His cool gaze swept over her and settled on her face. “Where are yer ribbons?”
For a moment, she didn’t know what he was talking about, and then she blinked, recalling her lie to the coachman earlier. She could rail at him now, tell him she knew he did not love her, had not married her for anything other than his own gain, but she couldn’t bear it. She suddenly felt desperate to get away from him. Swallowing, she said, “They did not have the color I wanted.”
His cold gaze hardened, and his mouth grew grim. “Nay?”
Her breath quickened at the thread of anger in his voice. Did he know she was lying? Perhaps he suspected it. Let him wonder as she stood wondering now why he had wed her.
“No,” she said simply, warily.
He stepped toward her, and she found herself backing up to keep distance between them. His gaze narrowed a bit more, but he stopped, his mouth twisting unpleasantly. “It took ye a long time for a trip to get ribbon. Did ye encounter someone ye know?”
She thought immediately of Kilgore, but she would not tell Asher that. She didn’t want him going to Kilgore and confronting him until she was ready to confront Asher. “My sisters,” she said, dismissing any guilt. She would need to tell her sisters so they would not give her away.
“I see.” His voice, though quiet, had an ominous quality that made her shiver.
She needed distance before she blurted what she had discovered and he possibly gave her false, soothing answers that she feared she would be too weak to question and, instead, would simply accept. She needed time to think everything through.
“Asher—”
“Guinevere—” he said at the same time.
She had intended to tell him she had a megrim and could not go with him to the club tonight when he said, “I’m afraid my plans for tonight have changed. I’ve some business to attend to, so…”
Her stomach dropped that he was abandoning the plans they had made. Perhaps he was tired of the charade? Perhaps now that he had slaked his desire for her, he simply did not care to pretend.
“Yes, of course,” she forced herself to reply, going up another step. The sting in the back of her eyes alerted her to the fact that tearswouldcome, no matter what she had promised herself. “I’ve a megrim anyway,” she offered before turning and starting up the stairs.
Behind her, he said, “That’s convenient.”
That’s convenient!
She paused. He was apparently not going to bother to pretend at all anymore. The desire to turn around and screech at him that she knew the truth, that he was a scoundrel, a louse, the worst sort of rogue to break her heart not once but twice burned her lips, but she gritted her teeth until pain lanced across her jaw. He did not deserve to see how he had hurt her. She would tell him when she could remain calm and aloof, when she could think of the precise words to prick his pride. Standing as tall as she could, she continued her ascent without comment as tears flowed from her eyes and trickled silently down her face.
Asher could not rid himself of the image of his treacherously beautiful wife lying to him so easily. He tried to wash it away in the darkest corners of the Orcus Society, and when that did not work, he tried to forget her in the pleasure room among the press of bodies of willing women and eager men. But no woman had ever been able to make him forget Guinevere, and tonight was no exception.
Cursing, he waved away a woman as she approached him, yet she kept coming, not stopping until she stood before him. She surprised him by twining her hands around his neck.
“I’m not interested,” he said.
She smelled of too much perfume and wore heavy face powder, and all her finer bits were on display. She was the opposite of Guinevere. He crushed the thought. He didn’t know who Guinevere really was. She had stood before him and lied to him without any indication that she was deceiving him. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. She had looked slightly uncomfortable with her deceit, but that hardly made her a saint, not to mention trustworthy or loyal.
“If you weren’t interested,” the woman purred, rubbing her hips against his, “you would not have come here.”
Irritation flared, and he unlatched her fingers, bringing her hands away from his neck. He released them as he met her eager gaze. “It was a mistake. I’m sorry.”
She arched her blond eyebrows. “A coin for my trouble?”
He produced several coins, pressed them into her hand, and said, “Go home for the night.”
He didn’t care for the fact that the women who worked in here had no choice, but Beckford had assured him, he gave each woman who was employed in the pleasure room the opportunity to choose another job at the club. But the women always chose this room as they were eager to gain sponsors. He understood desperation—he’d grown up in it—and it drove people to do things they’d otherwise never do.
The woman’s eyes widened as she looked at the coins, and then she grinned. “This is a good start to my evening, and I thank you, but going home is not for me.”
With that, she sauntered off, and he turned and exited the pleasure room, passing Pierce along the way. But his brother was quite occupied with a woman on his lap. Asher sighed. This room was most assuredly not to his taste. The only appeal it had held was being in it with Guinevere.
The thought of her worsened his mood, and he strode into the low-lit gaming room. He snaked around tables where dealers held court every night, taking the money of men too foolish to know when to quit.
Asher spotted Beckford at a hazard table where men were rising as if the game had just finished, so he made his way over and sat. Beckford’s keen blue gaze flicked over him for a moment before he focused on the ivory dice he was pulling toward him. He picked them up and jiggled them in his hand as he focused on Asher once more.
