Perhaps that was why he’d been quick to accept Maggie’s denial of his paternity. To relieve himself of the responsibility and shame, yes, but also because he was…afraid. Given all his failures, could he become the kind of man worthy of her and Glory?
Damnation, Maggie, how can I make this up to you?
He’d failed her in ways he could never make up for. Not if he lived to be a hundred—which was unlikely, given that he had two cutthroats after his blood.
Even now, he couldn’t do right by Maggie. With his looming debts, he wasn’t a free man. He still might have to marry himself out of trouble. The thought of the Sharpe heiress made him even more disgusted at himself.
Yet, in the darkness, there was a pinprick of light: the treasure. If he found it and if it was all that his uncle claimed it was, then he could pay off his debts…and make Maggie an honorable offer.
Not so long ago, marriage had felt like a death sentence—and would still feel that way if it involved any woman other than Maggie. But he’d known all along that she was different. The truth was that he’d been contemplating a future with her even before he knew he was Glory’s father. He’d struggled with the fact that Maggie was too respectable, toogoodto be his mistress.
But she’d make the perfect duchess.
He warmed to his plan. As long as they kept their emotions in check, he reasoned, there was no reason why a marriage between them couldn’t work.Lovewas what caused pain. He and Maggie could avoid that unnecessary entanglement. They could build a union based on passion and respect—yes, that was the ticket.
They got on well in and out of bed; why should being married change anything?
The important thing was that they had realistic expectations of each other. God knew he wouldn’t be a perfect husband or father. Yet he’d do his damnedest to be the opposite of his sire: he’d be faithful and considerate, strive to protect his own. At the same time, he’d take care to set limits on emotional intimacy so that no one would get hurt.
Indeed, there would be benefits to marriage. The regular sex—God, yes—but also more than that. With Maggie by his side, he felt stronger. Less alone. Together, they were making progress on the treasure hunt. At this moment, he had one of the jewels in his possession: a gem that, by his estimation, had to be worth close to ten thousand pounds.
A drop in the ocean of his debt. Yet it was something.
You’re not a failure.Maggie’s soft conviction drowned out the other harsh voices.When I make mistakes…I pick myself up and try again. You can do the same…I believe in you.
God’s blood, he didn’t deserve her faith. Didn’t deserveher. But he wasn’t going to let her or his daughter go without a fight. He would find the “deathless vein”—whatever the bloody hell that was—and track down the rest of the gems, by any means necessary.
Until then, although he could not offer Maggie his name, he would treat her like the queen that she was. After some deliberation, he decided not to question her about Glory directly. He would not storm in and demand to know if he was the father. He had no right, given the way he’d had his fun and abandoned her.
Instead, he would do everything in his power toshowMaggie that he was worthy of her trust. To prove that he was the type of man who was good enough for her and their child. He would earn the right to the truth.
He heard footsteps. Quince appeared from around a hedge, huffing with unusual urgency.
“Your Grace, I saw your carriage but didn’t know where you were or else I would have come earlier.” The butler paused to catch his breath. “Your man-of-business arrived just before you did.”
Rhys frowned. He wasn’t expecting a visit from Newton. Unless the man had some pressing news about the heiress situation…
His gut knotted. “Did the matter seem urgent?”
“It appears that Mr. Newton has been beaten, Your Grace.” Quince’s face was grimmer than usual. “I’m afraid rather badly.”
“It looks worse than it is, Your Grace,” Arthur Newton said from the wingchair.
Rhys stopped pacing and glowered at his man-of-business. In his forties, Newton was a lanky fellow, his shaggy sandy hair and spectacles underscoring his scholarly mien. At present, however, he looked less like a professor and more like a pugilist, thanks to the shiner he sported. The rest of his face was a collage of bruises.
“Usually when you say that, you’re referring to my financial portfolio.” Rhys raked a hand through his hair. “It is no more reassuring now when you’re speaking about your face. Who did this to you?”
“Garrity’s men.” Sighing, Newton took a sip of his brandy. “My fault, really. I ought to have been more careful walking at night. They cornered me in an alleyway and demanded to know your whereabouts.” He shrugged, then winced, his hand going to his ribs. “I told them I didn’t know where you were.”
“Devil take it, Arthur, you should have told them.”
Yet Rhys wasn’t surprised by his man-of-business’s loyalty; it was why he’d hired Newton four years ago. Back then, he’d been riding high on a wave of success. He’d been returning from a night of debauchery when he’d literally run into Newton—with his carriage.
Luckily, Newton hadn’t sustained any injury, and despite his shabby clothes and emaciated figure, he’d refused money. Rhys had ended up buying the other supper at a nearby tavern instead. Over ale and meat pie, Newton had haltingly told his tale. The youngest son of a viscount, he’d been disowned for marrying against his family’s wishes. Earnest and educated, he’d been eking out a living as a solicitor. Honesty, apparently, did not serve one well in the legal profession.
One day, he arrived home to find moneylenders waiting for him. His wife had run up several hundred pounds in his name—right before she’d run away with another man. Fate had paid her back for her perfidy for she’d passed away from an illness not long after.
Honorable fellow that Newton was, he’d nonetheless taken responsibility for the debts incurred in his name. Yet the compounding interest defeated his valiant efforts. He’d miserably confided in Rhys that he’d considered taking his own life…and Rhys had needed to hear no more. The next day, he’d settled the other’s loans.
