She wept for Glory, her beloved girl, whose fate hung in the terrifying balance.
She wept for Rhys who, in doing the right thing, was destroying their love.
She wept for herself. For not being a good enough mama and failing her daughter. For losing her heart to a man who would never be hers. For believing in violins and roses and faerie tales even though her own mother had taught her better.
When she was done, her insides dry as bone, she sat up. She wiped her eyes, blew her nose, and took several hitched breaths. Then she did what a Goode always did when her back was against the wall.
She found a way to survive.
35
The next morning,Rhys sent a note to Thomas Sharpe and received a prompt reply. After stopping at the Archbishop’s to procure the document that was essential to his plan, he presented himself at the Sharpes’ townhouse on Berkeley Square. He was ushered into a lavishly decorated study, where Thomas Sharpe awaited him with coffee and a surfeit of smugness.
“Well, can’t say I’m surprised you came to your senses. One look at my Gertrude and most men would fall to their knees in gratitude. After your shabby treatment of her last night, it might take just that.” Sharpe’s glee was that of a man who enjoyed watching a worm wriggle on a hook. “A bit of groveling never hurt a man, did it?”
“I’ll do what it takes,” Rhys said flatly.
Clearly misinterpreting the cause of his determination, Sharpe smirked and took a slurp of coffee. “Glad you came to heel after all, Ransom. Was looking forward to adding a title to the family tree. After you’re wed, you and Gertrude must visit us in New York so that we can show you the sights.”
And parade me like a prized blue-blooded stud from Tattersall’s in front of your friends. Yes, I know what I’m signing up for.
As revolting as the notion was, Rhys was here to close a deal.
“Before we discuss the future,” he said evenly, “I wish to finalize the present negotiations.”
“Finalize? Your representative Newton and I put together an agreement, which I understood had your approval.” Sharpe’s jolly façade evaporated, revealing his industrialist’s keenness. “There’ll be no last-minute changing of the terms, no sirrah. I wasn’t born yesterday.”
“Nothing of the essence will change. I do, however, wish to speed up the process. I’ve procured a special license from the Archbishop which will allow Miss Sharpe and me to be wed forthwith.”
“My wife’s got her heart set on a grand wedding.” Dark brew sloshed over Sharpe’s cup as he set it down with undue force. “One at St. George’s or another of the venues you and your circle use for such occasions. She wants our daughter to have the very best, and so do I.”
“We can have a ceremony after the wedding and invite the entireton, if you wish. But I want to get married as soon as possible.”
“Why?” Sharpe asked bluntly.
“I need your daughter’s dowry tomorrow.”
“I’m not signing over anything until the ink is dry on the wedding certificate.”
“I understand. In that case, I will need a signed statement from you guaranteeing the amount of the dowry and when it will be delivered. And I will expect to receive the funds the day I wed your daughter.”
“This haste is unseemly,” the American blustered. “And all this talk of funds—”
“Is why you and I will be related,” Rhys said coolly. “My title and connections for your money. As I said, nothing in our arrangement changes.”
Sharpe’s fingers drummed on the arm of his chair. Perhaps his conscience had finally kicked in, and he regretted the loveless marriage to which he was consigning his only child.
With a stark pang, Rhys thought of Glory. How he loved his cinnamon-haired poppet, feared for her well-being. If he’d had a chance to be her father, he would never barter her off like chattel. He’d care only for her happiness. It killed him to think that he would have no part in her future—but the most important thing was that she wouldhavea future.
He’d do anything to protect her, including going through with this despicable arrangement.
Once he had the money to pay Sweeney, she would be free. He had to believe that. Because the alternative…he shut out the mind-numbing terror. Forced himself to concentrate.
“I’ll agree to your revised terms,” Sharpe said, “but I have an addendum of my own.”
Of course you do.Rhys arched a brow.
“I want a grandchild within a year.”
