soggy brain to realize it and nodded. “Would it not be more comfortable for ye to stay in the country while ye await yer townhome being redecorated?” It was the nicest way Asher could think to tell Pierce he wanted him gone so that Asher could be alone with Guinevere.
Pierce hitched an eyebrow. “You desire privacy?”
“I do,” Asher said, deciding not to mince words.
“I have some business to attend to here, but if you wish me to depart sooner, I can stay with a friend or—”
“Nay.” Asher felt like an ass what with Pierce being so accommodating. “It’s a big home; we’ll manage. At any rate, I might need yer signatures on some paperwork from the solicitor.”
“Ah, eager to get your hands on the fortune, are you?”
Asher did not miss the hardening of his brother’s eyes. It was to be expected. Pierce had grown up pampered and privileged, and now much of that was being taken away. Asher had grown up knowing scarcity and scrapping, and he had worked for everything he had, even when he could have taken aid from his father. He was glad in this moment that his pride had stopped him. He’d made it on his own, and even if everything disappeared tomorrow, he knew he’d survive. He was not so certain about Pierce. Which was why he said, “If ye’d like to learn the distillery business, I’m happy to show ye. There will always be a place for ye in my company.”
“I’m the son of a duke,” Pierce replied, his tone bitter. “I’m not meant to work. I’ll make a match that will set me to rights.” Asher frowned before he could stop himself, and Pierce narrowed his eyes. “You’ve quite the ballocks to stand in judgment of me when you wed your current wife for money.”
“I damn well did not wed Guinevere for the inheritance,” Asher shot back, irritated, but he wasn’t about to stand around revealing his innards to Pierce. “Now, if ye’ll excuse me.”
He didn’t wait for an answer but was out the door and taking the stairs two at a time to get to Guinevere, but he slowed the closer he drew to his bedchamber. Why the hell had Ballenger gone to Kilgore’s? He gripped the door handle and made a decision. He’d mention it to Guinevere, and if she seemed to be truthful in her response, he’d tear down the wall he’d kept partially between them. But if she prevaricated, well… He didn’t want to entertain the thought. It sent him to dark places he wanted to forget.
He entered the room, shut the door, and found Guinevere lying on the bed asleep. He paused and stood over her, drinking her in. Her dark lashes fanned her creamy skin. Her rosy lips were parted ever so slightly, and her mahogany hair framed her perfect face, beckoning him to run his fingers through the silken strands. Even in sleep, she made his chest squeeze, his blood pump faster, and his need to possess her flare, but he did not just want to possess his wife’s body. He wanted her heart, damn it.
He slipped off his boots, divested himself of his outer layers, and climbed carefully onto the bed, trying not to wake her. But the bed creaked under his weight, and her eyes fluttered open, shining a brilliant green and appearing innocent. She stretched, and a slow smile turned up the corners of her luscious lips.
“I was dreaming of you,” she whispered, offering him the sweetest shy look. This woman could not be deceiving him.
“Were ye now, lass?” he asked, lying on his side. He rested his head in his hand and used the other hand to brush her hair away from her face.
She nodded. “I dreamed you were absolutely besotted with me.” She pursed her lips in a teasing smile.
He was. Hell, he was, but did he say it now? Did he hold back? “I had an interesting talk with Pierce just a moment ago.”
Her reaction was slight. A flicker of apprehension in her eyes that was quickly gone. He would not have noticed it if he wasn’t searching, staring, and hoping she’d have no reaction. Something inside him went hard, and his jaw clenched. He would not assume, and yet…
“Did you?” Her voice was higher than normal, her eyes slightly wider.
Damn Kilgore to a slow painful death. Did he have Guinevere’s heart? Had he failed to offer for her so she had wed Asher, given the situation.
“Aye,” Asher said easily enough, though anger had firmly settled in his throat. “Pierce encountered yer lady’s maid outside Kilgore’s home last week.”
She went from looking wary to downright frightened. The color on her face drained, and the pulse at her neck became rapid. Asher imagined all the ways he would like to rid himself of Kilgore.
“What did Talbot say?” Guinevere squeaked.
“He said that Ballenger had been quite unwilling to tell him why she was there, but he finally pried out of her that she was there to deliver a message that a meeting of the orphanage board had been canceled. He thought it commendable that yer lady’s maid wished to keep private affairs private.”
“Yes,” Guinevere murmured. “It is quite commendable.”
“Ye don’t suppose Ballenger and Kilgore are—”
“No!” Guinevere gasped. “I don’t suppose that at all, and you shouldn’t, either. Ballenger is a respectable woman.”
Asher studied his wife’s incensed face. If she were guilty of sending her lady’s maid to give a message to Kilgore on her behalf, it certainly would have behooved her to let him believe that Kilgore and Ballenger had some sort of illicit relationship. Yet Guinevere had not done that. She had defended Ballenger. He didn’t know why the lady’s maid had gone to see Kilgore, but he would damn well not believe the worst of Guinevere unless he had proof. He’d move forward slowly and carefully, and reacquaint himself with Guinevere once again. And he couldn’t think of a better way to start than with a kiss.
“Point taken, Duchess,” he said as he leaned forward and covered her sweet mouth with his.
Her heart raced with worry, but when Asher claimed her mouth, desire chased it away. Surely, if he was vexed with her or if he doubted her, he would not be kissing her, would he? The slide of his tongue on the crease of her lips stole the questions from her head as her body responded. His tongue stroked her lips, then demanded entry, and with a groan of need, she parted her mouth, hungry for all of him. His hand skimmed up over her belly to her breasts, leaving a path of gooseflesh and causing a throbbing ache at the juncture of her thighs.
