Twice Tempted by a Rogue (Stud Club #2)(8)

Now that she saw the small bedchamber from Rhys’s perspective, she noted the exposed rafters overhead, the dingy walls, the choking tang of peat smoke from the hearth …. It all looked hopelessly meager and drab. She could only imagine how it appeared in a titled gentleman’s eyes. Who was she fooling, anyway?

“Darryl will bring up your bags. Shall I tell him to act as valet?”

“No,” Rhys said quickly. She thought she saw him shudder. “Not necessary.”

“There’s the washstand in the corner.” Please don’t chip the new porcelain.

He nodded.

“We serve breakfast downstairs in the morning. And if there’s anything you need in the meantime, you’ve only to ask.”

“Thank you.” He tipped his gaze to the ceiling. “This room is rather …”

“Drafty,” she finished. “I know. I’m sorry. I’ll send in Darryl overnight to add peat to the fire, and there’s an extra blanket in the chest. But then you might become overheated, in which case there’s always the window.” She felt, with distinct horror, that she was blathering on like a bedlamite, but she couldn’t seem to stop. “I know the room must be poor indeed, compared with what you’re accustomed to, but I do hope you’ll find it adequate to your …”

He turned to her and smiled.

And suddenly she had no more words.

“Adequate?” He shook his head. “In the army, I grew more accustomed to sleeping on hard ground than anything. My rooms in London were barren and cold.” He looked around the bedchamber. “I can assure you, this is the finest bedchamber I’ve known in years. True luxury. I’ll sleep well tonight.”

His words made her heart float in her chest. Blast it. She couldn’t start yearning for him. Well, she’d started yearning for him as a girl, but she couldn’t afford to take the practice up again now. He was leaving in the morning.

“In fact,” he said lightly, crossing to the window and peering out, “I’m so pleased with this room, I think I could kiss you for it.”

Oh, Lord. Now that wouldn’t help with her yearning problem.

His head jerked up, as though he’d surprised himself with the words. Of course he had. They were a ridiculous notion. The last time he’d looked at her, he’d seen naught but freckles and bone.

Confirming the foolishness, he said, “That’s strange.”

She tried to laugh, but couldn’t. He was drawing too near. Her pulse thundered in her chest as those giant boots carried him across the old, creaking oak floorboards. Floorboards she’d scoured with sand on hand and knee just a few days ago. Her shoulders still ached.

His deep brown eyes searched hers as he drew to a halt. “I think I’d very much like to kiss you.” He reached out and plucked a stray lock of her hair from where it lay on her shoulder, twisting it slowly between his finger and thumb. “What do you say, Merry Lane? Show me a proper welcome home?”

She could make a joke, or step away. She knew well how to deflect a man’s advances. Down in the tavern, she did it all the time. For each of the few men she’d taken to her bed since her husband’s death, she’d refused dozens more. But she’d spent her girlhood dreaming of this particular man, staring down at her with exactly that glimmer of desire in his eyes, speaking precisely those words to her.

I think I’d very much like to kiss you.

It was simply all too much. In a flutter of nerves, she blurted out, “Is there anything else you require, my lord?”

At her brisk tone, he recoiled instantly. “No.” He turned away, but not before she caught a wounded flash in his eyes. He rubbed one palm over his short dark hair. “No, I apologize. That was … wrong of me. It won’t happen again.”

Meredith stood there for a moment, watching him return to the window.

He didn’t turn back around as he said, “You’d best leave me, hadn’t you?”

So she slipped out the door and drew it shut behind her. Then she punched the doorjamb with a low growl.

Damn, damn, damn. In all her life, she’d never been so frustrated with herself. She’d just let slip the opportunity—the one single chance she’d ever have—to share a kiss, and most likely a bed, with the man she’d wanted since she’d scarcely understood what wanting meant. Not only that, but she’d given him the wrong impression with her refusal. Now he thought she found him unattractive and unkissable, when nothing could be further from the truth.

Gideon was still downstairs in the bar. She needed to see his wagonload of goods stowed safely in the horse barn. Not to mention, finish serving her customers without losing more furniture in the process.

But Rhys would leave tomorrow. She would never have this chance again. She worked so hard for this place. Every day, all day. Didn’t she deserve one night for herself?

She rapped firmly on the door.

When he opened it, she spoke quickly, before she could lose her nerve. “You could,” she said. “You could kiss me. I wouldn’t mind.”

“You wouldn’t?”

“No.”

He cupped her jaw in his hand and tilted her face to his. It was only then that she realized she’d addressed her fearless speech to his coat button.

His thumb stroked her cheek tenderly, and she let her eyes close. He did it again, dragging his thumb from her cheekbone to her jaw. Just that gentle brush of his skin against hers had her whole body humming.