had fused and animal instinct had taken over the driving seat. He should have shot himself in the foot before going into Maggie Stowe’s bedroom. It might have kept him sane.
Summoning up the last shreds of his utterly depleted energy, he pushed away from the door and plodded down the corridor to his own suite. One hell of a day, he thought, and hell’s fires were still burning. He’d be damned lucky if he wasn’t scorched forever from this night’s work. Never in his life had he lost his head so completely. Never! He had no answer to it.
Sweet relief to reach his own bedroom and crawl between the sheets. He was wrecked. In every sense. Maggie, the cat, had clawed him inside out and finished up with a dish of cream that would never run dry... if she was pregnant and carried it through. Which she would. Beau had no doubt about it. The way she’d checked his attitude about fatherhood made that course a certainty.
Not that he’d want her to sneak off and have an abortion. His child was his child. Getting rid of it was not an option in his book. All the same, he desperately hoped there would be no consequences from tonight’s madness.
In all fairness to Maggie Stowe, he couldn’t say she’d planned it. There was no way she could have anticipated his visit to her suite. He had to believe her claim that she hadn’t expected to see him, so she hadn’t set out to seduce him by wearing the sinfully provocative slip of silk and lace.
No, she definitely hadn’t planned it, but she was a dead-set opportunist. Why else would she have flaunted herself in a sizzling challenge to him? It was a carnal come-on if ever he saw one. No protest from her when he’d responded to it. No attempt to stop him. She’d been right with him from the start, revelling in the whole mad ride.
For a moment, his body gripped with the memory of how fantastic it had been, the incredibly intense excitement of... But it still shouldn’t have happened. Giving great sex was fine but it wasn’t all he wanted in a woman. For the mother of his child he’d want a few other attributes, especially someone he could trust!
And what did he have in Maggie Stowe?
A woman from nowhere!
Still, worrying about what couldn’t be changed wasn’t going to get him anywhere, either. Sleep was what he needed. He’d face whatever he had to face tomorrow. Besides, there’d be time before the pregnancy deadline for him to get a handle on Maggie Stowe. She couldn’t stay a mystery forever. The more he knew, the better equipped he’d be to make the right choices.
Beau blanked his mind and slipped into sweet oblivion.
The first day after the night of the disastrous mistake did not start well for Beau. Maggie failed to appear for breakfast. It was an ominous sign. They might have come to an understanding about her staying on at Rosecliff but goodwill had not been established. Sedgewick subtly let him know this was not a situation he favoured. The cold shoulder continued.
After breakfast, Beau took refuge in the library, a private domain where he could get on with his agenda for the day. He settled himself behind his grandfather’s splendid mahogany desk—used more for the business of keeping his social diary and planning charity functions than anything else. The computer, fax machine and photocopier in the far corner of the room had also been used for these purposes but they were handy for Beau, as well.
Top priority was to telephone Lionel Armstrong and get another investigation started. Happily the solicitor was in his office and took the call immediately. Beau related the facts he now knew about Margaret Stowe and demanded immediate action. Urgent action. And reports coming in as fast as possible.
“I want those employers milked of everything they know about her. Character references, background, even impressions if they don’t have facts. Photographs, records...whatever can be dug up.”
“Beau...” A hesitation. “...Is all this necessary? I mean...why go to town on her at this point? Is there good reason for it?”
Beau gritted his teeth. Good reasons abounded! Maggie Stowe might be the mother of his child. And there was still the missing million.
“Just do it, Lionel,” he bit out.
A resigned sigh. “Vivian wouldn’t listen to my advice, either. Makes me wonder what it is about this woman.”
“The point, Lionel, is I want to stop wondering.”
Beau had no idea when or how a pregnancy test could be taken but he had the strong feeling he shouldn’t let the grass grow under his feet while he was waiting.
“Put two investigators on it. One for Zabini’s Circus, one for Wilgilag. Time is of the essence,” he said emphatically. “Reports within a week would be good.”
“It will cost...” the solicitor began to warn.
“Irrelevant. Tell the guys to fax or phone me here. I want progress reports. Is that clear, Lionel?”
“Yes. Very clear. I’ll get two top investigators to work immediately, giving your precise instructions.”
“Thank you.”
He was trying to get his thoughts in order for a call to Helen Carter at the head office of his travel agency when there was a knock on the library door.
Maggie, he thought, and his heart did a weird somersault and sent a buzz through his veins. Steady does it, he sternly commanded. Wayward responses and wrong reactions could do untold damage. Control had to be maintained. Firm control.
First and foremost he had to establish goodwill and push table-sharing at meals, get things back to normal, do what his grandfather would have expected of him. Courtesy was the key. Courtesy and control. Best to stay right where he was, seated behind the desk and looking at ease.
“Come in,” he called, pitching his voice to a bright, welcoming note.
. Mrs Featherfield entered, carrying what looked like a large ledger under her arm. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything important, Master Beau,” she rushed out, beaming a hopeful and eager smile at him.
He felt absurdly deflated, like having a prize whipped away from him at the last moment. It made him effusive in denial. “Not at all, Feathers. I always have time for you.”
“Oh! How nice!” She came forward with an air of happy anticipation. “I wanted to show you my scrapbook.”
Beau was surprised. “What have you been collecting?”
The book was placed on the desk in front of him. “They’re all the newspaper and magazine cuttings about Mr. Vivian. I thought you might like to see them. Especially the more recent ones, since you’ve been away so long.”
Beau opened the book and started leafing through. “This is amazing! I had no idea you were keeping such a record.”
“Well, they are lovely memories, Master Beau. Your grandfather was such a gentleman. Being in service to him was a real privilege.”
“I’m glad you felt that, Feathers,” Beau said warmly.
“Indeed, I do. Nanny Stowe used to say he turned life into a rainbow.”
With a pot of gold at the end of it?
Or was it simply colour after rain?
Beau frowned as he recalled Maggie’s claim of having led a very underprivileged life before coming to Rosecliff. Without much to recommend her, Sedgewick had said.
“Mr. Vivian loved having her with him,” the housekeeper went on. “And he was always determined she’d be the belle of the ball when he took her to those big charity dos.” She leaned over the desk and turned a chunk of pages. “Here they are!”
A photo of Maggie with his grandfather leapt out at him in full technicolour, his grandfather an elegant figure—as always—in a black dress suit and bow tie, turned admiringly towards a magnificent Maggie, wearing a stunning evening gown in black and burgundy, with exotic jet jewellery gleaming on her