Asher slipped his arm around Guinevere’s waist and drew her against the length of his body. She wanted this for her best friend—for her to be in the arms of the man she loved, not simply a man she would wed to do her duty. Then Asher scandalously nuzzled Guinevere’s neck, and she let him. She didn’t care if people whispered about them.
“We’ll need to let Kilgore know ye’ve set a rabid hound on his heels,” Asher said in a low voice in her ear, amusement in his tone.
Guinevere snorted. “He deserves it for his obstinance in not admitting that he loves Lady Constantine.” When silence met her statement, she met her husband’s eyes. “Did he admit as much to you?” she demanded for the hundredth time.
“Ye know very well I cannot discuss what’s been told to me in confidence, but I’ll advise ye again not to pursue trying to make those two a match. It’s not going to happen.”
“Because he’s stubborn?” she prodded, but her husband simply smiled at her. She loved his honor, but in this moment, it was a hindrance to progress. Silence again was his answer. “Fine,” she finally said. “Will you at least help me with the other couple in question?”
He arched his eyebrows. “Didn’t I already?”
“Well, yes, but this is likely the beginning. You must tell me if our newly returned friend comes to you and admits any feeling toward a particular lady in a lovely, daring, ruby gown. I fear she’ll go and get herself betrothed before I can uncover the truth.”
“Men do not readily admit feelings,mo chridhe. Especially a man like the one in question.”
“What sort of man would you say he is?” she asked, genuinely curious how one man would view another. She saw Greybourne as cold and withdrawn and, well, of course, utterly handsome. She had known him when his twin had been alive, and Greybourne had not been nearly as withdrawn then, but he always had been serious, as if he carried a heavy burden.
“Darling?” she prodded when Asher did not answer.
A beat passed, and then he said, “Broken.”
She sucked in a sharp breath and kissed her husband right in the middle of their ball. It was unheard of. It was scandalous. Tomorrow they’d be on the tip of gossiping tongues. The besotted, vulgar duke and duchess. She didn’t care. “You’re brilliant!”
Asher grinned, and her heart skipped. “I like to think so.”
“Tomorrow we must find out exactly what it is that broke our friend, though I imagine it has something to do with his brother’s death.”
Her husband’s dark eyebrows dipped together in confusion. “And then ye propose we try to fix him?”
She laughed at that. Her husband was brilliant, except when it came to matters of the heart. “Of course not, darling,” she said, squeezing his very solid waist. “That will be Lilias’s job,” she whispered.
“Will she know it?”
Guinevere rolled her eyes at her husband. She could not help herself. “Of course not, darling. Do keep up.”
Chapter Five
One rule. Nash had made one unbreakable rule for himself in regard to this ball tonight: stay far away from Lilias. And now he’d made an exception to the rule. Of course he damn well had. He was not a bloody idiot. He was a man who made contingency plans. If he had to get near her, say, for instance, Owen approached him with Lilias in tow or he ended up in a group she was in, he would be polite and cool. He would not under any circumstance whatsoever touch her.
And yet…
He’d failed to consider what he’d do if he needed to protect her. He’d not considered to what lengths he might go, rules he might break. But as he approached Lilias and the man who dared to take such a liberty as to brush her cheek and place his hand too low on her back, Nash understood with utter clarity to what lengths he would go—any. And he knew what rules he would break:every damn one of them. If he were a king, Lilias would be his kingdom, and he’d do whatever it took to protect her. But he had to do it without breaking his vow to Owen. If he did, he would not survive the guilt. If he did, his heart would be just as black as his mother acted like it was. He would be officially unredeemable.
“Kilgore, I’m Greybourne. Pleasure to meet you,” he said by way of greeting as he sidled up next to them and stuck his foot in front of the man, forcing him to come to a halt.
“Greybourne, what are you doing?” Lilias demanded.
What the devil could he say?
“Blackwood needs you.” It was the one thing he knew for certain would get Lilias to follow him and leave this man behind.
“Is he all right?” she asked, already breaking away from Kilgore and moving toward Nash. Concern was etched on her face.
“Yes, yes,” he replied, taking her by the elbow to get her away from Kilgore, whom he shot a warning look, one that he hoped relayed that he would gut the man if he did not stay away. “I, well, let’s just go find him to see what he wants,” he said, not waiting for her to agree.
He gripped her gently, amazed that an elbow could be so enticing. His body was throbbing with awareness of his fingers on her warm skin. It was a good thing he’d never get the chance to touch her anywhere else. He’d likely devour her with how much he wanted her. He should release her now, but it would be just like Lilias to dash away from him.
He scanned the crowded ballroom looking for Owen but still saw him nowhere. Bloody typical. What should he do now? A glance over his shoulder showed that louse Kilgore stalking them. Nash increased his pace, propelling Lilias before him through outraged dancers and matronly mothers standing at the edge of the dance floor, and onward until they were through the terrace doors and outside in the crisp night air under the bright twinkling stars Lilias had once promised to teach him about. And they were alone. He would not look at her. He would think of a brilliant lie to compel her to stay here while he went to fetch Owen and ordered the imbecile to offer his hand to Lilias this very night.
