I can’t let anything happen to our daughter. I will not be my father,he thought fiercely.This time, I’ll do whatever it takes to protect the ones I love.
“Did you discover anything?” Maggie asked again, sitting up straighter.
Shaking his head, he took the chair across from her. He didn’t dare sit beside her. Being close to her would only make doing what he had to do—the right thing to do—more difficult.
“None of the staff remember seeing Victor or Glory,” he said tonelessly.
Maggie gave a disappointed nod. “I tried to question Bertha further, but the poor woman is beside herself. She blames herself even though she’s not at fault. She did recall that Glory drank the tea, and Ferdinand was in the hidden pocket of her skirt. I’m glad because if Glory was asleep when she was taken and F. F. was with her, then she wouldn’t have been quite as…”—Maggie’s voice cracked—“…alone and afraid.”
Rhys caged his emotions; he had to stay focused. Level-headed. The notion of Glory alone and terrified, her life in peril—it could not be condoned. Something had to be done. And he could only think of one feasible option.
“What are we going to do?” Maggie whispered.
“We’re going to get Sweeney his money,” he stated.
“But how? He’s given us only two days, and we have no leads, no clues…nothing.”
Seeing her despair, her terror, he hated himself. For doing this to the woman he loved. And now he would have to hurt her even more.
He forced himself to go on. “There is one other option.”
“What option?” Hope flared in Maggie’s gaze.
The notion sickened him. But it was his best shot at getting Glory back safely, and time was running out. Exhaling, he said, “I am going to speak to Sharpe tomorrow morning.”
He saw the instant when understanding hit her.
Pain darkened her eyes; she shook her head in denial. “No, Rhys. There has to be…some other way. Perhaps we could talk to Tessa—”
“Tell anyone and she dies painfully. Those were Sweeney’s words,” he said harshly. “I’m not willing to take that risk, are you?”
Maggie stared at him silently, her eyes glistening.
“Like you said, we’re out of clues and out of time. There is no good choice but one. If I can manage to mend fences with Sharpe tomorrow and procure a special license,” he said in a flat voice, “then I can go to Sweeney with the dowry. Or the very near promise of one. It won’t be as much as the jewels, but a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush. Miss Sharpe’s dowry is worth over a hundred thousand pounds: Sweeney will not turn it down.”
A tear leaked, trailing down Maggie’s cheek, and agony clawed through his cool resolve. He wanted to wipe away that tear, her pain, and the best way to do it—the only way—was to extricate himself from her life forever. To leave her…so that their daughter could be safe.
There was no better alternative.
And Maggie, his practical, no-nonsense love, had to know it too.
She said nothing when he took her hand in his. Her fingers were cold and lifeless.
How he felt inside.
“I want you to know that I…” What good would it do to make this harder? Why say the words when they were not enough? When his love was, once again, not enough.
“I’m...sorry,” he said roughly.I love you, Maggie mine. I’ll never stop.“For everything.”
“Just go.” She pulled her hand away, her eyes drenched anew. “Please. I want to be alone.”
Her distress, and knowing that he was the cause of it, spread like acid through his veins. Yet, in the long run, there was only one way for him to ease her pain and get their child back. Knowing that he was doing the right thing, the honorable thing, didn’t lessen the torment.
He forced himself to go…again.
Alone on the settee, Maggie gave into tears. She hadn’t cried, not like this, not in a long time. Not since she’d discovered she was with child, unwed and alone. But she surrendered to the sobs that wracked her because she was too tired to fight any longer.
Too tired to hope any longer.
