Twice Tempted by a Rogue (21 page)

He shook his head. “Even if I could decide between the many contenders for that distinction … I’d never answer you that.”

“Never? Why not?”

“Because you should never witness the hell of war. You shouldn’t even hear about it secondhand. That’s the whole reason we were fighting, to spare innocent people like you such ugliness. I’ll be damned if I’ll personally acquaint you with it now.” He turned his head to the window. End of discussion.

She sighed, wishing he wouldn’t close himself off to her. If he only knew how much of his pain she’d already witnessed.

“Thank you,” she said.

“For what?”

“For your service. For fighting. I’d imagine you don’t hear that enough.” At least, he likely hadn’t heard it from anyone in the village, including her. “Your regiment was England’s most decorated, I understand.”

“Who told you that?”

“I read it in the newspaper once.” Or twice. Or several dozen times.

“I had the honor to serve with many good, valiant men.”

“And you were one of those good, valiant men. You
led
them.”

He shrugged. “I’m here. Far too many of them aren’t.”

She didn’t dare admit it, but she knew every last ribbon and medal and citation he’d been awarded. They numbered almost as many as his scars. The thought that he’d incurred them all with the vague idea he’d be sparing her and others a bit of ugliness …

“I admire you,” she said.

The poor man. He looked utterly panicked. As if she’d lobbed him a snarling weasel, rather than an honest compliment. Actually, he probably would have dealt with the weasel more handily.

“Truly, Rhys. I admire you. And I wish you’d allow yourself more credit for everything you’ve accomplished, instead of throwing it back on fate all the time.” She gave him a sly smile. “And to that end, I think I’ll honor you by hanging a plaque in the tavern, engraved with your name and rank. Our local war hero.”

He just laughed and rubbed his eyes. “There are all kinds of courage in the world, and most of it takes place far from battlefields.” His gaze caught hers, warm and honest. “That whole inn is a monument to your bravery, Meredith Lane Maddox. And I’m going to buy you every ribbon in Bath.”

Oh
. A lump formed in her throat. And her heart … her heart just melted. It meant so much, that he recognized the hard work and love she’d poured into that place.

“What is it?” He leaned forward until his knees knocked against hers. “What’s troubling you?”

“I’m just a bit fatigued,” she lied.

He crossed to sit beside her, putting an arm about her shoulder and drawing her head to his chest. She breathed deeply, enjoying his comforting male scent.

“There, now,” he said. “Are you comfortable?”

She nodded.

“Then sleep. You’ve all day to rest.”

They fell into an easy, companionable silence, which somehow spoke more eloquently than any of their conversations. Impulsively, she reached out to take his free hand in hers. Their fingers tangled. His thumb settled over her wrist, and her pulse pounded against it. She couldn’t help but lean against him and snuggle into his warmth, under the guise of sleeping. But she was doing no such thing. She was wide awake, unwilling to miss a single moment. Scenery in entirely new shades of green was flitting by outside, and she might never have another chance to view it, but she couldn’t be bothered to lift her cheek from his lapel. Instead, she closed her eyes, scrupulously memorizing each sensation he caused within her. Every yearning, every thrill, every ache.

This, too, was the experience of a lifetime.

Chapter Fifteen

With dry roads in their favor, they reached Bath just as the late summer sun kissed the horizon. Rhys was well pleased with the fair weather, and with his fair companion.

Meredith remained pasted to the window as they drove through the city, eyes wide and lips parted. As though it were not enough to look her fill of the surrounding landscape—she must drink and breathe it, too.

He watched her as intently as she watched the scenery rolling past, smiling to himself all the while.

When they arrived at the hotel, he was forced to abandon the pleasant occupation of noting her every gasp of wonder and reluctant blink. After procuring the finest suite of rooms, as previously arranged, he directed the footmen to unload the valises. He reserved for himself the pleasure of handing Meredith down from the coach.

“Good heavens,” she breathed, staring up at the hotel’s Roman-styled façade, all Bath stone columns and carved balustrades.

“It gets even better inside.”

She said not a word as a servant led them through the entrance hall, up a carpeted staircase, and down to the very end of the corridor. Rhys allowed her to pass through the door first, then followed her into the suite. The servants followed soon thereafter, and he exchanged a few words with them as they deposited the baggage.

Once they’d left, he turned to Meredith. There she stood in the center of the sitting room, a smudge of gray wool and dark hair against the cream-colored walls and carpet. She just remained there, perfectly still, hands clasped and eyes wide. Silent.

Rhys frowned. Her amazement had been entertaining to view earlier, but this continued silence was beginning to concern him. “Merry? Are you well?”

She shook her head. “I may cry.”

He hesitated. “Is that good or bad?”

“It’s terrible.” She swallowed hard, then pressed both hands to her cheeks as she tilted her neck to view the elaborate carved ceiling.

He took a step toward her. “Is there something wrong with the rooms?”

“Oh, no,” she said. “Nothing. That’s the problem.”

Now he was thoroughly confused.

She finally took pity on him and explained. “Rhys, this suite is … stunning. Elegant. Palatial. It’s enough to throw me into abject despair. If these are the sort of accommodations to which people of rank are accustomed, how can I ever hope to appease them at the Three Hounds? Why, one of the inn’s new bedchambers would likely fit in that closet!”

“That’s not true.”

“That’s not the point.” Sniffing, she turned to him. “Just look at this place. How can the inn ever hope to compete with establishments such as these?”

So. The superior quality of the place had her upset, not some deficiency. Smiling with relief, he crossed to her side and slid an arm around her shoulders. “Don’t you worry. You’re not competing with establishments like this one. This is one of the grandest hotels in all England. A resort for the country’s wealthiest lords and ladies. The Three Hounds is a coaching inn. Even the nobility have modest expectations when it comes to coaching inns.”

“Ah,” she said. “I see. So I still have some hope of meeting those ‘modest expectations’?”

Tsking softly, he squeezed her shoulder. “You’re already exceeding them.” When her shoulder muscles remained tense under his fingers, he added, “I’ve ordered a hot bath and a hot meal sent up. I know you find this suite devastating in its refinement, but try not to fling yourself off the balcony.”

She laughed and brightened instantly. “I’m sorry. I know I’m being ridiculous.” Turning in his embrace, she kissed his cheek. “Thank you. It’s simply magnificent.”

“Well, that’s better.” He released her, giving her an affectionate pat on the backside, and she immediately left his side to begin a closer inspection of a decorative alcove.

“Should I call for a servant to help you unpack?” he asked, crossing to their baggage where it sat by a large wardrobe. “Or do you trust me to play lady’s maid?”

“As you like,” she muttered distractedly, craning her neck to peer atop a high shelf and testing its cleanliness with her fingertip.

Rhys doubted she’d heard a word he’d said, but he took it upon himself to unpack the valises. The army had given him years of experience in packing and unpacking quickly. After shrugging out of his greatcoat, he set to work. He shook out and refolded their inner garments, then hung his coats next to her gowns. Of course, he had separate closets planned for the cottage, but he had to admit—he liked seeing their clothing mingled in the same wardrobe, her stockings nestled next to his cravats. It looked right, and—if a hulking brute of man like him could say such a thing—it looked sweet.

It also aroused him something fierce.

As he worked, Meredith made a slow circuit of the sitting room. She stopped to peer at each small object, inspected each stick of furniture and decorative detail. He could sense her making mental notes, storing up ideas and inspiration to bring home to the Three Hounds.

“I could never hang velvet drapes at the inn,” she lamented, fingering the edge of one dark blue curtain. “The dust would be horrible.” Her head tilted. “But I do like the way they’ve hung these draperies near the ceiling and let them fall almost to the ground. Makes the window appear larger than it is. I’ll have to remember that.”

Chewing her lip with concentration, she wandered off into the bedchamber.

Rhys sighed. When was she going to realize that a return to innkeeping wasn’t in her future? With an impatient yank, he dragged a pale, gauzy shift free of her valise. He wished she would cease paying so much attention to the furnishings and spare a thought for him.

“Oh!”

Her exclamation of surprise tugged him across the room. From the arch separating sitting room and bedchamber, he spied her at the side of the bed.

The
enormous
bed. The carved mahogany posts were hung with rich draping, and the bed itself was a billowing cloud of snow-white pillows and counterpanes.

“Oh, my,” she said. “What a bed. I’ve never seen its like.” Placing both hands flat on the mattress, she leaned forward, testing its softness and give. As she bounced her arms up and down, her bosom and backside teetered cheekily, as if in invitation.

Rhys’s hands fisted in the tissue-thin muslin, wrinkling it irrevocably. He cleared his throat. “Yes.”

She turned and looked at him. Her dark eyebrows rose, as though she expected him to go on.

He didn’t have a damn thing else to say. The only word in his brain was
yes. Yes, yes, yes
.

Well, and perhaps the word
now
.

She knew it, too. Those slender brows arched with amusement. “Yes,” she said, hiking her heavy traveling skirt and lifting one hip onto the mattress. “It is indeed a remarkable bed.”

Transferring her weight to that hip perched on the edge of the bed, she slowly reclined sideways, stretching out her arm as she did. It was a slow, sinuous motion, like that of a cat stretching into a patch of sun. Propping herself on an elbow, she made her body one long, dark ribbon of femininity unfurled atop the fringed white cushions.

At last. Now he had her complete, undivided attention.

His heart battered his ribs, threatening to splinter apart the old, imperfectly healed bones. Other parts of him stiffened to iron.

She gave him a coy, seductive smile. “Won’t you join me?”

Rhys’s mouth went dry. Despite all his intentions to wait, to tease, to ply her with ruthless, exquisite temptation, and finally seduce her into a formal engagement … they’d been here five minutes and he was the one with
yes
on his lips.
Yes, yes, yes
. He could not have said anything else.

“It’s useless to resist,” she said in a sultry voice, picking open the top button of her jacket. “We both know you’ll give in.” She hooked her finger under the second button and gave it a playful tug. “I’m a woman, Rhys. When it comes to the bedroom, my will is stronger than yours.”

He laughed a little. But the words gave him pause.

On instinct, he should have dismissed the idea out of hand. No one’s will was stronger than his. That was why he’d survived so many fights. Hadn’t he spent eleven years in the infantry, always charging into the first wave of blood, hoping to meet a stronger opponent? The man who would knock him to the ground and finally end it all, at last.

It had never happened.

Until now. And it wasn’t a man threatening to vanquish him with sabre or musket, but a woman. A woman with curves of satin and a spine of pure steel.
Give in
, she said.
My will is stronger than yours
.

On this point, he suspected she was right. His resolve was quickly softening, even as his groin went rock-hard. Wasn’t this precisely what he’d spent a lifetime chasing? Sweet, blessed defeat?

And to find it on such a lush, silky field of battle …

Destiny whispered in his ear. She was beautiful, and she was his for the taking. Whether it happened today or next year, this was fated to be.

He would have her. Today. Yes.

Yes, yes, yes
. And
now
.

With a deep, resonant sigh, he stepped toward her.

Her expression changed quickly, from one of seduction to one of surprise. Despite her teasing, she hadn’t expected him to give in.

He stopped. He hadn’t expected her to be surprised.

Tenderness warmed her eyes. In a generous, fluid motion, she reached out a hand and beckoned. “Oh, Rhys,” she whispered. The words were so soft they might have been a caress. “Come here.”

A sharp rap at the door halted him mid-step.

God damn it. Fate was playing cruel games with him tonight.

“That’ll be our dinner,” he said. He muttered to himself, “Blast it.”

“Our dinner. And our bath?” She rose to a sitting position.

Our
bath. Well, there was a happier thought.

Rhys twisted the muslin in his hands, wondering which would be worse—answering the door with a wad of frilly muslin in front of his groin? Or greeting the servants with an obvious erection?

Smiling at his predicament, Meredith saved him by answering the door herself. Rhys took his turn studying the draperies as a parade of maids bearing steaming pitchers marched through the suite, each adding her cargo to the rapidly filling tub. He pretended to admire the view of the park as a manservant wheeled a small table into the sitting room, whisking away silver dome after silver dome to reveal a feast.

“Thank you, that will be all.” Meredith’s voice. And then the soft snick of the door.

Releasing his breath, Rhys turned to her. Grinning sheepishly, he held up the abused, twisted nightrail for her inspection before tossing it aside. “You won’t be needing it anyway.”

Her breath caught. “I won’t?”

“No.”

“Good.” She took a deep breath. “So, how do we proceed? Do we eat first? Bathe?” Sparkling eyes met his. “Neither?”