Twice Tempted by a Rogue (Stud Club #2)

“You’re a lying bastard,” Bellamy snarled. “I’m not going anywhere until you tell us the truth. I want answers.”


Faraday’s eyes snapped up. “I’ve given you answers. A good many of them. Here are some more. What are my parents’ names? Jason and Emmeline Faraday. My childhood home? In Yorkshire. Where did I have my education? At Harrow and Cambridge. I’m just full of honest answers to those kinds of questions, Mr. Bellamy.” He set his teacup down with a crack. “What about you?”

“My history has nothing to do with this.”

“Oh, I suspect it does. And I think I deserve to hear it, considering that I’ve spent the past months recovering from blows meant for you.”

A tense silence saturated the room. Bellamy tapped Rhys’s shoulder and jerked his head toward the corner. Taking the hint, Rhys rose from his seat on the divan and followed him.

“What?” he said.

“Time for muscle,” Bellamy whispered.

Rhys shook his head. “For God’s sake, the man’s already injured.”

“You have to see he’s lying.”

“I suspect he’s not being entirely truthful.”

“Call it what you want, he’s hiding something. If you hit him hard enough, you’ll shake his secrets loose.”

“Perhaps.” Rhys gave him a cool look. “And if I hit you hard enough, I could shake loose all of yours.” He let the threat sink in a few seconds before adding, “But I’m not going to do it. I’m not a bully, as someone reminded me recently.” Someone he missed more acutely with each passing minute.

“Goddamn it, Ashworth. Leo—”

“Leo,” Rhys interjected, “wouldn’t want me to hit him. I’m certain of it.”

“I’ll do it then.”

“No, you won’t.” Rhys put a hand on Bellamy’s shoulder. Then he tightened his grip, by slow degrees, until he was sure the man comprehended his meaning.

“Mr. Bellamy,” Faraday said, bracing his hands on the armrests and struggling to his feet, “I assure you, I’ve given you all the help I can. If you want to find Leo’s murderers, there’s really only one question that needs answering.”

“Oh, really?” Bellamy said. “What’s that?”

“Who wants you dead?”

“Who wants me dead?” Bellamy muttered to himself from where he’d sunk into the corner of the coach. “The better question would be, who doesn’t want me dead?”

“I don’t want you dead,” Rhys said. Then he added honestly, “But then I’m rather ambivalent to your general existence.” His teeth rattled as they jounced over a rut in the lane. “Weren’t you with a woman that night?” he asked. “A married lady, if I recall. Thought she was the reason you cried off the boxing match. What was her name again?”

“Carnelia. Lady Carnelia Hightower. But if her husband intended to murder her lovers, I’d be holding up the end of a very long queue.” Bellamy sighed. “No, it wasn’t him. But there are others.”

“Other jealous husbands? Or other enemies?”

“Both. What do you care?”

Rhys shrugged. “I suppose I don’t. Where are we headed, then?”

“I’m for Town. I’ll have to go to ground, skulk around a bit and see what I can find.”

“What about the girl?” Rhys asked. “I can’t offer her protection anymore.” He’d go to London, too. See his solicitor there, discuss arrangements for the estate and George Lane’s pension. Then he’d think about what to do next. Perhaps the army again. He could buy back his commission. Or there was mercenary work, if he wanted a change of pace. England wasn’t currently at war, but surely there was something that needed destroying somewhere. Preferably somewhere far away. Maybe if he put an ocean between himself and Meredith, this fierce ache in his chest would ease.

“Kindly don’t discuss me as if I’m not here,” Cora said, hugging her arms across her chest. “I should think I’d be free to do as I please, now that you’ve found Mr. Faraday. And I want to go back to the Three Hounds.”

“Why would you want to return there?” asked Bellamy.

“I like working at the inn. I like the villagers, and they like me. I was happy there.”

The coach took a sharp curve in the road, and they all leaned into the turn.

Bellamy said, “This is about that Gideon Myles, isn’t it?”

“Not completely,” the girl replied, blushing. “But yes, in part.”

“Nothing good will come of it, you know. The man’s a petty smuggler.”

“Smuggler or no, he cares for me.” She glanced at Rhys. “There’s someone in Buckleigh-in-the-Moor who cares for you too, my lord. Don’t you want to go back?”