Twice Tempted by a Rogue (Stud Club #2)

Twice Tempted by a Rogue (Stud Club #2) Page 7

He said calmly, “If there’s one thing I’ve learned over the years, it’s that fate doesn’t care what we want.”

“Well, I don’t believe in fate.” She hugged herself tighter still.

“Fate doesn’t care whether we believe in it, either. That’s the devil of it.” He chuckled. “Meredith. Lay down that shield you’re making with your arms and come sit with me.” When she hesitated, he lifted a brow. “It’s only breakfast.”

Was it?

As she sat down, he picked up a knife and buttered a roll. “You’d understand what I mean about fate if you’d lived through a war in my boots.”

The words settled like stones in her chest. “Was it true? Everything you said out there in the courtyard?”

“That and more.” He bit into the roll, taking two-thirds of it into his mouth in one bite.

“That’s …” Heartbreaking. “Remarkable, that you’ve survived.” She felt in that moment how close she’d come, so many times, to never seeing him again. And it made her want to take him upstairs and pin him to the bed that moment. Make love to him just once, before he went away again.

“Ah, well.” He swallowed. “Not so remarkable, really. Tried my best to leave this earth at every turn, but God and the Devil kept sending me back. Neither wanted me, I suppose.”

Maybe I just wanted you more.

To avoid speaking the words aloud, she tore off an unladylike hunk of bread and chewed it noisily.

Pushing his coffee aside, Rhys reached into his coat pocket and withdrew two coins. He let them clatter to the table, where they lay like brass checkers on the blue-and-white gingham weave. On closer inspection, they weren’t like any coins she’d ever seen. She picked one up and held it to the light, twisting it back and forth between her thumb and forefinger. The disc was irregular and crudely stamped. On one side a horse’s head stood out in relief; on the reverse, she found a horse’s tail.

She laughed at it. “Are these foreign money from your travels?”

“No. They’re tokens that indicate membership in an elite gentlemen’s society known as the Stud Club. Possession of one of those coins gives a man breeding rights to Osiris, England’s most valuable stallion. The club rules state the tokens can’t be bought or sold or given away. They can only be won or lost in a game of chance. There are only ten of them in the world, and at the moment I own two. Do you know how I came by them?”

She shook her head.

“Fate, pure and simple. Through no merit of my own, I was spared while other men—better men—fell.” He propped an elbow on the table and cast a glance through the window. The bright morning sun made him squint, wrinkling the scar tissue on his temple.

Taking one of the coins in his hand, he said, “This one belonged to an officer in my battalion. Major Frank Brentley, from York. He was a good man. His wife traveled with the company, and she mended my shirts for me. He never drank, but he was a gambler through and through, always dicing or playing cards. Story was, he’d won this token drawing blind at vingt-et-un. Said he was blessed with good luck all his life.”

He tapped the coin on the table. “Well, his good luck ended at Waterloo. We had the left flank of the line, and a voltigeur came out of nowhere. One moment Brentley was next to me, the next he was flattened by a rifle shot at close range, his gut ripped open at the seams.”

Swallowing with great care, Meredith put down the bit of bread she’d been holding.

“Sorry,” he said. “It’s not proper breakfast conversation, I know. Anyhow, after I killed the French guardsman, I carried Brentley out of the action. Tried to make him comfortable. He pulled this token from his pocket. ‘Have to play me for it,’ he said. ‘That’s the rule. Heads or tails?’ Then he died, and the coin rolled out of his hand, and it was too smeared with blood to make out the stamp on either side. But I’d won the coin toss, hadn’t I? It’s the way my life goes. It’s like I’ve got a coin with ‘Life’ stamped on one side and ‘Death’ on the reverse, and no matter how many times I flip it into the air, it always comes up heads.”

He reached for the other token. “This one belonged to Leo Chatwick, the Marquess of Harcliffe, the Stud Club’s founder. Another good man. Had it all—youth, wealth, good looks. Universally admired. Murdered in cold blood almost two months ago now, while walking the wrong part of Whitechapel. Beaten and robbed by footpads. Or so most believe. His killers were never caught.”

Meredith winced. “How dreadful. Was he a very close friend of yours?”

“No,” he said. “I’ve learned that lesson. I don’t make close friends.”

The words made her ache with empathy, but they also twanged her pride. He’d take a wife, but not a friend? The compliment implied by his proposal grew fainter still. Whatever reason he had for wanting to marry, it seemed to have more to do with these queer brass coins than it had to do with her.

With his massive, scarred hand he picked up a boiled egg and tapped it with the edge of his spoon until a web of tiny cracks covered the brown speckled surface. The measured caution in his movements entranced her. She couldn’t look away.

“I’m barren,” she blurted out. “Most likely. I was married for four years and never conceived.”

He frowned, peeling the shell from the egg. “Maddox was ancient. Doesn’t mean—”

“It wasn’t just him.” She lowered her voice. “I’ve had lovers since.”

His face shuttered. “Oh.”

What would he make of her now? She lifted her chin, refusing to feel shamed. “Have I succeeded in changing your mind? Perhaps not so fated to be, after all.”

“That wasn’t my meaning. I’m just sorry you’ve been lonely. I’m a bastard for staying away so long. The fact that you’re barren is of no importance. The last thing I want is a child. And you have my word, I’ll not rush you into … consummation.”

“What?” The breath left her lungs. She picked at the tablecloth. “Well, there went my prime inducement for accepting you.”

He looked puzzled. “Truly?”

“Truly.”

“So when you offered a kiss last night … you weren’t just being generous?”

Her face heated as she nudged the saltcellar in his direction. “No, Rhys. Generosity had nothing to do with it. At all.”

He studied her for a moment, then shrugged. “If you say so.”

Why did he act so surprised? Surely he must be the recipient of a great deal of female attention, wherever he went. How could a woman not be attracted to him?

She watched as he picked up the naked, quivering egg he’d so painstakingly shelled. He halved it with a single snap of his jaws. The muscles in his cheek worked as he quickly downed the remainder. What an intriguing combination of tenderness and power he embodied. She imagined herself bared and white and trembling before him. So slowly, carefully revealed, and then … devoured. Just thinking of it made her a little bit afraid, and aroused beyond measure.

“If you don’t wish to … to get children,” she asked, “why on earth do you want to marry?” When men took an interest in her, bedding was usually foremost in their minds. And it wasn’t as though she had money or influence to offer. Not enough to sway a peer of the realm, at any rate.

“I’m going to take care of you.”

“I take care of myself. Quite capably.”

“Yes, you do. And you take care of your father, and this inn, and the whole blasted village too. Things that should be my responsibility, now that I’ve inherited. I can’t allow you to continue working so hard. I’m the lord of this place now, and I’m going to assume my role in the neighborhood.”

She laughed. “Did you not notice the mob that greeted you this morning? The villagers don’t want your help. They want you gone.”

He shook his head. “That wasn’t a mob, it was a band of fools.”

“They may be fools, but they’re big, strong fools. They could make real trouble for you, if they wished. And Gideon Myles is no simpleton.”

“Gideon Myles.” He snorted. “What is that man to you?”

Was that sudden edge in his voice jealousy? It shouldn’t thrill her, but it did. Straight down to her toes.

“He’s a business associate. And a friend.” And a smuggler who won’t hesitate to use violence, if it suits his purpose. She cleared her throat and continued, “Exactly what are your plans, Rhys?”

“I plan to marry you.”

That thrill shot through her again. “Other than that.”

“I plan to live up to my responsibilities as lord. Give the village some means of support. It will take time, but I’ll rebuild the estate.”

“Rebuild? Rebuild Nethermoor Hall? Whyever would you want to do that?” She knew what kind of childhood he’d endured in that house. Why would he wish to rebuild it? Not to mention, no matter how much he wished it, Gideon Myles and his associates would never allow such a thing to occur. “And how do you think you’ll accomplish the construction? The local men will never work for you.”

“They will if I pay them enough.”

She shook her head. “The older ones still hate your father. The younger ones, what few there are, have grown up hearing all manner of superstition and tales. They’ll be afraid of you.”

“Well, if I can’t find local labor, I’ll just have to bring in workers from Plymouth or Exeter, I suppose.”

“That will cost you dear.”

“I’ve some lands in the North I plan to sell. And I’ve lately come into some money. Not enough to restore Nethermoor Hall to full grandeur, but wisely invested it’ll put a house together and leave enough left over to live on.”

And if the investments weren’t wise and they failed, what then? He’d be bankrupt with no source of rents or income. He’d leave again. Somehow every possibility ended with him leaving again.

“You won’t need to do this anymore when you marry me,” he said, looking around the room. “Work, I mean. I’ll provide for you and your father both.”

At the mention of her father, she felt a sharp twist in her chest. Drat him, he was making this so difficult.

“But I like the work here,” she protested. “I’m proud of what I’ve done with this place, and I’ve plans to do more still.”

“You could do far more as the lady of the manor.”

“Rhys … you’re being so naïve.”

His eyebrows rose. “Me, accused of naïveté. I must say, I never thought that day would come. I’ve a mind to engrave the date on a plaque.”

“You’ve forgotten what life’s like out here. Right now it’s a pleasant summer’s morn, but you must recall how winter gets. It’s harsh, lonely, desolate. You can’t actually want to live here again. And we’ve learned to survive without a lord. Just go.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“Why the devil not?” Meredith certainly would, if she were Rhys.

“Circumstances would only pull me back. It’s fate.”

With a low groan, she propped her elbows on the table and buried her face in her hands.

“You don’t believe me,” he said, leaning forward. “I know. But when a man treads the border between this world and the next as often as I have, he starts to see the hand of fate everywhere. Sometimes in bright flashes, other times subtler shades. It’s like discovering a whole new color, one most people just can’t see. But I see it.” He pulled her hands from her face. “When you look at me, your eyes shine with it. I’m telling you, this is meant to be.”