Twice Tempted by a Rogue (Stud Club #2)(20)

In the meantime, he’d work alone. This was how he’d gained his men’s respect in the infantry—he’d never asked an enlisted soldier to do anything he wouldn’t do himself. Not polish a buckle, not dig a grave. And he’d certainly never hesitated to lead a charge into battle.

“Listen,” he told her, “I’m glad you’re here. How much of a kitchen do you think you’ll need? Do you want it facing the hillside, or the downslope? Considering the winds, it might make more sense to have the hearth on the hillside. Less heat lost that way. But then the downslope is nearer the leat, and you’d be that much closer to the water source.”

She put a hand on his arm. He stopped talking, instantly. The pressure of her hand on his bare skin … he liked it. He liked it far too much.

“I said I can’t marry you,” she said.

“I recall it.”

“Do you think you’ll convince me to change my mind, simply by wooing my father?”

He shrugged.

George Lane called out, “Merry, we’re going to breed prize racehorses! And Rhys here has plans to breed posting horses for the inn.”

“Oh, really? Is that what ‘Rhys here’ said?”

She gave him a cool, flinty glare that was no doubt meant to be intimidating, but Rhys had seen and laughed in the face of too many intimidating glares to be affected.

What did affect him, greatly, was the firm squeeze she gave his wrist.

“We need to talk,” she said quietly, her gaze flitting toward her father. “Alone.”

“Certainly.”

Meredith’s body hummed with sensation as Rhys steered her aside, laying a hand to the small of her back. To be accurate, his hand was so big it covered more than the small of her back. His thumb lodged just under her shoulder blade, and his little finger rode the swell of her hip.

Once they were a few steps away, he turned to her and asked, “Now what did you want to discuss?” Good Lord, how was she supposed to think clearly, with him looking like this? Stripped to the waist, sweating, his muscles bulging from use and his skin burnt to a reddish-bronze by the sun. She tried dropping her gaze, but that was a mistake. His buff breeches clung to his hips and thighs like a coat of limewash.

With great effort, she pulled her attention back up to his eyes. The sun was so strong today, she had to squint, so she shaded her brow with one hand.

“Rhys, what are you doing?”

“I told you, I’m building a house. Laying the foundation.”

She looked over at the carefully aligned rectangle of stones. In the background, the ruined remains of Nethermoor Hall stood sentinel on the hillcrest. How could he truly wish to build a new house here, in the shadow of that awful place?

“This isn’t good for my father,” she said. “He’s an old man, and he’s been hobbled for fourteen years. He’s not supposed to engage in strenuous activity.”

“I’m the one doing the strenuous activity. He’s only advising.”

“It doesn’t matter—you’re keeping him out here under the hot sun all day. That alone is a strain. Not to mention, you’re filling his head with talk of stables and racehorses …”

“I believe he’s excited about it.”

Meredith had to admit, her father did look happier and healthier than he had in months. Enthusiastic, even. But if this horse breeding scheme fell through, he’d be devastated.

“I’m certain he is excited, and that’s the problem. You’re getting him all agitated about things that may never come to pass. It’s not good for his heart.”

And it’s not good for my heart, either.

“I’m not setting him up for disappointment. I’m preparing him for eventualities. You’re the one becoming agitated about things that won’t come to pass.” He chucked her under the chin. “I’m not going anywhere, Merry Lane.”

“Please …” When he said such things, with sincerity in those warm brown eyes, he made her want to believe him so desperately she could barely stand. “Please don’t call me that.”

“You don’t like it?”

Not even Maddox had called her Merry, nor her lovers since. Her lovers hadn’t called her anything at all. Well, the one nice gent had called her “love,” and then there’d been that haunted-looking soul who’d called her “Sally” over and over again, then wept noisily in her arms for an hour afterward. That had been awkward. He’d put her off the whole business for a year.

It had been a long time since she’d felt a man’s arms around her. And Rhys had some very fine arms. They could probably wrap around her twice.

Focus, Merry Lane.

“It’s too familiar, and you know it,” she said. “I don’t even answer to Lane anymore.”

“You’re right,” he said, nodding. “We should do this properly. I’ll not call you by your Christian name till we’re married. And even then, only after the novelty of calling you Lady Ashworth wears off.” He smiled. “Might take a month or two.”

Who would have guessed it? The man could be downright charming when he wished to be.

And all too often, she could be a complete fool. “Y-yes, but … That is, I mean …” She stammered a bit, dropping her eyes in an effort to gather composure. The effort failed.