Twice Tempted by a Rogue (Stud Club #2)(31)

And she was so very tired.

For a moment, she contemplated flopping onto the bed, snuggling into what lingered of his spicy male scent, and taking a long, luxuriant rest. She could all too easily imagine him lying next to her. She had a fair amount of practice imagining that. Except now, she had the benefit of much more information. She knew how his body fit against hers, solid in every place she was soft. She knew how his skin felt to the touch—weathered and sun-warmed atop his forearm, supple as kid on the inner side of his wrist.

She knew the taste of his kiss.

Oh, Rhys.

With a sharp yank, Meredith pulled the stubborn sheet free and roused herself from her fantasy. She understood dreams, sometimes even reveled in them. She wasn’t jaded, like her father had suggested. But she knew where to draw the boundary between dreams and reality.

The familiar titter of the washerwoman’s laughter floated up from the courtyard. Meredith tied the dirty linens in a bundle and went to the window, calling to catch Betsy’s attention. She stuffed the heap of linen through the window, and Betsy swooped quick to catch it in her basket—a move that earned her appreciative calls from a few of the men nearby.

“Excellent aim, Mrs. Maddox!” Darryl waved to her from the stables. The hounds yipped and wrestled at his feet.

Meredith smiled in return, but didn’t linger to join the fun. Instead she left the window to hurry downstairs. She’d caught sight of Robbie Brown rolling into the courtyard with his wheelbarrow of peat for the fires. She’d need to assemble his payment in coin and bread. After that, she’d speak with Mrs. Ware about the day’s meals, depending on what sort of meat the Farrell boys brought in.

She had an inn to run and a village to support.

When she entered the public room, she found it near full already, despite the early hour. A few travelers were taking a light meal before continuing on their journey. Village men were meeting over coffee to gossip and discuss trade. Even Harry and Laurence were here, eating breakfast.

She stopped in her tracks. What were the Symmonds boys doing here? The two of them never saw this side of noon, unless they’d been up all night keeping watch for Gideon. And last night, she hadn’t even needed to chase them out at closing time. They’d gone home unusually peaceably, at the early hour of half-ten.

“Rough night, boys?” Hands propped on her hips, she approached their table.

Harry looked up from a plate laden with eggs, bacon, rolls and jam. “Suppose you could say that.” He exchanged glances with Larry, and the two began chuckling.

Their laughter was echoed from a few other tables. Meredith slowly pivoted, taking the measure of her clientele. Now that she noticed it, a fair number of these men never darkened her door before midday.

“What?” she asked sternly. “What is it?”

The laughter only grew.

“Rough night indeed, Mrs. Maddox,” Larry said around a mouthful of eggs. “But the rough morning … now that belongs to your friend Ashworth.”

Dread seeped through her limbs. “What have you done?” Her voice shook a little, and she firmed her jaw to compensate. “Harold and Laurence Symmonds, tell me this instant. What have you done to him?”

“Easy, Mrs. Maddox,” Skinner said from the next table over. He winked at her over his coffee. “We didn’t hurt the man none.”

Harry muttered, “Not this time.”

The room broke into laughter again, but Meredith didn’t wait to sort it out. With a hasty word to Mrs. Ware as she passed through the kitchen, she tore out the back door of the inn and made a straight path up the rocky slope—the most direct route to the ruins of Nethermoor. If Rhys had hired the ponies, he would have to lead them up the circuitous footpath. Perhaps she could beat him there and intercept whatever unpleasant surprise Harold, Laurence, and the others had planned for him. How long had it been since he’d left that morning? An hour, perhaps? She would have to hurry.

After twenty minutes of hard walking and scrambling over uneven ground, she reached Bell Tor and skirted the ancient stacks of granite. Despite the warming sunlight, she shivered as she neared the ruins of Nethermoor Hall. Just over this crest was the flat where Rhys was building his cottage. Panting for breath and clutching her side, she climbed up those last few steep, rocky yards …

And found heartbreak waiting for her on the other side.

A half-dozen dappled ponies roamed the shallow depression, grazing happily on sedge and gorse. Their unloaded burdens of straw were stacked neatly in a pile, ready to be mixed with earth. And the foundation of Rhys’s cottage—the stones he’d spent a week hauling from the surrounding area and painstakingly fitting together to form a level, unshakable plinth—completely destroyed. Scattered to all corners of the moor.

Her heart twisted in her chest. So hard, she forgot all about the cramp in her side.

Rhys was there, stripped down to his shirt and breeches, clearing the area. Methodically picking up the stones one by one, then sorting them into piles by size. Preparing to build it all again.

She watched him in silence for a few minutes. When she approached, she could tell he sensed her presence. He didn’t greet her, however. He refused to meet her eyes.

“Oh, Rhys. I’m …” Her voice caught. Really, what could she say? “I’m so sorry this happened. I know you put so much work into it.”

So much work, and so much heart.