“Oh.” The little furrow in her brow only deepened. “But the set for the cottage doesn’t have to be so fine.”

“Yes, it does.” And forbidding any further discussion with a look, he gave the shopkeeper the address of their hotel. That was, after adding to the order a full set of china and silver for the Three Hounds’ new dining room.

“I’m going to repay you somehow,” she murmured.

“Absolutely not. This was part of the arrangement. I agreed to pay all construction expenses in return for the labor.”

“Yes, but most would not classify the washbasins and silver as construction expenses.”

“Of course they are. How can a guest room be considered complete without a washstand? What use is a dining room without silver?”

“Very well,” she consented as they left the importer’s. “But I insist on paying for the fabrics from my own purse.”

Rhys shook his head as he guided her out the door. Why did she argue over these small expenses? Once they married, all their money would be combined.

They strolled for a while, stopping in at Sally Lunn’s for a bit of refreshment and a taste of the famous buns. Rhys declared them tasty enough, but vastly inferior to Meredith’s own baking. That compliment earned him a toss of her dark head and a very pretty blush. All in all, he was modestly pleased with his progress in the romance arena.

Then it was on to the draper’s. There Meredith took command. A mountain of fabrics amassed on the countertop as she asked for yard after yard of plain, but high quality linen for bedsheets, then printed dimity for curtains. And she insisted on paying for them from her own purse, to Rhys’s frustration.

“What about for the cottage?” he asked.

“Oh, there’s linen enough here.”

“And the curtains?” He nodded toward a bolt of ivory lace. “Isn’t that similar to the lace you liked so much at the hotel?”

She tsked. “It would be terribly impractical for curtains in the country. They’d become so soiled and would easily tear.”

He tapped his finger on the counter. “How many yards would you need, to make a set? There are eight windows in all.”

She shrugged and gave him a number. He tripled it in his mind and asked the shopkeeper to cut that amount and start a new bill.

“Enough for three sets,” he told her. “When they become soiled, we’ll change them for new. And when we run out of new, it’s time for another trip to Bath.” To escape the disapproving set of her mouth, he traveled down the counter to a glass case filled with a blinding array of plumes, ribbons, fans, and brilliants. Almost at random, he selected an assortment of silky and sparkly things, in as many colors as they came. The shopkeeper dutifully wrapped and tallied them as Meredith settled her fabric bill.

When at last she’d finished settling accounts and drifted down to stand at his elbow, Meredith’s gaze wandered over the dazzling array. “Are you buying souvenirs for Cora?” she asked. “She’ll be so happy. That lavender plume will look very well in her hair.”

For Cora? With effort, Rhys swallowed a growl of frustration. Why wouldn’t the woman allow him to give her a little taste of luxury? “They’re not for …”

His voice trailed off as he noticed she’d gone quiet, too. She stared, lips slightly parted, at a silver dresser set in the case. The set included a boar-bristle hairbrush and matching engraved hand mirror, neatly arranged on a gilt-edged tray.

Wordlessly, he directed the girl behind the counter to remove the set from the case.

“It’s lovely,” Meredith sighed, picking up the hand mirror and turning it glass-side up.

Rhys moved to stand behind her shoulder. Catching her gaze in the reflection, he said, “It could be solid gold and encrusted with pearls, and it still wouldn’t be as beautiful as the woman reflected in it. But thank God something has caught your eye.” To the girl, he said, “We’ll take the set.”

“Rhys, no. It’s too expensive.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Not for me.”

“It’s lovely, but it’s not really the sort of thing I’d use. It would only gather dust.”

“So we’ll have a maid dust it.”

“You can’t—”

“Yes. I can.” Despite all his efforts to remain emotionless, his blood began to heat. His cravat felt glued to his throat. Lowering his voice, he muttered, “It’s a hairbrush and a tray and a bloody mirror. And I’m buying them for you, no matter how much you protest. So stop arguing.”

She looked away, pressing her lips together into a thin line. “If you insist.”

They stood in awkward silence as the shopkeeper finished wrapping their purchases and Rhys settled the account. After arranging for most of their packages to be delivered to the hotel, he turned to Meredith and handed her the parcel containing the dresser set. She thanked him demurely, then turned for the door.

And it was all ruined, damn it. Farewell to his fantasies of dragging that silver brush through her hair, arranging it around her bare shoulders and breasts. Now every time she looked in that hand mirror, she’d see an awkward moment when he’d lost his temper and snapped at her in the draper’s. Just one more beautiful, shining thing he’d managed to tarnish.

He’d make it up to her somehow. In fact, he’d start right now, with an apology.

Catching up to her, he stopped her in the street. “Merry, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pressed you to accept a gift you didn’t want. We can return the dratted thing this instant, if you like.”

Her hands tightened over the parcel. “Rhys, that’s not it. You don’t understand.”

“I want to understand. Explain it to me.” He gestured uselessly with his hands, hardly knowing how to form the question. “You have no problem buying fine things for your guests. Why can’t I give you fine things, too?”

She sighed. “It’s difficult to accept them.”

“Difficult? You perform six difficult tasks before breakfast.”

“Well, what about you? I don’t see you buying any luxuries for yourself.”

His chin jerked. “But that’s different.”

“No, I don’t think it is. You deserve fine things, too, you know.” Her eye settled on a shop window behind him, and he could see her gaze sharpening on something in particular. “I’m going to go in and buy you that, right now. And if you don’t want to be called an insufferable hypocrite, you’re going to wait right here while I do, and when I come out, you’ll not say a word about it other than ‘thank you.’”

He stood there, stunned, as she left him and entered the shop. Belatedly, he looked to the shop’s window just in time to see a pair of hands removing a gentleman’s shaving kit from the display. It was a quality set. The razor’s handle and the knob of the shaving brush were both fashioned from horn, with gilt accents. He couldn’t let her purchase that for him. She’d be spending straight down to the lining of her purse.

But if he tried to prevent her … she’d be furious. Poverty was an easier condition to remedy than a woman’s displeasure.

A minute passed, and out she came, delivering the wrapped parcel into his hand. He stood blinking at it.

Lifting her chin, she regarded him with a challenge in her eyes. “And …?”

He forced the words out. “Thank you.”

“You see? It’s not so easy to say as it would seem.”

“I’m out of practice, I suppose.”

“With gratitude?”

He cleared the emotion from his throat. “With gifts.”

“Hm.” She gave him a meaningful look. Taking his arm, she said, “If it helps at all, it was mostly for me. I discovered this morning how much I love watching you shave.”

He gave a shout of laughter, remembering the way she’d tackled him to the bed after he’d finished. God, her inner thigh had been like silk against his smooth-shaven cheek. His trousers pulled snug, just at the memory. That was it. Shopping be damned. He couldn’t get inside her soon enough.

Without hesitation, he guided her into a hairpin turn and set a course back to the hotel. “We’ve had enough of the shops for today.”

“Ahem.”

Several pleasant hours later, Meredith cleared her throat as she emerged from the dressing room. One of the hotel’s girls had helped her dress in the red silk gown and assisted her with a sleek upswept coiffure. Now she was anxious to see Rhys’s reaction. He stood before the wardrobe, peering into the small mirror hung inside the door as he tied his cravat. When he took no notice of her gentle clearings of the throat, she coughed. Loudly, this time.

In response, he swore. He tugged the half-knotted cravat loose and started all over again.

So much for a dramatic entrance from the doorway. The soles of her new slippers glided over the carpet as she covered the space between them. He flicked her a brief glance, then turned his attention back to his cravat.

“Well …?” she prompted.

“Yes?” He frowned at the reflected knot of linen. “What is it?”

“How do I look?”

“Beautiful.”

“Rhys! You scarcely looked at me.”

“I don’t have to,” he said, his brow knitting in concentration as he unworked the knot for a third attempt. “You always look beautiful.”

“But …” But this will be my first evening out in fashionable society, and I’m terribly afraid that every person in the Theatre Royal will turn on cue, take one look at me, and instantly know I’m a country girl wearing a courtesan’s discarded gown.

With a growl of disgust, he picked apart the cravat again. “Goddamn fingers. Been broken one too many times.”

“Calm down.” She put a hand on his arm, turning him away from the mirror and toward her. “Let me? If a simple knot will serve, I can do it. I did Father’s for years.”

He closed his eyes and exhaled roughly as she wound and tied the cravat, tucking under the ends. “There.”

“Thank you.” His eyes fluttered open, and his sheepish gaze found hers. “You do look beautiful, by the way.”

“As beautiful as tulips?” She smoothed her hands over his shoulders and lapels. Even if she had to feed him the compliments, she would take them. She was that desperate for reassurance.

“A thousand times more.” He kissed her brow, then offered his arm. “Shall we?”

As they stepped out into the street, Meredith felt herself go pale. She’d wished she’d thought to fortify herself with some courage of the liquid variety.

“Ashworth?” The low voice came from behind them. “Ashworth, is that you?”

Chapter Eighteen

Meredith froze. Here it was, her first social test. That smooth, cultured voice could not possibly belong to a servant or shopkeeper. She would be introduced. She would have to speak. And before all that, she would have to somehow turn around in this voluminous red gown and manage not to tangle herself into something that resembled fresh sausage links. Following Rhys’s lead, she pivoted to face the newcomer. The tall, thin man bowed in greeting.

Rhys returned the bow, more fluidly than Meredith would have expected. “Corning,” he said. “What an unexpected pleasure.”

So curious, that she’d not seen Rhys bow before. All throughout their day in Bath, she’d noted an aristocratic grace to his movements that wasn’t often on display in Buckleigh-in-the-Moor. Well, and to whom would he be bowing there? He was the lord. Everyone in Buckleigh-in-the-Moor ought to be bowing to him.

It was at that moment—several seconds too late for etiquette—that Meredith remembered to curtsy. Damn, damn, damn.