His gaze swung to hers, then away just as quickly. Yet she caught the flash of battered pride.
“I have debts. Significant ones.” He appeared fixated on the scrap of paper, which he was folding into precise squares. “The situation is of my own making, and I had hoped to find the solution in this cave.” His lips twisted with self-derision. “But I’ve failed once again.”
Her heart squeezed with empathy. She understood too well the helplessness of not having enough money. Of feeling that one’s survival was under constant threat.
“You haven’t failed.” She touched his arm, wool-covered steel flexing beneath her fingertips. “You’ve found the next clue, which is what your uncle meant for you to do, isn’t it? ’Tis a treasure hunt after all. You simply must persevere, find the next clue, and the next…until the prize is yours. And it will be, if you don’t give up.”
He aimed a brooding look at her. “You believe that?”
“Yes. And you won’t have to go at it alone. I’ll help you.”
“Our deal was for you to search the caves. You’ve held up your end,” he said curtly. “I cannot afford to pay you more.”
“I’m including my ongoing services as part of our bargain.”
His brow furrowed. “Why would you do that?”
Clearly, he wasn’t used to being offered support. While she’d made the offer on impulse, she knew that it was the right thing to do. He seemed so alone in his troubles; she couldn’t stand for him to lose hope. Especially when he’d given her the means to solve her own financial problems.
“Two heads are better than one.” She employed a crisp tone, sensing that his pride would balk at any hint of compassion. “When we at Foley’s take on a client, we like to see the job to the end.”
“Ever the consummate professional.” The ring of his irises turned to molten gold, the emotion there causing a flutter in her belly. “I won’t take your charity, however.”
“It’s not charity—”
“You’ll take a cut,” he said firmly. “Five percent of whatever we find.”
Relieved that he was accepting her help, she nodded. “We shouldn’t linger. The tide will be coming in soon.”
He helped her to her feet. He didn’t release her hand but, rather, brought it to his lips. The tender brush of his bristle and the raw wonder in his eyes halted her breath.
“Let’s go then, sweeting,” he said hoarsely. “We’ve work to do.”
13
Dusk was fallingby the time they returned to the manor. Dumping the useless chest in the study, Rhys invited Maggie to stay for supper.
“I’d like to stay,” she said with clear regret. “But Glory and Hypatia are expecting me.”
“All right. Let’s go.”
“Wait…you’re coming home with me?”
He frowned at her astonished tone. “I’m not going to allow a woman to ride home unescorted. In the dark, no less.”
“I do it all the time.”
He did not find the notion reassuring. “Being a widow, I’m sure that was unavoidable.”
“I did it even when my husband was alive,” Maggie said.
God’s teeth, hadn’t anyone ever looked out for this woman? Her dead husband plummeted further in Rhys’s esteem. While Rhys wouldn’t win any prizes in chivalry, he would not let her take unnecessary risks.
“He’s not here. I am,” he said. “You’ll have to do with my escort.”
When Maggie looked as if she might argue, he forestalled her by taking her face in his hands and doing what he’d wanted to do since her endearing offer to help him. He kissed her.
Her “Oh” of surprise gave him the entry he desired. His lips courted hers, his tongue exploring her honeyed cavern. She was the essence of sweetness. Her warmth and generosity warmed him to the marrow.
