Twice Tempted by a Rogue (Stud Club #2)

She could only stare at him, transfixed with disbelief.

“Do you know what I wonder?” His little smile crawled over her skin. “I wonder if he’ll truly haunt us when he’s dead. I hope he does. The travelers would like that. I’ll have to change my story a bit, but that’s all right. What do you think, Mrs. Maddox?” he asked, moving toward her. “Which sounds better? ‘The Phantom Lord’? Or ‘The Ghostly Baron’?”

“Neither,” she said, stepping back. A floorboard creaked. Her fingers tightened around the sewing scissors in her hand. “Don’t come any closer. You’re frightening me.”

“They’re just stories, Mrs. Maddox. And it’s only me. You know me.”

“No, I don’t think I do.”

“Don’t be angry.” He moved closer. “I did it for you. For us. We were doing well for ourselves until Lord Ashworth came back. Bringing his fancy London friend and that harlot around, making trouble for the whole village. He tore up the tavern, tried to take you away.” Darryl gestured angrily. “I couldn’t watch him destroy the Three Hounds, Mrs. Maddox. I’ve worked too hard for that place.”

He’d worked too hard? “Darryl, you fool. No one’s worked harder for that place than I have. And I’m telling you, Lord Ashworth’s return was the best thing to ever happen to Buckleigh-in-the-Moor. The best thing to ever happen to me. How dare you, you …”

Despite all her resolve to be strong, Meredith began to tremble. Her eyes fluttered closed, and horrid possibilities flashed behind them. Rhys always claimed to be indestructible, but no man was immortal. What if Darryl had somehow managed to …

No.

She opened her eyes, and she knew. She just knew, with a profound, bone-deep certainty, that everything was going to be fine.

“You’re wrong, Darryl. Lord Ashworth is coming back. Not as a ghost or a phantom, but alive and whole.”

“Now, Mrs. Maddox, you’re not listening …”

“No, I’m not. I’m telling you, he’s coming back. I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life.”

“Why is that?”

“Because he’s standing behind you right now.”

Darryl froze. He gulped loudly. His eyelashes danced a wild jig as he turned by slow degrees, then tilted his head up.

And up.

And up, all the way to Rhys’s waiting glare.

“Boo.” With a lightning-quick motion, Rhys grabbed Darryl by the throat. The younger man squirmed and sputtered, clawing in vain at Rhys’s grip.

“You scheming little bastard,” Rhys snarled. “I knew I didn’t like you.”

“Is Cora well?” Meredith asked, nearly beside herself with emotion.

“She’s well.” Rhys tightened his grip, and the shade of Darryl’s face deepened from scarlet to plum. “But she could have died. We all could have died.” He gave the youth a shake. “I’ve a mind to throw you in the bog, let the wild pigs sniff you out.”

Tears were streaming down Darryl’s face by this point, and his violet complexion was tending toward blue.

“Rhys,” Meredith said, tilting her head toward the youth. “Please.”

He instantly released his grip.

“Damn,” Rhys muttered as Darryl fell to the floor, dragging in air with raspy gulps. “Lucky for you, this is the week I give up killing men with my bare hands.”

“Gads.” Darryl writhed on the floor, clutching his stomach and gasping like a fish plucked from a stream.

“Can’t. Breathe.”

Rhys glared at him. “Burns, doesn’t it?”

Darryl’s head jerked in response.

“Good. I’m glad.” Rhys turned to Meredith. “I know that feeling, Merry.” He spoke low and only to her. “I’ve dangled at the brink of death more times than I can count. And that steep climb back to life, it hurts like hell. The pain of an injury is over in seconds. Everything that comes after is the pain of getting well.” He gave her a heartfelt look, full of apology. “I’d forgotten that, you see. Coming back to life … It hurts.”

She nodded, understanding him perfectly. His was a battered soul, and her love … it must have hit him like gin dashed over an open wound. But he was back here, ready to take more of it, no matter how it pained him inside. Because he was the bravest man on God’s earth.

And he was hers. All hers, at last. Her heart swelled with joy.

From the floor, Darryl moaned.

“Get out,” Rhys growled at him. “Get out, and begone. Unless you want to spend eternity haunting those ruins yourself, you will not let me find you.”

Still gasping for air, Darryl crawled toward the ladder on his belly. At a painfully slow rate, he disappeared from the loft. A dull thud suggested he’d taken the last few rungs the hard way. At last, they heard the door swing on its hinges.

When Meredith and Rhys were finally alone, he turned to her. His brow furrowed with concentration.