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“Someone will sit with him at all times, except for when I am here with him. I do not want him to awaken and be frightened.” Georgiana knew the doctor had said a few hours, but she was taking no chances.
About an hour after her son’s return, she faced her brother. “I will see Mr. Tremayne now.”
“Not alone. There is blood on his shirt,” Simon growled, and she knew nothing she said would dissuade him.
Several minutes later they entered the library. Rhys stood near her desk, bracing his hand on the windowsill. From the light cast by the fireplace, she caught a glimpse of his harsh, unyielding expression.
“How is your son?” he asked without turning.
She walked slowly across the carpet to stand behind the chair in front of her desk. “Sleeping. He didn’t wake, but Dr. Monroe believes he is safe.”
“We are in your debt, Tremayne,” her brother said guardedly from where he leaned casually against the door.
At that pronouncement, Rhys faced them. He took Simon’s measure, and without speaking, Rhys leveled his gaze on her. Silently, he communicated that if there was a debt, it was between her and him.
“The men who took him?” she asked, needing to know what happened to those vermin and who they were.
“Dead.”
“I…I beg your pardon?”
Simon had stood to full attention.
“You heard me, duchess.”
She felt a cold, prickling sensation on her skin. She couldn’t seem to find her voice. “How?” the hoarse question ripped from her.
“Painfully.”
“Was…” Her throat worked on a swallow. “Was his uncle a party to this act of cowardice?”
Rhys’s eyes shadowed. “Yes.”
She slapped her hand over her mouth, but her cry of horror spilled forth.
A snarl of rage slipped from Simon, and he prowled over. “Where is the bloody bastard?”
Rhys considered them both, a dangerous gleam in his icy stare. “You won’t hear from him again.”
“Your threats won’t keep him away, Rhys. Lord James is in debt for thousands of pounds. He will keep trying to take my son away so he can steal what is his.”
“As I said, he won’t be bothering you and your son again.”
A shadow crossed Rhys’s face, and Georgiana faltered. Her heart raced at the sudden knowledge that bloomed within her. Surely, she was mistaken. “I…what do you mean?”
“His body will be found and footpads will be blamed.” Rhys was, frankly, terrifying in this moment.
She stumbled back, staring at him helplessly. Somehow, she had thought Lord James would have been handed over to the authorities and then they would face the pain of a public trial as a family. Now…her mind scrambled to accept what he had done. “How did you know he was involved?”
“Lord James sent word to the underworld seeking an assassin to do what he could not. Slit your son’s throat. I arrived at his townhouse in Mayfair under the pretext I was there to do the job. He had your son bound and gagged. Lord James handed me the knife that I was to use.”
The rage that burned through her blood felt cold and vicious. If he weren’t already dead, she would have done the deed herself.
Peering into his flat gaze, she instinctively understood the man standing in front of her had saved her son for her, had killed for her. She blinked warily. “Thank you,” she whispered.
He canted his head left, his hands thrust deep into his trousers. “I bid you good-bye, duchess.”
“I will escort you out, Tremayne,” Simon said stiffly, clearly picking up on the undercurrent of tension arcing between them.
No, she cried silently. Inexplicably, she did not want Rhys to leave. She flushed and glanced at her brother. “I will speak with Mr. Tremayne in private.”
Her brother stiffened.
“I was not asking your permission,” she said firmly before he could protest.
He faced her, and she wasn’t sure what he saw in her gaze, but his eyes narrowed.
“Is this your choice?” Simon queried gruffly.
She understood he wasn’t just talking about now, but the man overall. “It is.”
He closed his eyes briefly before they snapped open. “I will leave you to your meeting. I will call upon Mother to inform her of the happy outcome.” He nodded toward Rhys, and then her brother exited.
She turned to Rhys to see him watching her with an expression she could not decipher.
“I will leave,” he said.
“No…stay. I…I need to go be with my son for a bit. I just want to lie beside him and hold him, but I want to talk to you after.” She took a bracing breath. “Will you stay…as my guest for the night?”
Something raw and powerful flared in his eyes before he hooded his gaze.
Say yes…
“Yes.”
“Thank you. Please stay…promise me you’ll not leave until we have spoken.”
“You have my word, my lady.”
She offered him a small smile, then turned and walked away, knowing he would be waiting.
…
Almost two hours after he had delivered Georgiana’s son to her, Rhys was still unable to sleep. The brutal way he had pushed himself and the way he had manipulated his connections had been worth the relief in her eyes. She clearly loved her son with painful depth, enough to place herself in Rhys’s debt. He clenched his jaws until they ached. He
was a damn idiot. He had wanted her beholden to him…and now that she would clearly be, he didn’t want it.
Joanna, Lydia, and Grace.
He said their names silently, hoping they would ground him against making any foolish decisions.
Thank you. Please stay…promise me you’ll not leave until we have spoken. He braced his elbow against the glass of the window overlooking one of the most opulent estates he’d ever seen, wondering what the hell he was still doing there. He had been fed, given a room with such luxurious decor he had almost been speechless. His bloodied clothes had been taken away to be cleaned and pressed, and a banyan had been provided. A bath had been delivered, and he had been attended by hovering servants whom he had tersely ordered away. Why was he still waiting? Despite the fact she had asked, he should have bloody well left so she could be with her son. With a scowl, he turned from the window and faltered.
The duchess entered, and the breath punched from his chest. She had bathed and was only clothed in a silk banyan, though it was wrapped tightly around her body, from neck to toe. But the fact she was barefoot had his mouth drying. “Your Grace…”
“Don’t,” she said hoarsely, and he could tell she had been crying again. “I do not know how to thank you…but thank you.”
He nodded. “I…damn it, you don’t…you do not need to be in here, dressed like this. I don’t require payment for finding your son,” he said gruffly.
He was a goddamned fool.
“Do not insult me,” she said softly. “You did me an unmatched service, and I will repay you. What do you want?”
You. He reined in the urgent demands of his body, knowing such a thing wasn’t possible, even if it was for one night. “Your Grace—”
“Tell me, Mr. Tremayne, what is in my power that I can grant you? Please do not quibble.”
After a slight hesitation, he replied, “My sisters.”
Her eyes widened. “You have sisters?” she demanded with such incredulity, a reluctant smile tugged at his lips.
“I do. Three.”
“I see.”
“I would see my eldest, Lydia, wed to a lord. I require your help in sponsoring her into society. You have the power to see her connections and slight imperfections overlooked, and her beauty and dowry will take care of the rest. Though your guidance in the type of gentleman she could hope to secure would be welcomed.”
