Twice Tempted by a Rogue (Stud Club #2)(75)

“How very grand. But I imagine it’s closed for the evening.”

“It is.” He gave her a conspiratorial look. “To most.”

Chapter Nineteen

The night guard was an army man. Rhys had seen it straightaway in the way he patrolled, marching briskly back and forth, turning on a penny at the end of each pass. He introduced himself as Lieutenant Colonel St. Maur, newly Lord Ashworth, and all due deference was immediately forthcoming. After a few minutes of reminiscing and polite inquiries after the former soldier’s family, Rhys only had to drop the hint. “My lady here”—he tilted his head in Meredith’s direction—“has been longing for a glimpse of the baths, but we’re set to leave town early tomorrow. Don’t suppose you could see your way clear to …”

A wink, a smile, and a rattle of keys—and he and Meredith were inside.

Alone.

“It’s quite mysterious at night, isn’t it?” Her voice echoed off the stone colonnade as they walked the edge of the rectangular pool. The colonnade was covered, but the water itself was open to the night sky. Above them, the moon and stars worked in concert to illuminate the space, unhampered by clouds and diffused by the steam of the hot spring.

Though it was impossible to see across the pool to the other side of the colonnade, Rhys could see Meredith quite clearly, and that was all he cared about. The steam curled the wisps of hair at her temples and loosened the creases from her gown. It also misted her pale complexion, and those strong curves of her face had the sheen of alabaster, carved and polished to a gleam.

She walked around the perimeter of the mineral bath, letting her ungloved fingertips graze each column as she passed. “So this is the center of Bath.”

“Its raison d’être,” he confirmed.

“People of means will travel from all over England to come here, spend untold sums on rented rooms and amusements, all to be near this smelly basin of water. Amazing.”

“It’s not just the waters.”

“Of course not. It’s the high fashion. The society. The promise of health and the allure of a pagan legend. I read the Romans had a temple to Minerva here.”

“Care to have a bath?” he asked.

Her nose wrinkled. “Here?”

He nodded, running a fingertip along the slope of her shoulder. “There’s no one to see.” A moonlit, private bath in an ancient spring? If this wasn’t romantic, Rhys didn’t know what was.

“Thank you, no,” she said stoutly. “We haven’t any towels with us, and it smells horrid. I don’t want to go back to Devonshire smelling of rotten eggs. Besides, don’t invalids stew in there all day? It’s … it’s like a broth of disease.”

Well, then. When she put it that way … Not so romantic after all.

He cleared his throat. “Shall we be off?”

As they left the baths, she said, “Please don’t be offended. Thank you so much for showing me this place. I’m glad to have seen it. And I adore bathing with you, as you well know. I’d just prefer the tub at our hotel. Or the pool at home.”

She gasped and stopped dead in the street. “But that’s it. The pool. Of course, that’s the answer.”

Rhys had no idea what her little epiphany involved, but as she went quiet to sort it out, he seized the opportunity to admire her. The adorable way her brow wrinkled in concentration. The little flutter of her fingers as they made brisk calculations. The breathless excitement in her manner. He knew the signs. Whatever it was she was working out, it must have something to do with the inn.

A realization settled in his gut. It was always the inn. She lived for that place. It brought her trouble and hard work, yes. But it also brought her joy. All this time, he’d been assuming that once her initial wariness wore off, she’d gladly accept the advantages of marrying him. But now he wondered … if he offered her a true choice between the two, would he even stand a chance?

She bounced across the street to his side, and when she spoke again, her whole face lit from within. Like a small, round moon floating along in the dark.

“It’s the pool, don’t you see? We have a spring of our own in Buckleigh-in-the-Moor. One with water that flows crisp and sweet, not malodorous and revolting. And we have a natural place for bathing, far more picturesque than a Roman bath. Heavens, we have our own actual ruins. We don’t need to go about constructing them, as they did for the Gardens.”

She put her arm through his and pulled him along, keeping up her steady stream of plans. “Naturally, the village could never hope to have the fashionable or cultural pull of Bath, but we might be able to style it as some sort of spa. We only have to spread word of the waters, and their healthful benefits. And come up with some sort of pagan legend for Darryl to tell.”

“Isn’t there one already? I thought every nook and cranny of the moor had a story attached to it.”

“True,” she said, “but most of them are frightening. All witches and curses and …”

“Living phantoms?” He pinched her midsection playfully and whispered, “Boo.”

She smiled. “No, I’m serious. The thing to do is start with a classic tale, but twist it to our purpose. You’ve had all that Eton education. What are some legends to do with pools and lakes? Romantic ones, not the ghoulish sort.”