Twice Tempted by a Rogue (Stud Club #2)

Underneath that, in smaller letters, BOTH COMMITTED TO BEDLAM.

“Left your cask of Madeira in the storeroom.” Gideon Myles appeared. He plunked a ceramic figurine on the counter. “And this washed up in a cove near Plymouth.”

“Did it now?” Meredith took the china shepherdess in her hand and examined it in the light. It was finely made and carefully painted. Exquisite.

Fragile.

“Astonishing,” she said, “that such a thing would survive being tossed about the waves and thrown up against a rocky shoreline.”

“Is it?” Gideon said innocently, his mouth tipping in a grin. The man was devilish handsome, and he knew it. Not only knew it, but made use of it. As an intermediary between Devonshire’s coastal smugglers and the markets of Bristol, London, and beyond, Gideon used that roguish charm to line his pockets, warm his nights, and generally have an ungodly amount of fun.

“Rather a miracle,” she said.

“Thought she would look well in one of your redecorated rooms. Add a touch of class, you know.”

“That she will.” She smiled down at the shepherdess. “Very thoughtful of you, Gideon. I’m grateful.”

His brow quirked. “How grateful?”

Impossible flirt. “Pint-of-ale grateful.”

“Damn. Was hoping for straight-to-bed grateful. But I won’t turn down the drink. Next time, I’ll bring a string of bloody emeralds.”

“I don’t expect those wash up in coves too often,” she said, sliding him a tankard of ale.

He gave her a devious smile. “Just have to know where to look.” He threw back half his ale in one draught, and when he lowered the drink, his demeanor had changed. He stacked his arms on the bar. “What’s Ashworth doing back in Devonshire?”

“How should I know?”

He stared at her, silently letting her know he didn’t believe her ignorance for one moment.

Meredith shrugged. “Well, he’s inherited the lands now, hasn’t he? Only natural that he’d stop by to have a look at them.” With a careful air of indifference, she added, “Perhaps he wants to start fulfilling his role as Lord Ashworth.”

Gideon coughed. “Why would he want to do that? I might just as soon take up the old vicar’s legacy.”

He forced a chuckle, but Meredith caught the wounded glint in his eyes. Gideon Myles had been orphaned as a small boy when his parents fell victim to a fever. The vicar had taken him in, sheltered and educated him for many years. But when the living dried up, the clergyman left the village and abandoned Gideon to fend for himself at the age of thirteen.

“Shouldn’t you like to be a vicar?” she asked. He laughed again, and she protested, “No, I mean it. I think you’d be better suited to the clergy than you credit. For all you cultivate that roguish image, you’ve a good heart beneath.” She laid a fingertip on the ceramic lamb kneeling at his mistress’s feet. “And a quick mind, as well. You’re far too intelligent to be engaging in petty crime as a profession.”

He looked away, and she thought she caught a blush rising on his throat. “Options are limited in these parts, aren’t they?” He shook his head. “No, it’s a devil’s life for me. But lately I’m becoming far too acquainted with celibacy.”

She laughed off his suggestive glance, knowing the words were just idle flirtation. As she’d told Rhys, Gideon was a business associate and a friend. Nothing more. Granted, he was a strapping man with a natural drive, and he probably wouldn’t refuse an invitation to her bed. But she liked him too much to risk ruining things for a night or two of pleasure. That’s why the few lovers she’d taken since Maddox died were all travelers passing through. No risk of emotional attachment.

Looking back, maybe that’s why she’d always been so drawn to Rhys. He was always in motion—running, riding, brawling, fighting his way across the Continent. He was a man who’d never allow anything to hold him in one place.

Except now he was back, vowing to do just that—stay in one place.

“He said he wants to rebuild Nethermoor Hall.” The words slipped out.

With a violent curse, Gideon plunked down his tankard. “Why the devil would he want to do that? It’s worthless moorland up there.”

“I know it, but Rhys said …” Her voice trailed off as she realized her slip.

His eyes flashed. “Oh, Rhys said? On cozy terms with him, are you?”

“Not like that,” she replied tartly. “Not that it’s any of your business.”