Page 70 of Nothing Compares to the Duke
Nestled against a natural grassy embankment, its whitewash weathered away by sea breezes, Tide’s End was the prettiest cottage Bella had ever seen.
“It’s lovely.”
Rhys looked at her quizzically. “Do you think so?”
“It’s not Edgecombe, of course, or as fine as Claremont House, but it seems...” She shaded her eyes from the sun and looked up at him. “Cozy.”
He gazed toward the cottage again and his expression softened. “Perhaps it is. Now all we need to do is discover whether it’s still inhabited by a thief or we need to break in.”
Ten minutes later, after peeking through windows and determining the cottage had been abandoned, Bella was shocked to find the front latch unlocked.
She slid the door open tentatively and offered a loud clear “Hello” in case Radley was lurking in the shadows. Rhys moved in front of her to enter first. He’d always been protective and apparently that aspect of their relationship hadn’t changed.
“It is cozy,” he said, grinning at her over his shoulder.
Every piece of furniture appeared to be new and as fine as what her mother might select for Hillcrest. The settee and matching chairs before the fireplace were covered in the same green damask and the dark wood furnishings were polished to a high sheen. Bella found the cottage’s single bedroom to be equally well equipped.
“We know where he spent at least some of what he took.”
Rhys shook his head. “I don’t know. This is all very much my father’s style. Perhaps he did intend this as a seaside retreat and never got the chance to enjoy it.”
“Look at this.” Bella had found a desk in the corner and a few bits of writing paper crumpled and discarded on top and on the floor beneath. She flatted one of the balled-up pieces of paper.
“Seems he was as bad at writing letters as I am.” Rhys scooped up another one of the letters and unfolded it to begin reading. “He says he’s headed to Bristol.”
Bella reached for his sheet and handed her his. “This one says he’s headed to Ireland.”
The third letter they unwrinkled indicated that Radley was thinking of setting out for France.
“He’s tooling with us,” Bella told Rhys. “Or whomever might stumble on this hideout. I suspect if we find anything here, it will only be because he wished us to.”
After gathering the rest of the pieces of paper into her arms, Bella dropped onto the settee and began straightening all of them, just for the satisfaction of leaving none in rumpled balls.
“I’m sorry. This doesn’t make sense,” she said after she’d examined all the scraps of paper and found nothing but an attempt to send them on a chase in a dozen different directions. “We should try harder to find the coachman he hired. If the publican doesn’t know him, perhaps one of the other coachmen will.”
Rhys had crossed his arms and was staring at herintently. He looked thoughtful but the muscle ticking in his jaw indicated frustration.
“No,” he finally said. “We’re at the seaside. We’re going to the beach.”
“Rhys, we didn’t come here for a jaunt. Meg—”
“Is enjoying a visit with the Duchess of Tremayne and will be perfectly fine until we return.”
He shrugged out of his overcoat, then his suit jacket. Eyes fixed on hers, he rolled up his shirtsleeves, then untied his cravat.
Bella couldn’t hold his gaze, mostly because she wanted to look at the rest of him. The way his waistcoat hugged his body, the way his trousers fit tight enough to outline his thighs. Even the dark gold hair on his forearms seemed worthy of study.
“The best sort of fun is the kind that isn’t planned.” He reached out and waited for her to take his hand. “Spontaneity, Bella. We were quite good at it once.”
His fingers were deliciously warm against hers and his palm even warmer. “You have always been good at spontaneity.”
He chuckled. “One of my few merits. Let me show you.”
Rhys kept hold of her hand all the way to the beach and even once they’d reached the sand, he didn’t want to let go.
“We should remove our boots,” he told her with mock seriousness.
“Should we?”
