Twice Tempted by a Rogue (Stud Club #2)

“I’ve been working. It’s what we simple country folk do. Not all of us can afford to spend our time swanning about London in the latest fashions.”


“Welcome to the Three Hounds, sir.” Meredith appeared at Rhys’s side, surprising him with her speed. She’d entered by the back way to discreetly change into dry clothing, and she’d certainly done so with haste. She’d woven her damp hair into a single plait hanging down her back, and she wore another of her simple frocks, this one a cinnamon color.

Beneath that dress, her skin would still be cool to the touch. She would taste of spring water, crisp and sweet. Perhaps she was still wet for him, even now.

As if she could hear Rhys’s lascivious thoughts, she cleared her throat in rebuke. To Bellamy she said, “Can I bring you and your lady friend some refreshment?”

“Brandy for me,” Bellamy said. He spoke over his shoulder. “What are you drinking?”

“Oh!” The yellow-haired girl perked, abandoning her examination of her fingernails. “Raspberry shrub would be lovely.”

Meredith choked on a laugh. “As a general habit, we don’t do pink and bubbly in this establishment, but I think I’ve a bottle of cordial somewhere. Will that do?”

“Yes, please.”

Meredith gave Rhys an amused glance as she headed for the bar. “Do have a seat, the three of you.”

By the time Rhys and Bellamy settled themselves at the table, she was back, bearing a tray with a tumbler of brandy, a skinny glass of cordial, and a pint of ale, which she set before Rhys. He loved that she knew what he’d drink without asking. But he hated that she was serving them, when by all rights she ought to be a lady, with a fleet of servants to wait on her.

And damn, what kind of gentleman was he, allowing her to serve him this way? Belatedly, he pushed back from the table and stood. It was a meager gesture of respect, but it was something. As she lingered over the task of distributing drinks, Rhys could tell she was curious just what this conference was about. So was he, for that matter.

“Join us.” Rhys offered the chair next to his. “Mr. Julian Bellamy, this is Mrs. Meredith Maddox. She’s the proprietor of the Three Hounds.”

“We need to speak privately,” Bellamy said. He shot a glance at Meredith. “With all due respect.”

“She’s also my future wife.” Rhys pulled out the chair. “And if this is about Leo Chatwick’s murder, she already knows as much as I do.”

He chanced a look at Meredith. Her eyes had gone the dark gray of thunderclouds, and they were twice as agitated. He shrugged, well aware that he wasn’t playing fair. Now she had a choice: Accept the label of future wife, or abandon all curiosity about the conversation.

He stood there, poised with the empty chair, awaiting her decision.

“It’s my inn,” she said finally, taking the chair from Rhys’s grasp. “I’ll sit where I please.”

And sit she did.

“Fine,” Bellamy said. “This is Cora Dunn. She’s the one who found Leo after the attack and brought him to my home.”

Ah, so this was the prostitute who’d witnessed the murder. And she’d found more than Leo’s senseless form, if Rhys remembered the story right. When they first learned of the murder, it had been assumed Leo was alone when he was attacked. There was no way to confirm it, however, since the whore who recovered his body had disappeared.

But just two weeks ago, the remaining members of the Stud Club had all been together in Gloucestershire when a stunning revelation was made: Not only had the prostitute been found, but she reported that Leo had been with another man when he was attacked—and his companion’s appearance closely matched that of Julian Bellamy.

“So,” Rhys said to the girl. “Who was Leo with that night?”

She twisted her glass of cordial by the long, slender stem. “Well, I don’t know, do I? A man who looked a great deal like Mr. Bellamy here.”

“But he wasn’t me,” Bellamy interjected.

“Could have been,” Cora said, sipping her cordial. “I saw him in a darkened alley, you know, and his face was smeared with blood. Don’t know as I’d recognize the gent now, were we sitting face to face.”

Bellamy swore under his breath. “We’ve been through this. I set the fashion for brainless young bucks of the ton. They ape my hair, my attire, my mannerisms. Lots of young men look like me. This one wasn’t me.”

“Well, of course I don’t believe so.” The girl bit her lip. “But the two of you do look remarkably like. And his clothes were beautiful.” Propping her chin in her hand, she went on wistfully, “Had a waistcoat of velvet with gold stitching. That stitching glittered, even in the dark. What I wouldn’t give to have embroidery half so fine.”

A fit of coughing overtook Meredith. She reached for Rhys’s ale and helped herself to a long draught.