Twice Tempted by a Rogue (Stud Club #2)

Bellamy nodded.

“Now wait a minute,” Meredith said. “I run a respectable establishment. The Three Hounds isn’t that kind of inn.”

“I’ll pay all her expenses,” Bellamy said. “She won’t need to ply her trade. She just needs a place to stay. If Leo’s killers knew she was a witness, she could be in danger.” He turned to Rhys. “I thought the inn would be ideal, unless you have someplace else in mind. Have you a personal residence?”

“She’ll stay here.” Meredith rose to her feet, suddenly every inch the welcoming landlady. “Come along then, Cora. You must be fatigued. We’ll find you a room and leave the men to their conversation.”

Cora rose from the table, and Meredith beckoned her with a motherly hand. “Mr. Bellamy, will you be needing accommodations as well?”

“Just for the night.”

“Very good, then. The Three Hounds is delighted to welcome you.” The tone in her voice, however, was not a very convincing rendition of delight. “I’ll prepare a room for you, too.”

“He can have mine,” Rhys said. To her confused frown, he added in a low voice, “I’ll be camping out on the moor from now on. To discourage a repeat of this morning’s events.”

“Which events?” she whispered. “The ones at your building site, or the ones …” Her eyes flashed up toward the bedchambers.

“Both,” he said simply.

Her frown deepened.

After the ladies left them, Bellamy shot Rhys a strange look. “You’re marrying? After Leo’s death … when we discussed Lily’s future, you said you didn’t want to marry.”

“I didn’t. Not then.” And he still had no interest in marrying Leo Chatwick’s grieving twin sister. Lily was a refined, elegant lady—in the royal line, if he correctly recalled. Rhys wasn’t the man for her.

Neither was Julian Bellamy, a fact that explained the man’s persistent ill humor. If ever there was a man who discussed his childhood less willingly than Rhys, it was Bellamy. No one knew where he’d come from, and Rhys himself couldn’t have cared less. But where a lady of Lily Chatwick’s rank was concerned … even Rhys knew such things mattered. Greatly.

“So you’re telling me that in the past week, this widowed landlady has somehow changed your mind?”

“Aye.”

Bellamy riffled his unkempt shock of hair. “Don’t get me wrong. She’s a comely enough bit of goods, but … a trifle hard around the edges, don’t you think?”

“What makes you say that? Because she challenged you?” Rhys chuckled. “She’s a strong woman.” And sweet, and soft, and secretly vulnerable, and like hot silk between her thighs. But he preferred to keep those sides of Meredith to himself. “She works hard, and she won’t brook any nonsense.”

“I could see that.”

Rhys flexed his hand until his knuckles cracked. “A man like me has no use for delicate porcelain types.”

“Point acknowledged.”

“How’s Lily?”

Bellamy sighed roughly. “Delicate. As porcelain. Leo’s heir will arrive from Egypt in a matter of months, and she’ll have to vacate the house. I don’t know what Lily expects to do then, but she refuses to discuss it. Says she’ll deal with it on her own.” He finished off his brandy with an angry draught. “On her own. What is the world coming to, with these modern women? A man can’t tell them what to do.”

“Don’t I know it,” Rhys muttered, still thinking of Meredith’s frown. If she was unhappy about his decision to stay on the moor, she could easily change it by marrying him. After that incident in the pool, he knew he’d never make it through another night under the same roof without bedding her.

“Lily’s after me to cease hunting for Leo’s killers. Says it’s useless.” Bellamy shook his head. “There’s no way I’ll stop. Not until I find the men responsible and see them hanged. Or worse.” He looked to Rhys. “That’s where you come in.”

“Let me guess. I’m the ‘worse.’”

He nodded. “I’ll admit, these past weeks have been fruitless. I’ve been searching for two nameless, faceless brutes … not an easy task. Cora’s story has given me new hope. It’s much easier to find a dandy than two common ruffians. There are fewer of them, to start, and gold embroidery does stand out in a crowd. I’ll find him, mark my words. And when I do, I’ll send word to you. We’ll need to get the truth out of him. And you promised to lend muscle, if you recall.”

“I recall.” He tapped his stiff finger against the tankard. When he’d made that offer, he’d have picked a fight with anything big and angry, just in hopes of losing for a change. “But things are different now. I have responsibilities here. And I think I’m done with brawling.”