Twice Tempted by a Rogue (Stud Club #2)(73)

Shifting his weight, Rhys brushed a protective touch over her lower back. “Mrs. Maddox of Devonshire, allow me to present Lord Henry Twill, Viscount Corning. I served with his younger brother in Portugal.”

Good Lord. He must be a duke’s son. The man inclined his head, and Meredith curtsyed again, more deeply this time. Panicked thoughts tumbled in her mind. Words stuck on her tongue. How did one properly address a duke’s son, anyhow? As “Your Grace” or “my lord”?

In the end, she couldn’t say anything. By way of compensation, she forced a wan smile.

“Mrs. Maddox, is it?”

She nodded mutely. She was a fool. It seemed anything she could utter would indict her as a fraud—but in the end, her silence made the confession on its own.

“Charmed.” His tone communicated anything but.

Whatever mild degree of interest the man had shown in her cooled instantly. He pointedly turned his gaze, and it was as though she’d ceased to exist.

By mutual unspoken agreement, they parted ways with Lord Corning soon thereafter.

What a disaster. Meredith wondered if she could ever move amongst such people and not feel like an impostor. If she were to marry Rhys and become Lady Ashworth, she supposed she would have to learn to do just that. But she wasn’t equal to the challenge tonight.

“Do you know,” she ventured, “I’m not certain I really feel like going to the theater. Will you be terribly disappointed if we don’t?”

He looked at her, as if to gauge her sincerity. “Not at all,” he finally said. “Did you want to go back to the hotel?”

“Why don’t we walk for a while? There’s so much of Bath we haven’t seen.”

“Very well. Shall we head toward the river?”

Nodding her agreement, she put her arm in his, and together they strolled down the avenue. Slowly, in deference to Meredith’s skirts.

“I’m sorry for earlier, with Lord Corning.”

“Oh, don’t be.” She bit her lip, abashed by the fact that he’d noticed the gentleman’s treatment of her, too. “It wasn’t your fault.”

He was silent for a moment, as if he were debating whether to take her comment as forgiveness or an invitation to further discussion. “It’s hard, sometimes, for men like him to greet me. I understand it; it can’t be helped. When Corning and I cross paths, naturally I remind him of the brother he lost. I can see it in his eyes, when he looks at me. He’s asking himself why a man like me survived when his brother did not.” Rhys sighed heavily. “It’s a question I can’t answer. There’s no satisfactory answer at all.”

“Wait a moment.” Meredith slowed, tugging on his arm. Eventually they both pulled to a halt. “Are you saying you believe Lord Corning’s awkwardness in that meeting was all about you?”

“But of course. What else would it be?”

“Me, you silly man.” She laughed. “He thought he’d interrupted you with your lady of the evening.”

He stared at her as though she’d gone mad. “No, he didn’t.”

“Rhys, I saw the way he looked at me. He dismissed me as he would a serving girl.”

He simply shook his head and turned, pressing on.

After a few minutes, he said, “You saw him as disapproving of you. I thought him disapproving of me. Funny, isn’t it?”

Not only funny, but a strange relief. Why hadn’t she seen it? Rhys felt like an impostor here, too. She ought to have recognized it earlier, from the way he’d wrestled his cravat. He’d been nervous, just as she had been.

Tilting her head to the twilight sky, she mused, “Do you know what I think? I have a feeling that dour look on Lord Corning’s face had nothing to do with either of us. Perhaps he’d just tasted something unpleasant. Or more likely, his purgative was taking effect at a most inopportune moment.”

They chuckled together and continued strolling down the shop-lined street.

“Which way shall we go?” he asked. “Do you wish to see the Orange Grove?”

“Oh, let’s. I adore oranges.”

“There aren’t any there. The park is named for William of Orange, not the fruit. No oranges to be had. Not much of a grove either, to be honest.”

“Oh. Of course.” She went silent, feeling inexpressibly stupid.

“But,” he went on, “there are surely oranges to be had, somewhere. And if you adore them, you shall have them. Let’s walk down to Sydney Gardens.”

“And are there actual gardens there? Or will I reveal my ignorance again?”

“Actual gardens, yes.” He bent his head and lowered his voice. “Pleasure gardens.”

Her pulse responded quickly to that promise, and only quickened as they made the walk across the Pulteney Bridge, crowded with vendors and shops.

As predicted, they soon came upon a girl hawking oranges. Rhys purchased three, tucking one in either of his pockets and tossing the third to her. Meredith held it between her hands as they walked, periodically lifting the exotic fruit to her nose and breathing deep.

She carried that orange in her gloved hands as they crossed the bridge and paused to gape at the grand homes in Laura Place. Just a short distance more, and they reached the Gardens themselves. Here there was yet more grandeur to be seen. The ancient ruins of a castle, which Rhys informed her was not truly ancient at all, but rather a modern construction. A bowling green and a labyrinth, and of course, all the fashionable people walking to and fro. Plumes bobbed in the perfumed breeze as a clutch of matrons approached. More than one turned a curious eye on Meredith and Rhys, and a titter of gossip rose as they walked past.