Twice Tempted by a Rogue (Stud Club #2)

Could it be she knew something of the truth? He’d never spoken about that night, not to anyone.

With deep regret, he withdrew his fingers from her body and took her by the waist, setting her back on the boulder. She bit her quivering lip, and he rubbed his hands up and down her arms to warm them. He tried, very hard, to ignore the tight knots of her ni**les, thrown into stark relief by her wet gown.

“Merry …”

“I’m not looking!” The voice came from somewhere above.

Rhys started. “What? Who the—”

“Hullo!” the call came once more. “Hullo, down there! I’m up here. But don’t you worry, I won’t peek!”

“It’s Darryl,” she muttered through chattering teeth. “I’d know that voice anywhere.”

Sure enough, Rhys looked up to see Darryl Tewkes edging his way along the overhang, both hands pressed to cover his eyes.

“I’m not looking!” he repeated. “I know you may very well be indecent, so I’m not looking. I swear it.”

The youth took a step closer to the edge.

“Look!” Meredith and Rhys shouted as one.

Darryl froze.

“For God’s sake, Darryl,” she said. “Open your eyes. We’re clothed, we just had a …” She gave Rhys a wry smile. “A mishap.”

That was one way to put it.

“Oh. All right, then.” The youth uncovered his eyes. He glanced down at his feet, mere inches from the edge, and jumped back with a shout.

Rhys shook his head, chuckling. The fool would be twitching all day now.

Grasping a mossy stone for leverage, he hoisted himself out of the pool. Thanks to the cold water, his arousal had flagged rather quickly, all things considering. In fact, he suspected his bollocks might have drawn up into his ribcage.

He extended a hand to Meredith, and she took it. Pulling her out was no easy task, with the weight of her sodden petticoats and gown complicating matters, but they managed it together, and soon enough she stood dripping on solid ground. The sprigged muslin of her gown was all but translucent, hugging her every bump and curve.

Confronted with this sight, poor Darryl Tewkes just didn’t know what to do with himself. He raised a hand to his eyes again, then thought better of it and forced the hand back to his side. Eventually he settled for staring up at the sky.

“My coat’s up there on the outcropping,” Rhys called. “Give it here, will you?”

“Oh. Certainly.” Darryl did as asked. Except that he nearly tossed the coat straight into the pool. Only a quick, acrobatic snag from Rhys saved it from a watery end.

He exhaled with limited forbearance. “Tewkes, I’m assuming we’re all headed back to the inn. Why don’t you walk around the falls and meet us down here? And bring my boots.”

“Absolutely, my lord.”

The youth disappeared once again, and Rhys took the opportunity to drape his coat securely about Meredith’s shoulders.

When Darryl emerged through the trees, she asked, “So what’s this about? Why are you after us?” Her complexion went to ash in an instant. “It’s not Father?”

“No,” Darryl assured her. “No. But Lord, I’ve been walking all over this moor, looking for the two of you. There’s a man down at the inn. Quite fancy sort, just come in this morning from London.” A twitching eye turned on Rhys. “He’s looking for you, Lord Ashworth.”

When they reached the Three Hounds after another quarter hour of walking, Rhys was fairly certain who they’d meet. So it was no shock to enter the tavern and spy Julian Bellamy occupying the corner table.

What was a surprise, however, was Bellamy’s companion. He had a girl with him. A very pretty girl, who couldn’t be older than twenty. She had curled yellow hair and an innocent blush that seemed at odds with her lush figure. On closer inspection, that blush looked to be painted on. Strange. Rhys wouldn’t have figured Bellamy to be traveling with a doxy. From all evidence a few weeks ago, the man was in unmitigated, unrequited love with Lady Lily Chatwick, the Stud Club founder’s grieving sister.

When Bellamy caught sight of Rhys, he rose from the table and met him in the center of the room, directing his friend to remain seated. From the table, the girl gave Rhys an uneasy look.

He was used to those looks. And with his still-damp breeches, muddied boots, and bits of moss clinging to his coat, Rhys supposed he must look a fright. Even more so than usual.

“I know I asked you to send my things from London,” he said, greeting Bellamy with a nod. “But I didn’t expect a personal delivery.”

“Arrived not a moment too soon, it would seem.” Bellamy cast a disapproving glance at Rhys’s bedraggled attire. As always, the man himself was turned out in stylish, tailored velvet. “Good Lord, what have they done to you out here?”