“Merry …”
“I’m not looking!” The voice came from somewhere above.
Rhys started. “What? Who the—”
“Hullo!” the call came once more. “Hullo, down there! I’m up here. But don’t you worry, I won’t peek!”
“It’s Darryl,” she muttered through chattering teeth. “I’d know that voice anywhere.”
Sure enough, Rhys looked up to see Darryl Tewkes edging his way along the overhang, both hands pressed to cover his eyes.
“I’m not looking!” he repeated. “I know you may very well be indecent, so I’m not looking. I swear it.”
The youth took a step closer to the edge.
“Look!” Meredith and Rhys shouted as one.
Darryl froze.
“For God’s sake, Darryl,” she said. “Open your eyes. We’re clothed, we just had a …” She gave Rhys a wry smile. “A mishap.”
That was one way to put it.
“Oh. All right, then.” The youth uncovered his eyes. He glanced down at his feet, mere inches from the edge, and jumped back with a shout.
Rhys shook his head, chuckling. The fool would be twitching all day now.
Grasping a mossy stone for leverage, he hoisted himself out of the pool. Thanks to the cold water, his arousal had flagged rather quickly, all things considering. In fact, he suspected his bollocks might have drawn up into his ribcage.
He extended a hand to Meredith, and she took it. Pulling her out was no easy task, with the weight of her sodden petticoats and gown complicating matters, but they managed it together, and soon enough she stood dripping on solid ground. The sprigged muslin of her gown was all but translucent, hugging her every bump and curve.
Confronted with this sight, poor Darryl Tewkes just didn’t know what to do with himself. He raised a hand to his eyes again, then thought better of it and forced the hand back to his side. Eventually he settled for staring up at the sky.
“My coat’s up there on the outcropping,” Rhys called. “Give it here, will you?”
“Oh. Certainly.” Darryl did as asked. Except that he nearly tossed the coat straight into the pool. Only a quick, acrobatic snag from Rhys saved it from a watery end.
He exhaled with limited forbearance. “Tewkes, I’m assuming we’re all headed back to the inn. Why don’t you walk around the falls and meet us down here? And bring my boots.”
“Absolutely, my lord.”
The youth disappeared once again, and Rhys took the opportunity to drape his coat securely about Meredith’s shoulders.
When Darryl emerged through the trees, she asked, “So what’s this about? Why are you after us?” Her complexion went to ash in an instant. “It’s not Father?”
“No,” Darryl assured her. “No. But Lord, I’ve been walking all over this moor, looking for the two of you. There’s a man down at the inn. Quite fancy sort, just come in this morning from London.” A twitching eye turned on Rhys. “He’s looking for you, Lord Ashworth.”
When they reached the Three Hounds after another quarter hour of walking, Rhys was fairly certain who they’d meet. So it was no shock to enter the tavern and spy Julian Bellamy occupying the corner table.
What was a surprise, however, was Bellamy’s companion. He had a girl with him. A very pretty girl, who couldn’t be older than twenty. She had curled yellow hair and an innocent blush that seemed at odds with her lush figure. On closer inspection, that blush looked to be painted on. Strange. Rhys wouldn’t have figured Bellamy to be traveling with a doxy. From all evidence a few weeks ago, the man was in unmitigated, unrequited love with Lady Lily Chatwick, the Stud Club founder’s grieving sister.
When Bellamy caught sight of Rhys, he rose from the table and met him in the center of the room, directing his friend to remain seated. From the table, the girl gave Rhys an uneasy look.
He was used to those looks. And with his still-damp breeches, muddied boots, and bits of moss clinging to his coat, Rhys supposed he must look a fright. Even more so than usual.
“I know I asked you to send my things from London,” he said, greeting Bellamy with a nod. “But I didn’t expect a personal delivery.”
“Arrived not a moment too soon, it would seem.” Bellamy cast a disapproving glance at Rhys’s bedraggled attire. As always, the man himself was turned out in stylish, tailored velvet. “Good Lord, what have they done to you out here?”
“I’ve been working. It’s what we simple country folk do. Not all of us can afford to spend our time swanning about London in the latest fashions.”
“Welcome to the Three Hounds, sir.” Meredith appeared at Rhys’s side, surprising him with her speed. She’d entered by the back way to discreetly change into dry clothing, and she’d certainly done so with haste. She’d woven her damp hair into a single plait hanging down her back, and she wore another of her simple frocks, this one a cinnamon color.
Beneath that dress, her skin would still be cool to the touch. She would taste of spring water, crisp and sweet. Perhaps she was still wet for him, even now.
As if she could hear Rhys’s lascivious thoughts, she cleared her throat in rebuke. To Bellamy she said, “Can I bring you and your lady friend some refreshment?”
“Brandy for me,” Bellamy said. He spoke over his shoulder. “What are you drinking?”
“Oh!” The yellow-haired girl perked, abandoning her examination of her fingernails. “Raspberry shrub would be lovely.”
Meredith choked on a laugh. “As a general habit, we don’t do pink and bubbly in this establishment, but I think I’ve a bottle of cordial somewhere. Will that do?”
“Yes, please.”
Meredith gave Rhys an amused glance as she headed for the bar. “Do have a seat, the three of you.”
By the time Rhys and Bellamy settled themselves at the table, she was back, bearing a tray with a tumbler of brandy, a skinny glass of cordial, and a pint of ale, which she set before Rhys. He loved that she knew what he’d drink without asking. But he hated that she was serving them, when by all rights she ought to be a lady, with a fleet of servants to wait on her.
And damn, what kind of gentleman was he, allowing her to serve him this way? Belatedly, he pushed back from the table and stood. It was a meager gesture of respect, but it was something. As she lingered over the task of distributing drinks, Rhys could tell she was curious just what this conference was about. So was he, for that matter.
“Join us.” Rhys offered the chair next to his. “Mr. Julian Bellamy, this is Mrs. Meredith Maddox. She’s the proprietor of the Three Hounds.”
“We need to speak privately,” Bellamy said. He shot a glance at Meredith. “With all due respect.”
“She’s also my future wife.” Rhys pulled out the chair. “And if this is about Leo Chatwick’s murder, she already knows as much as I do.”
He chanced a look at Meredith. Her eyes had gone the dark gray of thunderclouds, and they were twice as agitated. He shrugged, well aware that he wasn’t playing fair. Now she had a choice: Accept the label of future wife, or abandon all curiosity about the conversation.
He stood there, poised with the empty chair, awaiting her decision.
“It’s my inn,” she said finally, taking the chair from Rhys’s grasp. “I’ll sit where I please.”
And sit she did.
“Fine,” Bellamy said. “This is Cora Dunn. She’s the one who found Leo after the attack and brought him to my home.”
Ah, so this was the prostitute who’d witnessed the murder. And she’d found more than Leo’s senseless form, if Rhys remembered the story right. When they first learned of the murder, it had been assumed Leo was alone when he was attacked. There was no way to confirm it, however, since the whore who recovered his body had disappeared.
But just two weeks ago, the remaining members of the Stud Club had all been together in Gloucestershire when a stunning revelation was made: Not only had the prostitute been found, but she reported that Leo had been with another man when he was attacked—and his companion’s appearance closely matched that of Julian Bellamy.
“So,” Rhys said to the girl. “Who was Leo with that night?”
She twisted her glass of cordial by the long, slender stem. “Well, I don’t know, do I? A man who looked a great deal like Mr. Bellamy here.”
“But he wasn’t me,” Bellamy interjected.
“Could have been,” Cora said, sipping her cordial. “I saw him in a darkened alley, you know, and his face was smeared with blood. Don’t know as I’d recognize the gent now, were we sitting face to face.”
Bellamy swore under his breath. “We’ve been through this. I set the fashion for brainless young bucks of the ton. They ape my hair, my attire, my mannerisms. Lots of young men look like me. This one wasn’t me.”
“Well, of course I don’t believe so.” The girl bit her lip. “But the two of you do look remarkably like. And his clothes were beautiful.” Propping her chin in her hand, she went on wistfully, “Had a waistcoat of velvet with gold stitching. That stitching glittered, even in the dark. What I wouldn’t give to have embroidery half so fine.”
A fit of coughing overtook Meredith. She reached for Rhys’s ale and helped herself to a long draught.
When she attempted to slide it back, he told her, “Keep it.” To Cora, he said, “Why don’t you start again. Tell us everything that happened that night, from the beginning.”
“Well, I was in Covent Garden, in my usual place for the evening. Each lady has her usual place, you know. A hackney stopped right in front of me, and this splendid-looking gent beckoned me inside. Fair hair, light eyes, fine features. I’ll tell you,” she said, directing the comment at Meredith, “it’s not often we get one so handsome as that.”
Meredith looked completely nonplussed by the “we” in that sentence, but she merely tilted her head and said, “Go on, then.”
“Anyway, he complimented my bonnet, which I was quite proud of. I’d just replaced the ribbons a day before. When I said, ‘I thank you, sir,’ he told me to call him Leo. And then he asked me if I’d like to see a boxing match over in Whitechapel. He’d made plans to attend with a friend, he said, but the friend cried off.”
Bellamy gave a low groan of culpability. “That would be me.”
“Normally, I told him, I stay far clear of the East End. That’s for low-class girls, the ones what work the docks. But he was so handsome, and he asked so prettily. And I’d never seen a boxing match, not a real one, so …” She lifted her eyebrows. “Off we went. On the drive, he was ever so kind to me. Let me drink brandy from his flask. I didn’t even know then that he was a lord, but I could tell he was true Quality. Not from his clothes or his accent, but just his manners.” Cora’s eyes fell, and she traced a groove on the tabletop. “He treated me like a person, Leo did. Like a sweetheart even, not just a whore. Sometimes I still can’t believe he’s dead. Like to broke my heart, though I’d scarce known him a few hours and we hadn’t even …”
She didn’t finish the thought. No one at the table needed her to.
Bellamy cleared his throat. “Yes, that was Leo. Always considerate of others, regardless of their station. Most fair-minded man I’ve ever known.”
“So you went to Whitechapel,” Rhys prompted.
“Oh, yes,” Cora went on. “And that boxing match was a sweaty, smelly business. All the men shouting and shoving and carrying on. Didn’t like it at all, but at least it was finished quick. Afterwards, the whole crowd was milling about. Leo was foxed on brandy and giddy from the fight.” She turned to Meredith again and murmured low. “You know how men are. They get riled up by the violence. Makes ’em randy.”
