Twice Tempted by a Rogue

“You weren’t meant to see it yet.” He came over and offered a hand as she managed the ladder’s last few rungs.

The entire loft was open from end to end, making one large room. Only the chimney coming up from the kitchen divided the space. As below, it had dual hearths—one facing a nook tucked under the eaves, the other situated to throw heat toward the rest of the room. The sharply sloping roof soared high above them in the center, but tapered to meet the tops of the windows at each edge. The rafters and thatch were left exposed, giving it a homey feel. The scent of freshly planed wood shavings filled the air.

As she slowly toured the space, he said, “I hoped you’d approve of our rooms—or room, I should say—being upstairs. The place is meant to be your father’s eventually … so with his legs, I thought it best to keep his bedchamber downstairs. Since it would be just us up here, and temporarily at that, I left it undivided and the ceiling unfinished. Gives us plenty of room for now, and once we move out the space can be used for storage or servants. I thought it cozy.”

“Very cozy,” she agreed.

“I thought I’d build a bed into this nook,” he explained, walking over to the smaller space created by the hearth’s division. “Nice and warm, you know, with the fire so close. And then”—energetic strides carried him to the opposite end—“shelves and cupboards at this end. In the middle, a sitting area. A desk for all your papers and such, right under this window.”

“What are these?” she asked, picking up a misshapen lump of wood from a pile near the window.

“Those are …” He darted over to take it from her hand, stepping between her and the rest of the heap. “Not finished.”

She craned her neck, trying to look around him. “They almost look like—”

“They aren’t.”

She crossed her arms and cocked her head. “Very well. Don’t tell me. We’ll just stand here all night, denying the existence of little bits of wood.”

He rolled his eyes and sighed. “Fine.” He took the lump of wood from behind his back and lobbed it at her.

She caught it easily and held it up for examination, turning it over in her hands. “Why, it’s carved. These look like leaves.” Looking up, she raised an eyebrow at him. “Is it meant to be a pineapple?”

“No,” he said impatiently, spearing a hand through his hair before snatching it from her grasp. “It is not a pineapple. It’s meant to be a lily. I think.” He kicked gently at the pile of wooden knobs, separating them. “There’s a matching one here somewhere. As I said, they’re not finished. The roses are coming out a little better. Have a look.” He plucked another from the pile and held it out to her.

“Ah, I see.” The object in her hand resembled a wooden cabbage more than anything, but she wouldn’t have said so for the world. “What are they for?”

“Finials, for the curtain rods. There are four windows up here, you see. I’ve been working on a different set for each.” He pointed to each window in turn. “Roses. Lilies. Daisies.” His touch landed on the windowpane at their side. “Tulips.”

He took the wooden rose from her hand and gave it a rueful smile. “I know they’re pitiful. But the work gave me something to pass the time if I woke in the night.”

“Why flowers?”

He shrugged. “I promised you flowers, didn’t I?”

She couldn’t even answer, for the sharp pinch in her chest.

“My first attempts were far worse than these, if you can believe it. They came easier once I switched to my left hand. You gave me that idea.”

Meredith turned to the window, unable to meet his gaze. “Tulips for this one, did you say? Then it must be the best.”

“It is.” He put his hands on her shoulders and nudged her close to the glass. “When it’s a clear day, up this high, you can see for miles. And if you face the downslope and look very sharp, you can just make out a thin slice of blue, a shade darker than the sky. That’s the ocean, Merry. Right off the Devonshire coast.” His thumbs stroked her shoulders. “Of course, you can’t see it now.”

No. No, she couldn’t. All she could see was the blackness outside reflecting their own image, like a mirror. Even in this imperfect, dark reflection, she could see the excitement in his expression, the spark in his eyes. All the emotion he’d been holding back—he’d poured it all into this house. Not only emotion, but hard work and good faith.

They’d built something too, between them. Just as he’d said from the first. In the course of all those conversations and kisses and time spent in one another’s company, they’d pieced together something wonderful—something with lace curtains and corner closets and an ocean view. Not just a house, but a loving home.

How would Rhys react when he learned it was all built on a foundation of misconceptions and needless guilt? Meredith didn’t want to find out, but she needed to.

She had to tell him everything. Tonight.

His grip tightened on her shoulders. “You deserve so much more, but this is only the beginning. I’m going to rebuild the whole estate in time, and you’re going to live in true luxury. The finest furnishings, a whole fleet of servants. I promise, you’ll never lift a finger again.”

“You needn’t promise me anything.”

“I want to. I owe it to you and your father both. You’ve suffered for years on my account, and now it’s—”

“No.” She turned to face him. “Please don’t speak to me of fate or fires or obligation.”

Frowning a little, he smoothed the hair from her brow. “Merry, I don’t know what more I can say. I’ve tried my best with the romance, but—”

She gasped. Romance. “Oh, no. Oh, God.”

“What is it?”

“Cora. We’re here to find Cora.”

Rhys swore viciously. How could he have forgotten their errand, for even one second? The guilt he felt was mirrored on Meredith’s face.

Shrugging away from him, she went for her lamp. “We’ve spent enough time here. We’ve got to go search the ruins.” Together they scrambled up the bluff. Once they reached the ruins of Nethermoor Hall, they separated at what remained of the front entrance and circled in opposite directions. Rhys took the outer perimeter, and Meredith followed the inner wall. They each stumbled and shouted their way around the ruin, calling Cora’s name until they were hoarse. Nothing.

He reunited with Meredith at the crumbling arch. The glow of her lamp bobbed in the mist. The wind was picking up.

“Any sign of her?” he asked.

“No.”

Thunder rumbled in the distance. Perfect. Just what they needed, a storm. “I suppose we should be getting back to the village, then. Perhaps she’s turned up elsewhere.”

The bobbing glow stilled. “We haven’t checked every part of the ruin yet.”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

Though he knew damn well what she meant. Had he forgotten that place, truly? Or had he just wanted to forget it so fiercely that he’d managed to wipe it from his mind? But Meredith was right … if Cora had wandered up here, the cellar would have made a logical haven from the mist and cold. They would need to look.

“I’ll go alone,” she said.

“No,” he said. “No, you can’t go alone. It’s not safe.” That place wasn’t safe, not for anyone. It never had been. But he’d be damned if he’d let her think that he—who’d faced down Napoleon’s Imperial Guardsmen and hamfisted prizefighters alike—was afraid of a damned cellar, filled with nothing but cobwebs and shadow.

Her light swayed as she transferred it from one hand to the other, and for a moment, the features of her face were caressed by soft, smoky light. With her free hand, she reached through the mist to take his. “We’ll go together. And we’ll do it quickly.”

He allowed her to lead the way to the cellar entrance. She seemed to know the way better than he did. It was well-hidden now, obscured by haphazard piles of masonry. Hand in hand, they picked their way over the strewn boulders and found the stairway. The rocks teetered and clacked a bit as they scrambled over them.

The cellar must have been built from a natural cave that his ancestors had widened and deepened with time. Or perhaps they’d quarried the stone for the house, then built right over the empty pit? At any rate, it made an ideal place for storing food and spirits—protected from the elements, cool and dark. Silent. It made an ideal place to keep secrets, too.

As they descended into the dark pit, the sounds of the wind outside were muted. Meanwhile, their every step and sigh echoed off the walls. This place caught every sound, trapped it to rattle about and amplify. Each footfall, each spoken word … each crack or blow … seemed to have the strength of dozens.

“Cora?” Meredith called out into the darkness. The name volleyed around the room, losing a bit of its consonant edge with each echo, until all that remained was a round, hollow ball of “Oh” bouncing about the dark.

She called again. “Cora, are you here?”

No answer.

Rhys would have added his voice to hers, but his throat had gone dry. His jaw seemed locked in place.

“She’s not here,” she finally said. “Let’s go.”

“Wait.” The word creaked from his throat. He coughed and tried to master the emotions rising in his gorge. “We don’t know that she’s not here. We only know she hasn’t answered the call. She could be hurt, or asleep. We have to check the whole cellar, every corner.”

She was silent for a moment. Then finally said, “All right.”

Sweeping his light around, Rhys noticed a great many crates and casks filling the room. Odd. He would have expected to find it stone-empty, especially after all this time. Looted by the locals long ago. Perhaps the rumors of ghosts had kept them away.

He knew they’d descended to the bottom of the staircase when his final footfall hit the ground with a thud that shivered his hipbone. He stumbled over something that felt like a wire.

“Cora?” Meredith called. Her voice was a bright, clear beacon in the blackness. “Cora, are you in here?”

No answer from the girl.

There was, however, an answer from God … in the form of a low, menacing groan at the top of the stairs.

“Oh, Lord.”

Chapter Twenty-one

There was a crash of thunder. A crash of stone.

And then a chorus of a hundred small collisions, each one bashing blindly into the next.

The difference was palpable, instantly. It had nothing to do with the lighting—pitch black was pitch black—but rather to do with the air. The cool, misty breeze was instantly sucked from the space, replaced with puffs of grit, and rank, ancient damp. The air was choked with earth and secrets, as if they’d been sealed in a tomb.

“Tell me,” said Meredith, “that sound wasn’t what I think it was.”

“It was,” he confirmed. “We’re trapped.”

Her fingers tightened around his.

“We’ll be all right,” he said.

At the same moment, she said, “We’ll be fine, you know.”

And after speaking over one another, they laughed a bit together. Fitting, that each of them should think of comforting the other. They were each of them so accustomed to being the stronger in any given pair.

Once the last bits of their echoed laughter had seeped into the cracks of the stones, Rhys took the lamp from her hand and held it aloft between them. Bravery aside, she was trembling a bit.

“Don’t be concerned. You’re with me. And I’m indestructible, remember?” It was this very place that had made him so. There was no way in hell he’d die here. Clearing his throat, he went on, “We need to look for something dry and wood. Something that will burn.” ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">