Soul-clearing.
His soul craved this laughter, like a parched throat craved water in the desert. They were likely being inappropriate and causing a scene, but he didn’t care.
And this laughter, he understood, would be sparked by this woman—and shared with her.
He found he liked sharing with her.
People took life so seriously, and life was serious, which was why laughter was so necessary.
All those years he’d spent playing the wastrel rake, he’d thought he’d been laughing at the ton, at the world.
But he hadn’t, had he?
He’d been a drowning man.
But this laughter, shared with this woman, it was buoyant.
It lifted him up.
He could easily become addicted to it.
And the thought struck him that perhaps he already was.
Like an opium eater’s first hit of the pipe, perhaps that was what laughter shared with this woman was.
And it occurred to him.
At the end of this tea, he couldn’t simply let her walk out of his life.
Well, she wouldn’t be, precisely.
The ring still bound them.
And the three noble deeds.
The ring…the three noble deeds…
A chord of inspiration struck him. “About our terms for the ring.”
She exhaled the last of her laughter, a glint of suspicion replacing it in her eyes. “What of them?”
“The three noble deeds.”
“Was this—” She swept her arm around their luxurious surroundings. “Was this all about sweetening me up so I’d just hand over your pa’s ring?”
He’d miscalculated his approach—and needed to right this ship before it veered irretrievably off course. “How will you know?”
“How will I know what?”
“That I’ve held up my end of the bargain and actually done my noble deeds.”
Understanding lit within her eyes. “Ah.”
“I mean, how can you trust me?” asked Rhys, pressing his point home. “I’m a known wastrel and rake.”
“I thought you said you were on the mend.”
“You only have my word that I’m reformed. In my heart, I could be entirely and unapologetically unreformed.”
