“I understand,” she breathed. “I know where to find the next clue!”
16
Giventhat the location of the next clue would involve a drive to the nearby village of Whitchurch Canonicorum and Maggie had to return home to her family, Rhys agreed to postpone the journey until the next morning. He arrived at her cottage at nine o’clock. It was an ungodly hour, and he’d already made a stop at the flower shop in town before coming here.
At least he’d gone to bed early last night: the interlude with Maggie had worn him out.
The memory of her delicious climaxes seared through him. By God, she was a lusty wench. Her appetites matched his own to perfection. One of these days, he would get her into a proper bed and truly test both their limits. They’d probably tup each other to death.
What a bloody glorious way to go.
“Down, boy,” he muttered to the part of himself that was only too eager to find that certain kind of deathwith Maggie.
He’d woken with a florid cockstand, which wasn’t exactly unusual—a morning screw was his favorite way to start the day—but the fact that his first thought had been of Maggie was unprecedented. He couldn’t recall another woman having such a profound effect on him. Who consumed his thoughts even when he wasn’t with her. Who incited his lust at the same time that she made him feel…good. Lighter.
Happy.
The realization stunned him. By Jove, he wasRansom, a jaded, worldly rake—not some moonstruck calf. Happiness was so…bourgeois.
Yet he couldn’t deny that, with Maggie, things were different.Shewas different. Hell, he couldn’t tell what had horrified her more: her mistaken assumption that he was a criminal or her discovery that he was a duke. Either way, she’d taken him as he was.
Him…Rhys. Just Rhys.
Her acceptance humbled him, made him want to give her more. More than two weeks, at any rate. If they succeeded in finding the treasure (and it was worth what Horatio had promised), then Rhys would be a free man. No debts, no threat of marriage hanging over him like a guillotine.
He and Maggie could be together for as long as they both wanted. He could take her to London, show her the sights. He’d buy her a house in Town, a proper wardrobe, jewels—
She’s a respectable widow, you idiot, not some fancy piece,he chided himself.And what about Glory? She’s not going to leave her child behind and frolic about with you.
One of the things he most admired about Maggie was her stalwart sense of duty and her love of her family. And the truth was he’d grown fond of Glory. Although he didn’t usually care for the company of children, there was something about the girl’s mix of brashness and vulnerability that he found endearing. He wouldn’t mind having more cozy suppers with Maggie and her family…
Holy hell, did I just have a…domestic thought?
With a shudder, he shut down the line of thinking. His past had taught him that home and hearth were not for him. Better to focus on bedding Maggie, he told himself, and the unlimited, uninhibited fucking they could do once he absolved himself of debt.
Parking the gig, he gathered the bouquet he’d purchased for Maggie and went to knock on her door. The door flung open, revealing Glory’s beaming freckled face. She was dressed for an outing, a straw bonnet over her plaits.
“Guess what, Mr. Jones? I cut my finger!” she announced.
He hid a smile at her dramatic declaration. “Not badly, I hope.”
“I broke a cup and cut myself on the edge.” She held up her index finger, the tip bandaged with a strip of linen. Luckily, the damage looked minor. “Mama washed and wrapped it. She says I’ll survive. Are those flowers for Mama?”
“Yes. Do you think she’ll like them?”
“Roses are her favorite. And those are thelargestI’ve ever seen.” Before he could reply, she peered around him to his conveyance. “Is that your carriage?”
“It was my uncle’s.”
But he was talking to air because she’d skipped past him to the sporty, open-air gig. Opening the door, she clambered right in. While Horatio hadn’t paid attention to his property, he’d liked his vehicles. Both the driver’s and back benches were lined with velvet cushions, the lacquered sides glossy in the sun.
“Your carriage is very comfortable,” she called cheerily from the back seat.
“Oh dear, I am sorry.” Maggie appeared in the doorway, her expression flustered as she tied on a dark bonnet. “Hypatia developed a megrim this morning, and I couldn’t find anyone on short notice to mind Glory. If I leave her here, she’ll pester poor Patty who needs to rest—”
“I understand completely,” he assured her. “Glory is welcome to join us.”
“She won’t be trouble. I’ve brought her a book, and she’s good at entertaining herself. And I didn’t tell her the real purpose of our trip to Whitchurch Canonicorum. She thinks I’m giving you a tour of the local sights—”
