Chapter Thirty
Whatever had passedbetween Brynn and Mary Carew had been left in Merthyr Tydfil with his regrets. Maddy didn’t press him in front of Rhys. There was no need. She knew healing when she saw it. He stood taller, like a man sprung to life after a long winter of regret. She thought with bemused skepticism that he may have even grown an inch.
When the duke, somber and thoughtful, excused himself soon after dinner, claiming the need to depart early, Brynn astounded Maddy by announcing he would not be going with them. The man who had brought Maddy to Wales, dragging his feet—the one who had avoided his family for over a decade—now insisted he couldn’t leave.
“Not yet. I need more time with my brother.” Brynn shot a glance at Rhys and muttered, “About safety lanterns if nothing else. I still owe Rockford a report on mining operations. Perhaps my brother will help.”
Maddy opened her mouth to object but could not. She left the brothers alone, fretting inside that she needed time with Brynn, too. She needed to know what all the changes meant for the attraction that had twined itself around the two of them, sending tendrils of yearning to bloom wildly, yearning that confused and frightened her even as it drew her to him. She waited late into the night, hoping he would come to her room again, fearing what might happen if he did.
She longed for Brynn’s touch, the feel of his arms around her, the feel of his mouth on hers. Heat pooled in her feminine places, and her breasts tingled at the thought. Just as quickly, memory of Randolph’s rough hands and harsh intrusions shook her. She knew instinctively that sexual congress would not be the same with Brynn, but the fear held her in its grip. She was determined to overcome it and longed to put her courage to the test. Still, when he did not come, she, craven coward, could not make the approach herself.
Even now, standing in the stable yard next to a waiting carriage, she wished for a moment alone, but he held back. He took both her hands in his, holding them gently, while he searched her face, looking, she suspected, for understanding.
She couldn’t begrudge him time to heal the breach, but she refused to lose him to Wales. What lay between herself and Brynn mattered more—though she knew in her heart he couldn’t move on until he settled with the world of Brynhafan.
“How long, Brynn?” She gave his fingers a gentle squeeze.
He let one hand go to run his fingers around the back of his neck. “I don’t know. It is all too new.” When he dropped his hand, she took it back.
“Bring Rhys to Ashmead for Twelfth Night. It will give you more time, and his presence may ensure that Gideon keeps his word to join us.”
Brynn nodded, his eyes holding hers.
“Don’t just nod to me. Promise. Promise me you will be there.” She gripped his fingers tightly.And kiss me goodbye.
Still, he lingered, holding both her hands while Phillip glared impatiently from the carriage, where Crenshaw sat primly in the corner.
He glanced up at Phillip, turned back to caress her lips with his gaze, and stepped away. “I promise. I will be there. So will Rhys.” He peered over at his brother, who seemed to be at some pains to suppress a grin. “Now go before Glenmoor loses all patience with both of us.”
She sighed and stared at her half-boots for a moment before going up on her toes to kiss his cheek. “I’ll hold you to it, Colonel Morgan. You’ll come to Ashmead or I will come and fetch you myself.”
From the window of the carriage, she watched Brynhafan disappear into the Welsh hills before she sat back against the cushions, ignoring Phillip’s obvious concern.
And I will, too. I’ll come all the way back to Wales for you if I have to, Brynn Morgan, she thought.I will face my fears as well. Don’t doubt it.
*
Rockford’s report fellinto place quickly with Rhys’s assistance. Too quickly. The week they spent working on it and the week they spent riding the hills, revisiting boyhood haunts and dropping in on old friends, couldn’t make up for ten lost years, but they were a start. The days passed with disappointing speed.
“Not even another week?” Rhys demanded when Brynn announced his departure.
“I have an employer who has been more than generous. I owe him the report and my time.”
“But you plan to be in Ashmead, not London, for Twelfth Night,” Rhys observed with a sly grin.
“As I recall, you will join me there,” Brynn retorted.
“I doubt if the duchess cares whether I come. She invited me to insure you appear as commanded.”
“She isn’t like that,” Brynn said.
“No? What is she like, Brynn?” Rhys asked softly.
“Fine. Too fine for a broken-down soldier with nothing to offer.”
Rhys snorted at that bit of nonsense. “You’re neither broken-down nor destitute.”
“I’m no blasted duke, either.”
