“Glory mentioned that your parents had passed. I’m sorry to hear it.”
“Don’t be. My father was a bastard, and we never got on,” he said flatly.
Her lashes swept up, her tip-tilted eyes wide. “And your mama…were you close to her?”
As a rule, he never spoke about his mother. But something about Maggie’s honest curiosity compelled him to answer.
“Not really,” he said curtly. “She was Chinese, the daughter of a merchant my father had dealings with. Our communication was limited since she did not speak English. She was frail, and I did not see her much; she died when I was twelve.”
He waited for Maggie’s reaction. Would she be repulsed by his mixed blood? Titillated? He was used to those responses.
“My mama passed when I was thirteen.” The verdant empathy in her eyes caused an odd constriction in his chest. “I still miss her.”
“I imagine the feeling of loss is proportionate to the degree of one’s attachment.” Another reason to avoid entanglements, he reminded himself. They were messy to begin with and invariably resulted in pain.
She nodded, then said hesitantly, “Was it difficult?”
“As I said, I was not close to my mama.”
“Not that. I meant being…different.”
Her acute observation cut through his calluses to the tenderness beneath. The sweet pain jolted him, made his brows draw together.
“I didn’t mean to pry,” she said hastily. “It’s just that being a Goode, well…I understand what it’s like to be judged for something beyond one’s control.”
In her eyes, he saw a reflection of himself unlike any he’d seen before. He felt laid bare, exposed. He didn’t care for the feeling.
To distract her, he reached out and tucked a stray tress behind her ear. His fingers trailed lazily down her silken jaw and neck, to the throbbing pulse above the high neck of her serviceable gown. A flush suffused her cheeks.
“I’ve found that being unique has its benefits,” he said in deliberately drawling tones. “Scarcity of supply increases demand, after all.”
“I’m sure that’s true for you.” Her eyes looked a bit glazed. “But we can’t all look like a pirate prince.”
He blinked. “You think I look like apirate?”
“Well, um, a regal one. A gentleman outlaw, that is.” She jerked away, clearly flustered. “With your coloring, eyes, and beard, you look civilized yet roguish. Like you’re capable of carrying out dashing misdeeds while gallantly rescuing a maiden in distress…”
For once, he was speechless. He stared at her in mute fascination.
Now beet red, she snatched up her tool bag, muttering, “We ought to get going before the high tides reach the caves.”
“Allow me.” He took the bag from her, his brows rising at its heft. “By Jove, are we planning to live in the cave for a week? What have you got in here?”
“Just a few tools for excavation,” she said. “It pays to be prepared.”
He slung the bag on his shoulder, wondering how the hell she managed to carry the weight on her own. “If this bag is any indication, I’m sure we will be—even if the plague hits.”
As Maggie led the way through the winding cavern tunnel, Rhys close behind her, she realized that for the first time in years, she felt…alive.
In part, it was because she was finally free from the looming cloud of debt. She’d gone to Rotherby’s bank this morning and plunked down the five hundred pounds Rhys had paid her. Now no one could take away her shop: her family’s livelihood was secure.
But it was more than freedom she was feeling. Making love with Rhys had uncorked a bubbling vitality: she felt like a sleepwalker who’d suddenly come awake. Her roused senses hungrily soaked in all that she’d been missing, from his spice-tinged virility to the heat of his nearness.
Her heart pumped; impulses swirled in her veins.
Flushing, she couldn’t believe she’d told Rhys that he looked like a pirate. Luckily, he’d seemed more amused than offended. With each exchange they shared, she glimpsed another facet of him. He’d never spoken of his family before, and she couldn’t help but feel sympathy for a boy who’d clearly had a strained relationship with his father and a non-existent one with his mother.
The more she learned about Rhys, the less he seemed like a carefree rake. Despite his charming exterior, there was darkness in him. She recognized those shadows of loneliness—because they haunted her too.
