A sudden pain pierced her head and neck. Whether from the conversation or the fall, she was not certain. She reached up and slid a hand over her cramping muscles.
“Did ye injure yerself?”
He could have been an actor for how sincere his concern sounded.
“Certainly not,” she snapped. “Do you think me the sort of woman to be injured from a small fall?”
“Nay, Guin. I think it would take much more than that to injure the likes of ye.”
The likes of me?
She frowned. What did he mean by that? No. No, she would not allow herself to wonder or to care about anything Asher did or said. She drew herself up to her full height, which irritatingly only put her head level with his shoulders. “Lady Guinevere, if you please.”
“As ye wish it, Lady Guinevere.”
Gawds. Why did the way he said her name still have to sound so enticing?
“If you’re endeavoring to be accommodating, perhaps you would depart now and find your way back to the ballroom that you never should have left.”
“If ye remember, the uninteresting and the vain drove me out here.”
“All the way to my bedchamber window?” she demanded. “Why not just retreat to the pleasure gardens? This seems an unnecessarily long way to come to get away from those who annoy you.”
“Well, I was in the pleasure gardens, but I saw something that interested me. Care to know what the something was, or are ye afraid to find out?”
For better or worse, she’d never been one to retreat from someone questioning her mettle. “You have me on tenterhooks,” she said, making sure her voice was as blasé as possible. “Do scandalize me.”
“It was the strangest sight.” His voice dipped low, mesmerizing. He always had been an excellent storyteller. Apparently, his knack for drawing a listener in had not dulled a bit over the years.
Pity, that. She’d prefer him to be as dull as the pianoforte lessons her mother still forced her to sit through, though everyone, including God, knew no amount of lessons would ever make her accomplished at such a thing. She was not a proper lady in most ways.
“What did you see?” she demanded, truly interested now. Mama often accused her of being like a cat: too curious for her own good.
“I saw ye, Lady Guinevere, running with little decorum and much abandon at the edge of the woods.”
“You couldn’t have.” She pressed a hand to her chest where her heart fluttered. She should have denied it outright. Was it too late? She bit her lip. Yes, she supposed it was, drat it all.
“I assure ye, I did see ye. I’ve keen eyesight.” He tapped his temple.
“But it’s dark,” she insisted, wincing at how foolish she sounded.
“Do the Bow Street Runners come around much for yer services?” he quipped.
“You are an odious man,” she snapped.
“Such cruel words from such beautiful lips,” he replied, managing to sound both chastising and oddly admiring at once. “I wonder where ye learned such language. From one of the men ye meet in the dark, perhaps?”
“I do not meet men in the dark,” she bit out.
He tsked at her, exactly as her mother would. “Let me remind ye that I saw ye. That white gown ye’re wearing is not verra stealthy.”
She clenched her teeth at the truth of the statement. “There are at least a hundred women in white gowns at my parents’ ball.”
“Aye, but I could think of no other lady who would abandon propriety as ye would and gallop around like a wild horse, heedless of caution.”
“Is that a compliment?” Her heart beat at a dangerous speed.
“Aye. I give them when they are due.”
“Why did you follow me, Your Grace?” Her words were unnervingly breathy. “And for that matter, why are you here?”
“I think ye know why I’m in London.”
She had meant her home, but whether he had purposely misconstrued her question or not, she didn’t know. What she did know, of course, but she preferred to ignore, was the fact that she had been unable to pay no mind to the news of his father’s death, not to mention the ensuing speculation from all the marriage-minded mamas regarding if the widowed, and now grossly wealthy, Duke of Carrington would return to London and take a wife. According to Guinevere’s elder brother, Huntley, wagers had been made at White’s as to whether or not Asher would show his face in London, take up his title properly, and secure another Incomparable.
She wished she’d known he had returned so she could have prepared herself mentally to see him. And she wished that Mama had told her that she’d invited him to this ball. Then Guinevere remembered that her mother had tried to speak to her about the guest list, and she had purposely evaded her mother’s attempts. Guinevere swallowed. She needed to say something about his father, but what, given their history?
“I was sorry to hear of your father’s passing.”
“I was sorry to hear it did not happen sooner,” he replied.
She bit her lip. She should not comment. She should stay out of his affairs. They were not friends. They could never be friends. And yet… “The years have not lessened your anger at him, I see.”
“We Scots are famous for holding grudges against people who’ve wronged us, Lady Guinevere. Whether the wrongdoer is a stranger, a father, or a lovely lass.”
Of all the nerve! How had she wounded him?
“Are you implying you have a grudge against me?”
A bang came from above, making her jerk, and then an urgent hiss. “Guinnie!”
Guinevere glanced toward her bedchamber window and stepped out of the shadow of the tree she’d been standing under with Asher. She was both relieved and annoyed to see three figures in her window, which were undoubtedly her sisters, Frederica and Vivian, and her best friend, Lilias.
“Guinevere Darlington,” Vivian said. “We have been frantically searching for you. Thankfully, I said—”
“Guinevere!” Lilias interrupted. “What are you doing down there? Lord Pratmore returned to the ballroom covered in mud and Lady Fanny returned unscathed. Are you all right?”
“Yes,” Guinevere said, keenly aware that Asher was behind her in the dark, listening to this conversation. She did not want the man privy to her secrets, but she could not announce his presence to prevent her sisters and Lilias from saying anything else. Her youngest sister, Frederica, had a habit of letting secrets slip to Huntley, and he would most certainly feel compelled to duel for her honor or some such nonsense. “I took a tumble in the muck, and I was trying to climb the tree to get back into my chamber to change.”
“I told you she had it well in hand,” Lilias said.
“Hold on, Guinnie,” Frederica said. “I’ll throw down the rope.”
Guinevere’s ears burned. What must Asher think that she and her sister had a secret rope hidden away for times such as these?
“Do hurry, Freddy,” she said faintly, Asher’s heat against her back made it hard to think properly. Had he moved closer? To better hear? To eat her like a wolf? She was positively losing her wits.
“Guinevere, when you return to your bedchamber, you might want to stay there and feign a megrim,” Lilias said.