“Wait here a moment,” he said.
He knew she was in a bad state indeed when she simply pressed her lips together and didn’t reply. He headed toward Glory and Hypatia.
“Mr. Jones!” Glory’s greeting was muffled by her mouthful of cheese. She pointed at a blue-veined morsel on the tray of samples. “You must try this one. It’s my favorite so far!”
“The miss has fine taste,” the aproned cheesemonger said, beaming. “Our Blue Vinney is the finest in the county. Help yourself, sir.”
“None for me.” Rhys handed the proprietor a few coins. “Wrap up whatever she wants.”
Glory’s eyes widened. She immediately began to sample the other cheeses while the cheesemonger provided a description of each.
Hypatia frowned at Rhys. “Sir, you needn’t—”
“Mrs. Foley is a trifle peaked,” he said in a low voice. “I will be securing her refreshment at that tea shop we just passed. Gibson’s, I believe. You and Miss Glory must join us when you’re finished here.”
The spinster’s gaze was acute. “Pickering-Parks didn’t come up to scratch?”
“He did not,” Rhys confirmed. “Mrs. Foley also had a visit from her brother Jeremy.”
“It never rains but pours,” Hypatia muttered. Then she nodded. “Take your time. I believe Glory and I will finish making the rounds of the market before joining you at Gibson’s.”
Maggie didn’t know how she ended up having tea with Rhys. One minute she’d reached the end of her rope and was unraveling in the middle of the street, the next he was ushering her into Gibson’s Tea Room. Inside, she passed several people she knew, and all of them, especially a local gossip by the name of Mrs. Mulligan, wanted to know the identity of her companion.
As if attuned to her exhaustion, Rhys had taken over, handling the situation with his usual suave charm. He’d told Mrs. Mulligan that he was a relation of Horatio Jones and had taken up residence at Journey’s End. He’d also made clear that his interest in Maggie was in a professional capacity as he wished to explore the caves his uncle had left him.
Now they were seated in a quiet alcove away from prying eyes. Rhys ordered a lavish menu, even though Maggie had no stomach for food. Mrs. Gibson brought the tea first, depositing the pot on the flowered tablecloth and discreetly leaving them to their conversation.
The problem was Maggie didn’t trust herself to speak. Her thoughts and emotions were a jumbled mess. And none of the tricks Paul had taught her were working: shecouldn’tcompose herself, and that fact worsened her agitation.
“Maggie.” The soft command in Rhys’s voice compelled her to look at him. His hazel eyes were warm and intent. “Tell me what is going on in that head of yours.”
“You don’t want to know.” She took a sip of tea, hoping it would settle her nerves.
“I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t. Now tell me why you’ve lumped me in with that bastard Bancroft.”
So that’s it. He feels wronged. That’s why he wants to know what you’re thinking.
“I apologize,” she said instantly. “I was overwhelmed and spoke out of turn.”
“What is overwhelming you?” he asked.
God, if he’d only told her to calm herself, the way Paul had. Or ignored her state of mind, the way her family was wont to do. But instead, he was beingunderstanding…a response that she had little experience with and no defenses against.
She concentrated on dumping more sugar into her tea. “It’s nothing I cannot manage.”
“Like your brother Jeremy? Pardon my saying, but you did not seem to be managing him very well. What did he want from you?”
To be a lookout for the smuggling ring he and my other brothers have put together. To risk my neck—or risk theirs.
She stirred in another spoonful of white crystals. “He asked a favor, that’s all.”
“He wants you to do something you do not wish to do. And he was not above using guilt to manipulate you into doing it.”
The accuracy of his assessment made her spoon rattle against her cup.
“It is a family matter.” She lifted her chin. “It’s complicated.”
“And the business with Bancroft, I take it that is complicated as well?”
