“Let us say you’re right. That you ought to have done those things.”
Maggie’s acknowledgement made his gut clench. At the same time, that was why he trusted her. She was never one to mince words.
He gave a heavy nod.
“What do you think would have happened if you had?”
Her question took him aback. He didn’t usually look beyond his failures.
“My mother…” He faltered. “She wouldn’t have died.”
“Really?” Maggie gave him a skeptical look. “You think that you could have fought off your father? You, a twelve-year-old boy?”
“I should have tried,” he insisted.
“You did. You got knocked across the room for your efforts.”
His chest burned. “Then I should have tried harder.”
“Let’s suppose you told someone. Your uncle, say. What would Horatio have done?”
Frowning, he said, “I assume that he would have…”
He trailed off because, bloody hell, whatwouldHoratio have done? He could have spoken to his older brother…but what would that have accomplished? The duke had never taken anyone’s counsel, let alone his younger brother’s.
And the fact was Horatio had never been one to interfere. He did not like conflict and entanglements; he’d avoided family and duty, preferring the freedom of travel and exploration. He hadn’t even responded to Rhys’s letters, and Rhys knew that his uncle had been fond of him, in his own way.
“What would Horatio have done?” Maggie repeated.
“Nothing.” The truth plowed into him like a bullet. “Not a damned thing. And even if he had been moved to try, he didn’t have the power to stop the duke.”
Because no one could have stopped him. Not even…me.
The realization spread through him like cracks through ice. His chest and eyes grew hot. When Maggie said nothing more, he pulled her into his arms. Held her. Let her strength and care wash through him, cleansing him of his past.
After a while, she drew back, but only to look at him with a steady emerald gaze. “You’re not alone any longer, Rhys. You have me. And Glory. We won’t leave you.”
He couldn’t find the words, so he kissed her. A sweet, lingering kiss that expressed what was in his heart, now that she’d cracked it open, shown him what was inside, and patched it up neatly again. All with a pragmatism that was so utterly Maggie that he wanted to smile.
Instead, he continued kissing her. His Maggie. His.
31
After Rhys’s dark revelations,Maggie wished that they’d had more time to be alone. The fact that he’d trusted her with his painful secrets felt like the most precious of gifts. At last, she understood his demons, and she wanted to help him fight them. To comfort and support him—show him that he was no longer alone. That the brutality of his father and tragedy of his mother need not be his burden to carry.
But there hadn’t been time. The need to meet with Ming and discover the meaning of those Chinese characters had to take precedence.
As it was, they arrived late to Tessa’s ball. The strains of an orchestra and hum of guests indicated the party was already in full swing. They were led upstairs to a sumptuous private sitting room, where Ming awaited them. His wiry form was clad in a long Chinese-style tunic, his hair bound in a braid. His eyes were watchful as Rhys spoke.
“We think my uncle has hidden the key to the treasure in London.” Rhys showed Ming the letter they’d found in Horatio’s flat. “These Chinese characters—can you tell me what they mean?”
Ming glanced at the letter. “Of course I can.”
Visibly bridling his impatience, Rhys asked, “What do the characters mean? Is it a place in London?”
“Mei-Lin.Means Plum Forest.” Ming raised his brows. “There is such place in London.”
“Where?” Rhys demanded.
