Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 112133 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 561(@200wpm)___ 449(@250wpm)___ 374(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112133 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 561(@200wpm)___ 449(@250wpm)___ 374(@300wpm)
God, she was a joy to watch. He’d grown accustomed to the idea of marriage very quickly, for a man who’d shuddered at the very notion for the whole of his adult life. That, more than anything, proved it must be destiny.
Even now, as he watched those dark strands working loose from her plait, his fingers ached to stroke her hair. He’d never taken time to do such a thing with a woman before. Perhaps he’d felt the lanky strands of a harlot’s hair slithering over his bare skin a time or two, but he’d never wanted to touch it on purpose.
He wanted to touch Meredith everywhere. Caress her brow with the backs of his knuckles—the callused pads of his fingertips were too rough. Curl his fingers in that hair, bury his face in it. Wake early on a Sabbath morning just to lie abed for hours and count every strand. A man could do that with his wife, couldn’t he? Sprawl out on the mattress, tuck her head against his chest, and stroke her hair for the sheer pleasure of it?
He’d just need to keep his shirt on.
He silently cursed himself for that mistake. What had he been thinking, letting her see his bare torso, all the scars he’d accumulated over the years? The look on her face as she asked him to put on a shirt … She must have been disgusted. He could tell by the guarded, wary glances she kept throwing him.
Meredith ducked behind the bar and lined up four glasses for filling. Rhys started toward her, eager to make a better impression tonight.
“Don’t even think it.”
Gideon Myles stepped in front of him. Rhys had to admit, the man had bollocks, to try that move with him.
“Leave her be. She’s not for you,” Myles said in a low voice. “There’s nothing in this village for you.”
“Oh, really? I’ve a title and a pile of legal papers that say otherwise.”
“And I’ve a pistol.” Myles’s hand went to his waistband.
Rhys waved his hand dismissively. “Yes, yes. Saw it this morning. I wasn’t impressed then, either.” He eyed the man closely, taking his measure. Average height, lean, and probably about five years Rhys’s junior. His eyes held the hungry gleam of ambition, and pure arrogance fueled his swaggering step.
Rhys didn’t like him. At all.
“You’re very protective of those dry goods you carry, Mr. Myles.”
“My trade is none of your concern.”
“Oh, I think it is. As the lord of this place, unlawful activity is my concern. And my concern … well, that’s your problem, isn’t it? You’re transporting smuggled goods through this village, and you’re worried I’ll put a stop to it.”
To his credit, Myles didn’t even try to deny the charge. He coolly raised his eyebrows. “And …?”
“And you’re right. I will put a stop to it.”
His jaw clenched. “Like hell you will. Stay out of my way, Ashworth, and I’ll make no trouble for you. This is business, not personal.”
“Oh, it’s personal to me.” Rhys took a small step toward him, forcing Myles to take a small step in retreat. “If you trafficked in French goods during the war, in even the smallest amount—it’s personal, indeed. Your ‘trade’ could have purchased the lead that ripped through this shoulder.” He thumped his hand over the old wound. “Missed my heart by inches.”
The younger man set his jaw. “Can’t blame that one on me. If I’d paid for that ball, it would have found its mark.”
“Fair enough. Forget me. Let’s speak of others, then. How many casks of brandy do you think it took to fund each bayonet or saber that skewered one of my men in battle?”
“I don’t know.” Gideon’s eyes flashed. “About as many as it took to keep these villagers from starving to death after you left Devonshire.”
Touché.
They stared at each other for a moment.
“Guess you were right,” Myles finally said. “It is personal.”
Rhys nodded in agreement.
“Very well, then. You have a week to get out of my village. Or I will personally make certain you leave.”
Rhys just laughed and shook his head. “You and what army? Oh, wait—I forgot. Armies can’t kill me, either.”
“A week.” Myles backed his way to the door, pausing just before he left to add, “I’ll be back in a week. Don’t let me catch you here.”
The moment Gideon Myles left, Rhys ceased caring about him. As if he’d allow some petty smuggler to dictate where and when he could be on his own land. What a joke.
He strolled over to the bar and sat down on one of the stools. He watched as Meredith tapped a fresh cask of wine. The defined muscles in her arms made a stark contrast with her delicate features and small frame.
“Don’t you have a girl to help you in the evenings?” he asked, looking about the room. “A barmaid?”