the paper and find the headline RHYS ST. MAUR RETURNED TO DEVONSHIRE . Perhaps if she saw the words in print, she’d start to believe it was true. Though she doubted even the reporters of The Times could find a logical explanation for that scene over breakfast this morning. Perhaps the headline ought to read: IMPOVERISHED LANDLADY REFUSES LORD’S OFFER OF MARRIAGE .
Underneath that, in smaller letters, BOTH COMMITTED TO BEDLAM .
“Left your cask of Madeira in the storeroom.” Gideon Myles appeared. He plunked a ceramic figurine on the counter. “And this washed up in a cove near Plymouth.”
“Did it now?” Meredith took the china shepherdess in her hand and examined it in the light. It was finely made and carefully painted. Exquisite.
Fragile.
“Astonishing,” she said, “that such a thing would survive being tossed about the waves and thrown up against a rocky shoreline.”
“Is it?” Gideon said innocently, his mouth tipping in a grin. The man was devilish handsome, and he knew it. Not only knew it, but made use of it. As an intermediary between Devonshire’s coastal smugglers and the markets of Bristol, London, and beyond, Gideon used that roguish charm to line his pockets, warm his nights, and generally have an ungodly amount of fun.
“Rather a miracle,” she said.
“Thought she would look well in one of your redecorated rooms. Add a touch of class, you know.”
“That she will.” She smiled down at the shepherdess. “Very thoughtful of you, Gideon. I’m grateful.”
His brow quirked. “How grateful?”
Impossible flirt . “Pint-of-ale grateful.”
“Damn. Was hoping for straight-to-bed grateful. But I won’t turn down the drink. Next time, I’ll bring a string of bloody emeralds.”
“I don’t expect those wash up in coves too often,” she said, sliding him a tankard of ale.
He gave her a devious smile. “Just have to know where to look.” He threw back half his ale in one draught, and when he lowered the drink, his demeanor had changed. He stacked his arms on the bar. “What’s Ashworth doing back in Devonshire?”
“How should I know?”
He stared at her, silently letting her know he didn’t believe her ignorance for one moment.
Meredith shrugged. “Well, he’s inherited the lands now, hasn’t he? Only natural that he’d stop by to have a look at them.” With a careful air of indifference, she added, “Perhaps he wants to start fulfilling his role as Lord Ashworth.”
Gideon coughed. “Why would he want to do that? I might just as soon take up the old vicar’s legacy.”
He forced a chuckle, but Meredith caught the wounded glint in his eyes. Gideon Myles had been orphaned as a small boy when his parents fell victim to a fever. The vicar had taken him in, sheltered and educated him for many years. But when the living dried up, the clergyman left the village and abandoned Gideon to fend for himself at the age of thirteen.
“Shouldn’t you like to be a vicar?” she asked. He laughed again, and she protested, “No, I mean it. I think you’d be better suited to the clergy than you credit. For all you cultivate that roguish image, you’ve a good heart beneath.” She laid a fingertip on the ceramic lamb kneeling at his mistress’s feet. “And a quick mind, as well. You’re far too intelligent to be engaging in petty crime as a profession.”
He looked away, and she thought she caught a blush rising on his throat. “Options are limited in these parts, aren’t they?” He shook his head. “No, it’s a devil’s life for me. But lately I’m becoming far too acquainted with celibacy.”
She laughed off his suggestive glance, knowing the words were just idle flirtation. As she’d told Rhys, Gideon was a business associate and a friend. Nothing more. Granted, he was a strapping man with a natural drive, and he probably wouldn’t refuse an invitation to her bed. But she liked him too much to risk ruining things for a night or two of pleasure. That’s
Underneath that, in smaller letters, BOTH COMMITTED TO BEDLAM .
“Left your cask of Madeira in the storeroom.” Gideon Myles appeared. He plunked a ceramic figurine on the counter. “And this washed up in a cove near Plymouth.”
“Did it now?” Meredith took the china shepherdess in her hand and examined it in the light. It was finely made and carefully painted. Exquisite.
Fragile.
“Astonishing,” she said, “that such a thing would survive being tossed about the waves and thrown up against a rocky shoreline.”
“Is it?” Gideon said innocently, his mouth tipping in a grin. The man was devilish handsome, and he knew it. Not only knew it, but made use of it. As an intermediary between Devonshire’s coastal smugglers and the markets of Bristol, London, and beyond, Gideon used that roguish charm to line his pockets, warm his nights, and generally have an ungodly amount of fun.
“Rather a miracle,” she said.
“Thought she would look well in one of your redecorated rooms. Add a touch of class, you know.”
“That she will.” She smiled down at the shepherdess. “Very thoughtful of you, Gideon. I’m grateful.”
His brow quirked. “How grateful?”
Impossible flirt . “Pint-of-ale grateful.”
“Damn. Was hoping for straight-to-bed grateful. But I won’t turn down the drink. Next time, I’ll bring a string of bloody emeralds.”
“I don’t expect those wash up in coves too often,” she said, sliding him a tankard of ale.
He gave her a devious smile. “Just have to know where to look.” He threw back half his ale in one draught, and when he lowered the drink, his demeanor had changed. He stacked his arms on the bar. “What’s Ashworth doing back in Devonshire?”
“How should I know?”
He stared at her, silently letting her know he didn’t believe her ignorance for one moment.
Meredith shrugged. “Well, he’s inherited the lands now, hasn’t he? Only natural that he’d stop by to have a look at them.” With a careful air of indifference, she added, “Perhaps he wants to start fulfilling his role as Lord Ashworth.”
Gideon coughed. “Why would he want to do that? I might just as soon take up the old vicar’s legacy.”
He forced a chuckle, but Meredith caught the wounded glint in his eyes. Gideon Myles had been orphaned as a small boy when his parents fell victim to a fever. The vicar had taken him in, sheltered and educated him for many years. But when the living dried up, the clergyman left the village and abandoned Gideon to fend for himself at the age of thirteen.
“Shouldn’t you like to be a vicar?” she asked. He laughed again, and she protested, “No, I mean it. I think you’d be better suited to the clergy than you credit. For all you cultivate that roguish image, you’ve a good heart beneath.” She laid a fingertip on the ceramic lamb kneeling at his mistress’s feet. “And a quick mind, as well. You’re far too intelligent to be engaging in petty crime as a profession.”
He looked away, and she thought she caught a blush rising on his throat. “Options are limited in these parts, aren’t they?” He shook his head. “No, it’s a devil’s life for me. But lately I’m becoming far too acquainted with celibacy.”
She laughed off his suggestive glance, knowing the words were just idle flirtation. As she’d told Rhys, Gideon was a business associate and a friend. Nothing more. Granted, he was a strapping man with a natural drive, and he probably wouldn’t refuse an invitation to her bed. But she liked him too much to risk ruining things for a night or two of pleasure. That’s
Similar Books
