One by one, the reasons to refuse his offer had dissipated. Her initial anger at him had faded; indeed, she realized that her anger had mostly been at herself. With regards to Glory, he’d seemed to take Maggie’s denial of his paternity at face value and showed no signs of knowing that Glory was his. Even if he did, Maggie doubted that he would do anything about it.
A child would interfere with his all-important freedom. More significantly, she knew that his rakish exterior hid a core of gallantry. Her intuition told her that the man who’d charged to her rescue time and again wouldn’t expose a little girl to the pain of being a bastard.
Maggie was honest enough to admit that the real threat was to her own well-being. Spending time with Rhys would make her want things she couldn’t have. If she were to work with him, have an affair with him, then she would have to guard her emotions.
She couldn’t open herself up to hope. Couldn’t confuse kindness and pleasure with…love.
I can do this. And, for once in my life, I’m going to enjoy the moment.
Drawing a breath, she stopped. Held out her hand. “I’ll take the job.”
“Capital.” Lips curving, Rhys shook her hand…and then brought it to his lips. “And I can be assured of your discretion?”
“You have my word.” She tugged her hand free, her knuckles tingling. “Now what are you hiring me to do?”
Juxtaposed against the dawn-streaked sky, his dark hair whipping in the wind and eyes roguishly agleam, he looked like a gentleman outlaw. Elegant and ruthless. Capable of stealing not only booty—but a woman’s heart.
An awareness of peril shivered through her as he flashed a charismatic grin. “As to that, sweeting…have you ever gone on a treasure hunt?”
12
On his wayto the study the following afternoon, Rhys was intercepted by Quince.
“This just arrived for you.” As usual, the butler was as cheerful as a dirge.
Rhys took the letter from the salver. He frowned, recognizing his man-of-business’s handwriting. “By the by, I’m expecting a guest. Show Mrs. Foley to the study when she arrives.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“Er, about that. As I’ve mentioned, I wish to remain incognito during my stay. When Mrs. Foley is here, be sure to forgo the formalities. To her, I am simply Rhys Jones.”
If the butler had any curiosity about Rhys’s request, he showed no sign as he shuffled off. Then again, his former master had also chosen to prune himself from the illustrious family tree. Continuing to his study, Rhys felt the increasingly bothersome prick of guilt. He wasn’t lying to Maggie for he was, indeed, Mr. Rhys Jones.
Yet he hesitated to share that he was also the Duke of Ranelagh and Somerville. First, he was hiding from cutthroats; the fewer who knew who he was, the better. Second, he had a strong hunch that Maggie would not react well to their differences in station. The more time he spent with her, the more he understood her insecurities. Time and again, she’d thought he believed her to be less than a lady, which couldn’t be further from the truth.
He knew countesses who couldn’t match her dignity and duchesses who didn’t have her pride.
Perhaps that was why he’d also neglected to mention the fact that he was in debt and on the flit. His past embarrassed him. He wasn’t keen on revealing his weaknesses and tainting Maggie’s image of him, as it were.
Stop being a namby-pamby fool,he told himself crossly.You’ll tell her what she needs to know when she needs to know it.
Entering his study, he went to the desk. Locating the letter opener next to the heart-shaped bottle of ink, he slit open the note from Newton.
Your Grace,
Per your instructions before you left London, I have been making inquiries on your behalf. I am writing to inform you that I have located a possible candidate to meet your requirements: Miss Gretchen Sharpe, only child and heir to Mr. Thomas Sharpe, an industrialist from New York.
The Sharpes understand your terms and are eager to negotiate an advantageous arrangement for both parties, pending a personal audience with you.
Please let me know how you wish to proceed.
Your servant,
Arthur Newton
Holy hell.Rhys had almost forgotten his instructions to his man-of-business. Prior to leaving—all right,fleeing—London, he’d told Newton to keep an eye out for any heiresses with fortunes sufficient to cover his debts. He’d assumed that plump dowries were in short supply and that he’d likely sent Newton on a fool’s errand.
Apparently, he’d underestimated both the prevalence of heiresses and his man-of-business’s diligence. He shouldn’t have been surprised at the latter: Arthur Newton was as reliable and loyal as they came. Rhys had once done the man a favor, and Newton had been paying him back ever since. And now Newton had found a solution to Rhys’s debts.
