Her mouth was dry; swallowing, she forced herself to focus on his eyes, on the irritation clear in the silvery gray.

Even as the most elementary ability to think re-formed in her mind, she saw her plans, her carefully calculated, absolutely vital plans, unraveling. “No.”

His eyes narrowed.

She narrowed hers back, tipped up her chin “What I do is no concern of yours, my lord.”

He growled, literally growled. “Ro-remember? And for your information-”

Breaking off, he looked past her. The door opened.

Glancing around, she saw the innkeeper. He stood as if poleaxed in the doorway, the smile on his face melting away-he plainly had no idea what expression to replace it with. As she had done, he was staring at Ro, at his naked chest; unlike her, the innkeeper’s expression was horrified.

“Oh, for God’s sake!” Ro shook out the shirt he carried in one fist, but one glance was enough to confirm for them all that it was so wet, he’d never succeed in pulling it on again.

Looking up, he pinned her with a rapier-sharp gaze. “Wait here while I go up and change. Do not leave this room.”

If you do, I’ll come after you.

She heard the unvoiced warning clearly. She set her jaw; wild visions of having him taken up by a constable, or at least being thrown out into the night, drifted temptingly across her mind…but it was raining cats and dogs-and sheep and goats and horses-out there, and who would do the throwing? The innkeeper and what army?

Lips as thin as his, eyes every bit as narrow, she folded her arms, watched him scoop up his sodden clothes. “I’ll wait here.”

She knew better than to try to deny him; never in her life had she managed that, and it didn’t seem that anything had changed between them.

He nodded curtly and stalked past her to the door. The innkeeper-still gawping-hurriedly stepped back and Ro went out.

The instant he was out of her sight, some measure of her accustomed acuity returned; her mind literally cleared. Just as well. If she knew Ro, and she did, she was going to need every wit she possessed.

The innkeeper coughed, then whispered, “Miss-if you want to slip away to your room, I’ll escort you up. There’s a sound bolt on the door. You could move the little chest across it, too.”

She glanced at the man, had to search her memory, seesawing wildly between the past and the present, for his name. She considered, then spoke, her voice cool, calm, faintly imperious. “That’s entirely unnecessary, Bilt. You need have no fear. I have more than sufficient years in my dish to deal with his lordship.”

She hoped. She most definitely prayed.

A suspicious look entered Bilt’s eyes. “You and his lordship know each other?”

She could imagine what tack his mind had taken, what meaning his “know” was intended to imply. “Indeed,” she replied repressively. “Childhood friends.” When Bilt’s suspicions didn’t immediately evaporate, she added somewhat waspishly, “Oh, do use your wits, man! If our relationship were any other we’d be meeting upstairs, not in your parlor.”

It took a minute for Bilt to accept that not even Rogue Gerrard would be likely to prefer a parlor over a comfortable bed. Given Ro’s reputation, Lydia couldn’t blame Bilt for the hesitation, or his earlier suspicions.

Brusquely handing him her umbrella, she turned back into the room. “Now.” Her mind was functioning again. “Lord Gerrard has clearly just arrived, and equally clearly he can’t have dined. I regret the lateness of the hour, but if Mrs. Bilt could assemble a meal, both his lordship and I would be grateful.” Shrugging off her cloak, she draped it over the chair, then fixed Bilt with a commanding stare. “His temper is always improved by a good meal.”

And setting a table and feeding him would keep Bilt about, at the same time assuaging his unfounded fears.

Bilt blinked, then bowed. “Yes, of course, miss. An excellent notion.”

The more she thought of it, the more she felt it was; dealing with Ro was going to be difficult, but perhaps there was some way in which she could turn his unexpected arrival to her advantage.

Setting her mind to that task would keep it focused on her goal-her purpose in being there-and away from what had happened the last time they’d met.

She definitely couldn’t afford to think about that.

The sodden hem of her dress-only an inch or so; she’d left her pattens by the inn’s door-dripped onto her shoes. Noticing, she placed herself before the fire and lifted the hem to the blaze.

And thought about how to conscript Ro to her cause.

He’d always been something of a protector. A white knight riding to her aid whenever she’d needed him. Admittedly that had been more than a decade ago, yet despite the reputation he’d gained over the intervening years, she suspected something of that white knight remained, concealed beneath his glib, sophisticated exterior.

Gentleman rake, gamester, dissolute womanizer, and gazetted libertine-all were labels she’d heard applied to him, all, as she understood it, with good cause. The entire ton knew of his countless affairs, of the wild gambling, the incredible wagers won and lost, the licentious dinners and parties that, if the gossipmongers were to be believed, were one step away from outright orgies.

Recollections of tales of some of his more outrageous exploits drifted through her mind; most such tales hailed from more than six years ago, but the perceived wisdom was that with maturity, he’d grown more discreet. Despite all, he’d remained a darling of the ton-Gerrard of Gerrard Park, as wealthy as he was handsome-but unfortunately for the matchmakers, his reputation was sufficiently enshrined in the ton’s collective psyche to render him ineligible as a candidate for their delicate daughters’ hands.

The Bilts arrived with plates, cutlery, napkins, and platters. She nodded encouragingly, then left them to set the small round table they pulled to the center of the room.

Standing before the fire, waving her gown’s hem in the warmth of the flames, she frowned. When, over the years, she’d imagined meeting Rogue Gerrard face-to-face again, she’d thought she’d see a different man, one on whom a licentious, hedonistic life had left its mark. Instead…when she’d looked at him, all she’d seen was the same man, just ten years older. He’d been striking as a younger man; now he was impressive-larger, harder, with a none-too-subtle edge that only underscored his innate strength.

As a young man, he’d made her heart race.

Now he set it pounding.

She heard his step on the stair. Turning, she discovered the Bilts had withdrawn, leaving all in readiness on the table. They’d laid two places although she’d already dined. Perhaps she’d have some fruit, just to keep Ro company. She crossed to one chair, looking up as the door opened.

Ro filled the doorway.

Not the Ro who had left, but one infinitely more intimidating. He was impeccably turned out, from the shining chestnut hair clustering in damp waves about his head, to the pristine, intricately tied cravat anchored with a simple gold pin, to the severe, almost austere lines of coat and waistcoat.

Dark trousers cloaked his long legs, making him appear even taller. The aristocratic planes of his face somehow appeared harder, cleaner, more sharply delineated.

He looked at her, then at the table. Then his gaze rose to her face. Arching a brow, he entered and shut the door.

Before he could speak, she gestured to the platters. “We thought you might be hungry.”

He was. Ravenous, now food was set before him. Inclining his head in acknowledgment, Ro walked around the table to hold her chair.

Although he steeled himself, it didn’t help; awareness rippled through him, just because she was near.

Within arm’s reach.

She sat and he stepped away, forced his feet to the other end of the small table. He sat, helped himself to a slice of game pie, then looked across the table and fixed her with a steady stare. “So-what are you doing here?”