The park flew by and gave way to nothing but the lane home as he tried to outrun his thoughts. They could not be left behind, though. He recalled every touch, every moment of this week, as well as his plans for tonight, the words he had wanted to say. The faster he went, the higher his fury mounted until he took a turn so quickly that the conveyance went up on two wheels, nearly tipping.
He slowed but did not stop, and the decrease in speed seemed to reduce the furious burn of his temper. As his head cooled, questions hit him like bullets. Why pretend to love him if Kilgore had her heart? It didn’t make sense. She could have simply wed him and had a marriage of convenience. It burned in his mind on the trip home through the lengthening shadows. Despite telling himself not to be concerned for her traveling alone at night, he was, damn her, but he refused to return to the park like a fool.
Instead, when he arrived at the mews, he sent Digby to look out for her from a distance. He gave the man orders to find her in the park and follow her home without Guinevere realizing she was being followed. Once that was settled, Asher made his way to his study, poured a generous serving of Scotch, and settled into the chair behind his desk to wait for her.
What the hell was he going to say? Would she even tell him the truth? He could confront her about seeing her, but he wantedherto tellhim. He wanted to know she could be truthful, that there was something to believe in, that everything had not been a lie. Maybe she’d gone to the park to bid Kilgore a final goodbye.
A bitter laugh escaped Asher. Maybe he was a sodding idiot.
He slung the rest of his drink back, welcoming the burn down in his throat and into his belly, but when it faded, he was left feeling cold once more. He had known she was his weakness. He had known letting her in would be opening himself up to heartache once more, but he had done it. Or perhaps it was truer to say he had not prevented it from happening.
Hell…
He shoved his fingers through his hair. He’d courted it, courted her since they’d wed. He had even learned Shakespeare years before because it reminded him of her.
He would hear what came from her mouth, truth or lies, and then he would decide whether they had any hope or he’d been dwelling in a fool’s paradise of his own wishful making.
Chapter Twenty
“Carrington lied to me,” Guinevere sobbed and then proceeded to blurt what she had discovered.
“I’ll kill him for you,” Kilgore muttered.
She was just about to thank him when her senses came back to her and she remembered that Kilgore had lied to her, as well. She shoved him away and slapped him. It stung her fingers in a most excellent way.
His brows dipped together as his hand came to his cheek, gratifyingly already reddening. “What the devil was that for?”
“That,” she seethed, “was for kissing me five years ago on the balcony because you wagered with someone that you could seduce me!”
“Duchess,” Kilgore said, his voice a proper entreaty. He was so conniving even addressing her as such. “I can explain.”
“Then by all means, do,” she flung out.
He opened his mouth, shut it, growled, and opened it once more. “That wager was a cover.”
“So you did not kiss me for a wager?” Guinevere asked, frowning.
“No, the kiss was a means to an end.”
She crossed her arms. “Explain.”
Now he looked positively pained, and she knew he was going to claim he could not.
“I cannot, but—”
She turned on her heel and heaved herself into her curricle. She was through with lying, too handsome rogues, especially ones with Scottish accents. She was through with tears. She was—She was simplythrough.
“Please wait!” Kilgore frantically called. “I’m trying to find a solution to an enormous coil of my own making, and—”
“I do not care!” she spat, clicking her tongue and nearly running over Kilgore in her haste to get away from him. It felt very good indeed to take back a bit of control. She raced her conveyance out of the park, past a lone curricle, and started home.
Home.The word put a sour, bitter taste in her mouth. It was not her home. It was Asher’s home, the blackguard, lying manipulator.
She had no notion what she was going to do. She needed time to think and plan. Should she confront him? Should she flee him? He had his inheritance firmly secured now, he would probably not even come after her since…since—Her throat tightened as if she was going to cry again, but she refused to allow it. She was not some simpering, weepy, helpless lady! She was a strong woman. She had a mind of her own. She did not need Asher to be happy, despite how her heart protested the thought. He had lied to her. He had deceived her. She would harden her heart to him if it killed her, but when she got home, she would lock herself in one of the bedchambers first. She was not a fool, after all. She needed time to harden her heart.
The drive home was faster than she had hoped, and she had the oddest sense of being followed. Yet, every time she glanced over her shoulder, she saw no one. After handing off the curricle to one of the stable boys, she entered the house hoping to make for the stairs unseen. Asher was no doubt awaiting her, given they were to go to the Orcus Society tonight, but she no more than set one foot on the first step than Asher’s voice came at her from behind. “I’ve been waiting for you,mo chridhe.”
The endearment—was it even an endearment?—did not sound natural. How had she missed that before? Had she simply heard what she had wanted to? Her heart tripped at having to face him and at the edge in his voice. He was vexed. Well, his ire at her returning late was nothing compared with her rage. Clenching her jaw, she thrust back her shoulders and turned toward him.