Twice Tempted by a Rogue (Stud Club #2)

“I’m certain you do.” If he was going to spend a night in this hole, at the least he was going to do so while warm to the marrow and drunk out of his skull.

They cleared a small depression in the ground to use as a firepit. Rhys arranged the broken planks, propping them against one another, and Meredith stuffed the gaps with straw. Then she cracked the top off a bottle of brandy with a stone and dashed a liberal amount of spirits over the kindling. One spark from the lamp, and …

Whoosh.

They had a fire.

For a moment, the flames blazed so high, so bright, that Rhys stood frozen, accosted by memories of the last time Nethermoor had seen roaring flames. His heart kicked into a gallop, and sweat broke out on his brow. But the brandy quickly flamed out, and the fire settled down to a small, respectable, unthreatening size. One might have called it cozy. Even romantic.

Adding to the effect, Meredith unrolled a fantastically expensive-looking Afghan carpet and arranged it alongside the fire. “Oh look,” she said, prying open a newly revealed trunk. “Furs.” A pile of sable and ermine soon graced the carpet’s geometric design.

Good God. A small fortune was stored in this cellar.

While she dug about for cups, Rhys took the dying lamp and went to inspect the entrance. As he’d suspected, rocks had shifted and fallen, covering the opening completely. They might be movable, if he could wedge a board or bar in just the right place. But until he had some daylight shining through, he’d have little way of knowing whether his efforts were making matters better or worse.

When he scrambled back down to the cellar floor, he found Meredith brushing the packing straw from a silver tea service. Lifting her skirt, she reached beneath for a fold of clean petticoat to wipe the cups clean.

“There you are,” she said, pouring brandy into a teacup and holding it out to him. “Is it hopeless?”

“No. But it’s not worth trying to dig our way out tonight.”

“Then come be comfortable, and save your strength for the morning.”

They nestled into the furs side by side, but not embracing. A long, empty night together stretched out before them. It didn’t seem possible to him that they’d get through it without having a certain conversation, so he decided to confront it head-on.

“So what is it, then? Your answer.” In the ensuing silence, he took an anxious, overlarge swallow of his brandy. It burned all the way down.

She drank, too. Finally she whispered, “I’m still not sure.”

Shaking his head, he quietly swore. This time, he tossed back an even larger draught of brandy. Because he knew it would burn, and he welcomed it.

“Are you angry?”

“Why should I be angry?”

“You have every reason in the world to be angry, Rhys. I don’t know how you can even sit in this place and remain so calm.”

He wasn’t too sure himself. Brandy had something to do with it. He took another drink, then let his head roll back against the clammy surface of the wall.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked.

“Talk about what? Marriage, or lack thereof? I think we’ve talked that out.”

“Not marriage. About … the past. About this place.”

He kept quiet, hoping she would be clever enough to take his silence as a sign that no, he did not want to talk about it.

“I know he beat you here.”

He tensed his jaw, to keep from growling at her to shut hers. She hadn’t accepted him. She didn’t have the right to keep poking at his wounds, tracing his scars …

“Everyone in service at Nethermoor knew.”

“This pit is soundproof,” he bit out. “No one knew what went on down here.”

“Well, I suppose no one did know, not precisely. But it was impossible not to notice the evidence after the fact. And what do you think he did when you went off to school? Do you suppose he gave up violence for the winter term?”

A hot coal lodged in his chest. He could barely manage to form the words. “Did he hit you?”

“No. No, not me.”

A drop of sweat rolled from his brow to his ear. Thank God. If he found out his father had hurt Meredith, Rhys truly would have lost control.

“My father was very careful,” she said. “He never let me run about the Hall, never would have allowed me to work for the man. But there were others who didn’t have a father looking out for them.”

“And then there was me, whose father was the problem. No escape.”

“Tell me what happened. Just have out with it, and you’ll feel better.”