Twice Tempted by a Rogue (Stud Club #2)(49)

Wonderful. How could he put her in such a position? The eyes of the village were on her now. This wasn’t the time to appear hesitant or unsure. Meredith drew a shaky breath and clasped her hands together to keep them from trembling.

“This village needs an inn,” she said, speaking to the crowd. “A respectable establishment, fit for quality guests. Men may come and go. But this road we’re standing on will always be here. It’s our one resource, and it will bring us a steady stream of travelers with coin to spend. We just need to be ready to serve them.”

Many of the assembled villagers began to nod.

She tilted her head toward Rhys. “We need Lord Ashworth to fund the improvements.” She gestured at Gideon. “We need Mr. Myles to haul the supplies and stores. And we need every willing, able-bodied man to join in the labor.”

Lowering her voice, she turned to Rhys and Gideon. “Gentlemen, if this village isn’t big enough for the two of you … I suggest you begin the work of enlarging it.”

She turned and walked briskly toward the inn.

“How long?” Gideon caught up and grabbed her by the elbow. “How long will it take, this building scheme?”

She looked skyward for the answer. “I don’t know … two months?”

“Two months.”

“Give or take.”

“Very well, then,” he said through his teeth. “Because I know this is important to you, I’ll give you two months. See that Ashworth is gone at the end of them. Or it’s God’s truth, Meredith …” His eyes went gunmetal gray. “I’ll kill him.”

He turned on his heel and stalked off to the stables, leaving her with nothing but a cold certainty that he meant that threat. At the horse barn door, he stopped for a moment before disappearing inside. “Two months.”

Rhys came to stand beside her, laying a hand to the small of her back. “Well, glad to know that’s all settled. Good. He’ll be here for the wedding.”

“What?” Meredith was seriously beginning to wonder if he hadn’t taken a grenade to the head during his time on the Peninsula.

“Two months. That’s what Myles said, wasn’t it? We’ll be married in two months. Next month will be the second reading of the banns, and then a month after that, the third. We can be married that very Sunday.”

She gaped at him. “For the tenth time, I haven’t agreed to marry you. And didn’t you hear Gideon just now? He will kill you.”

He made a derisive sound. “He might try.”

“You’re impossible.”

“So you’ve told me.”

“And … and infuriating!”

“Don’t forget indestructible. And here’s something else. I’m your future husband.” He cast a glance around the crowded courtyard. “All of Buckleigh-in-the-Moor knows it now, so you might as well get used to the idea. In the meantime, I’ll do my best with the romance.”

He lifted her hand and brought it to his lips, pressing a warm kiss to her knuckles. And despite all her attempts to keep a disapproving expression on her face, below the neck she melted to mist.

“I don’t want to be wooed,” she said feebly. And completely unconvincingly, even to her own hearing. “Go away, damn you.”

“Oh, I’ll go.” He backed away, grinning ear to ear. “I’ll go. But I’ll be back. With flowers.”

Chapter Twelve

After three weeks of camping on the moor, Rhys had learned to enjoy the solitude at night. In the army, there had always been men about. Even though officers slept in tents, he could always feel the bodies crushed around it, hear the noises of men snoring, coughing, frigging themselves to sleep. Truthfully, it hadn’t bothered him. The alternative was to be left alone with his memories, and those were far less pleasant than any rude sounds created by men or war.

But now he kept vigil with something other than memories of the past: plans for the future. And as such, Rhys didn’t mind being left alone at all.

There were still sounds enough to fill the night. The soft howl of the wind, the screeches of ravens and owls, the strangled hiss of the peat fire. Once asleep, he probably added his own nightmare-induced cries to the chorus, but here was another benefit of isolation: There was no one around to hear.

He and the men had completed two rises on the cottage now. The walls stood two feet thick and five feet high, so far. They formed a solid box with no entrance or window. The holes for doors and window glass would be sawed once the house was complete. After they laid the next rise, Rhys wouldn’t be able to vault in and out of the structure any longer. He’d have to get a ladder, he supposed, or make his bed on the ground nearby.

But for now, he slept inside his house. Tonight he lay face-up on his pallet of blankets, staring at the four earthen walls rising up around him and the empty gray sky overhead. It was one of those strange, misty nights where a thin fog trapped the moonlight close to the earth, but no stars shone through.

To others, he supposed the unfinished cottage might resemble some sort of mausoleum, but Rhys had never felt more alive. He could scarcely sleep at night for the plans tumbling through his mind. Plans for cottage furnishings and plans for the new stables, and some disconnected wonderings about whether the Duke of Morland would sell him a mare suitable for breeding with Osiris. And all sorts of plans for Meredith.