Twice Tempted by a Rogue (Stud Club #2)

The carriage tilted around another steep curve, and Rhys grabbed the edge of the seat to keep from sliding into Bellamy’s lap. That wouldn’t go over well.

“Tell me something,” he said after a minute. “You believe this Peter Faraday took Leo into an alleyway knowing they would be attacked? That he meant to lure Leo to his death?”

“Possibly.”

“Why would he do that?”

Bellamy grit his teeth. “That’s why we’re on this little journey, isn’t it? To find out.”

“Well, if your theory is true …” Rhys peered out at the road. “How do you know we’re not being lured into an ambush ourselves?”

“I don’t.” He tapped a finger against the window glass. “We’ll be on our guard.”

A house came into view, emerging from the mist as though it floated on its own low-hovering cloud. It was a small stone and brick affair, eccentrically designed. The window shutters’ paint had peeled away from the wood. No lights emanated from within, and no smoke puffed from the chimney.

“Doesn’t look especially welcoming, does it?”

“No,” Rhys agreed. Neither did it look especially occupied. “Perhaps your sources were misinformed.”

“No, just look at it. It’s the perfect place to hide.” He shook Cora awake. “You’ll have to wake up now. Ashworth and I will go inside. You’ll stay here. If we don’t come out for you within a half hour, you’re to tell the coachman to drive you straight back.”

Blinking, Cora rose to a sitting position. After a lazy stretch, she peered out the window, just as they were drawing up to the house.

“La!” she said. “Isn’t that just the picture of a fright. I’m not staying in the coach alone. I want to come in with you.”

“We don’t know what we’ll meet with inside,” Rhys said. “There may be danger.”

“I thought I was here to identify the man. How can I do that from here? I tell you, I’m not staying in this coach.”

As the carriage rolled to a halt, Bellamy leaned forward. “What will you do? Run off into the fog again?”

“I didn’t run off into the fog. I do know better than that, it’s just what everyone assumed.” She sighed. “I suppose I’m used to being thought stupid.”

“You’d rather be thought a whore?”

“I’m not a whore! Not any longer. I never took a penny from Mr. Myles. It wasn’t at all like you’re thinking.” She cast a brief, fearful look at Rhys. “Or what you supposed, my lord. Gideon was very kind to me. We have a great deal in common, it seems. We talked all night. Mostly.”

“Oh, mostly,” Bellamy echoed. “And now I suppose you’re in love with this criminal.”

“What if I were?” Cora said. “I don’t see that it’s any of your affair.”

“The way you were so in love with Leo after an hour in his company, then stripped his corpse of every last coin before dumping it on my doorstep?”

Cora’s lip quivered. “I can’t believe you’d say that. I might have left Leo there, you know. Let him die on the street, unclaimed and alone.”

Rhys sighed heavily. “Leave off, Bellamy. God only knows what manner of lies the cur fed her, just to get under her skirts. She’s not a bad girl, just too easily swayed.”

Cora’s bronze lashes trembled as she studied her hands. “Perhaps I am.”

Bellamy said hotly, “I’m only—”

“You’re only being an ass. I know. We’re all getting weary of it. Let’s hope it’s a curable condition.”

He suspected it was. Bellamy was clearly still mourning the loss of his friend. He was hungry for answers; Cora craved affection. Rhys sympathized with them both, but he wasn’t good with comfort or diplomacy. He had precisely two methods at his disposal for remedying people’s problems: his right fist and his left. Yesterday he’d dealt with Gideon Myles. Today he’d see about Faraday.

The coach door swung open. Bellamy curled his fingers over the rooftop edge to help himself out. “Come along, then. Both of you.”

Rhys went first, then handed Cora out. They crossed an archipelago of stepping stones to reach the front entrance.

Bellamy extended his walking stick and rapped smartly on the door. “Hullo! We’re here for Mr. Peter Faraday.”

No answer. After a minute of waiting, Bellamy banged on the door again. “Hullo in there. Hullo!”

The latch scraped. Finally, the door creaked open a space of inches. An ancient manservant revealed a thin slice of himself through the crack. Not that he likely had much more to show them. He was rather a thin slice of a man to start, dusted with powder-white hair. He’d missed a button on his waistcoat, and as the result or perhaps the cause, his whole body was askew.

“Beg pardon,” Bellamy told the aging servant. “We’ve traveled from London to speak with Mr. Peter Faraday on a matter of some urgency.”