Bellamy leaned over the table and drilled him with a look. “Well, you’ll come out of retirement for this. You’re a member of the Club, and Leo was our founder. You owe him that much, to avenge his death.”
Uncertainty quirked the corner of Rhys’s mouth. Just what did he owe Leo Chatwick? This Club of his had done nothing for him. But it was Leo’s murder that had finally convinced Rhys of the futility of chasing after death. If Leo hadn’t been killed, Rhys might not have returned to Buckleigh-in-the-Moor for years. This one chance at redemption might have been a long time coming.
Perhaps he did owe Leo a great deal.
“Find the man first,” Rhys said. “Then we’ll talk.”
Chapter Ten
During his brief stay at the Three Hounds, Mr. Julian Bellamy did precisely one thing to endear himself to Meredith. He left before dawn.
By contrast, she’d expected Cora to sleep until noon—wasn’t that what ladies of the night must do? So the girl’s appearance during morning baking was a true surprise.
“Good morning, Mrs. Maddox.”
Meredith lifted a board lined with risen yeast rolls and sneezed at a puff of flour. “Mr. Bellamy has already left for London.”
“Yes, ma’am. I gathered as much.”
Cora was all fresh-faced innocence this morning. No paint or powder to obscure her fair complexion, and her blond hair was styled in a simple knot. Her china-blue muslin day dress was low-cut and in want of a fichu, but otherwise unremarkable in style or quality.
And despite all this, she was still a very pretty girl. Perhaps prettier than she’d been yesterday. Which made Meredith think the girl would be trouble.
She didn’t like having Cora in the inn, but she liked the alternatives less. There was no way this harlot was staying in any private residence—be it a London town house or moorland hovel—belonging to Rhys. Meredith might have refused the man’s offer of marriage once or twice, but she wasn’t resigning all interest in him. Not after yesterday at the pool, when she’d been inches away from making years of fantasies come true.
She wrenched open the oven door, and a wave of heat swamped her. Sweat beaded instantly on her brow and neck. Her defenses were momentarily stripped. Memories rushed in.
His strong arms anchoring her in the pool. Their tongues, mating with wild abandon. The hot, swollen tip of his arousal gliding under her touch, silky as twice-milled flour.
His fingers, so thick inside her …
She thrust the bread into the oven and banged the door shut. Focus, Meredith. Her torrid daydreams had already scorched the first batch of rolls.
“Breakfast is over,” she told Cora, wiping her hands on her apron. “And the noon meal will be awhile yet. But there will be fresh bread in a few minutes. Do you take coffee or tea?”
“I don’t suppose there’s chocolate?”
A pretty face and a taste for sweets? Trouble. “I’m afraid not.”
“Then tea, please.”
When Meredith moved to put the kettle on, the girl intervened. “Oh, let me do it, ma’am. When I lived in London, I always made tea for the girls in the house. I’ve a knack for it.”
Meredith surrendered the kettle. As she watched the girl fill it with water and place it on the hob, she cleared her throat and brought out her sternest voice. “Listen, Cora. We both know this discussion is coming, so we may as well have it over with now.”
The girl’s eyebrows arched in surprise, as if she’d no idea what Meredith was going to say. “Yes, ma’am?”
“This is my inn, and it’s a respectable establishment. The local men who come in here of an evening—they’re going to take quite an interest in you. But even if you are a friend of Lord Ashworth’s, I warn you now, I won’t abide any mischief.”
“Oh, yes, ma’am. I’m not wanting any mischief. I know Mr. Bellamy said he’d pay my account, but I’d rather work for my keep.”
Meredith narrowed her eyes. “I thought I just told you—”
“Oh, not that kind of work.” The kettle rumbled. Cora plucked a towel from the table and wrapped it about her hand before removing the kettle from the hob. “That life was never what I wanted. I hardly know how it happened. I was living in Dover—that’s where I was raised. My mother worked as a seamstress there, and one day she sent me to the market. I was dallying with friends on my way home, and a fancy gent drove by in a splendid coach. Handsome as anything, he was. He opened the door and called me a pretty little thing and asked, would I like to ride with him to London? Why certainly I would. Always wanted to see London, what girl didn’t?” She frowned. “Where’s the tea?”
Meredith motioned toward the tea caddy.
Biting her lip, Cora measured tea leaves into the pot with childlike concentration. She was such a strange mix of girl and woman. Meredith couldn’t decide which she was feigning: the innocence, or the worldliness.
Twice Tempted by a Rogue (Stud Club #2)
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