and called out, ‘Hey. Presto!’ and we clapped when she appeared. It was such fun! Mr. Vivian was delighted. He was so very, very proud of her.”
The scene described lingered in Beau’s mind. He could see it quite vividly and it made poignant sense of all he had heard about the relationship between his grandfather and Maggie. It also made him feel mean-spirited for thinking badly of her. Of course, his grandfather had been the ringmaster. It was completely in character for him. As for Maggie...well, who would knock back the opportunity to be turned into a star?
“What was she like when she first came here, Feathers?”
“Nanny Stowe?”
“Yes.” He turned to her with keen interest. “What impression did you have of her at the start...say, her first week at Rosecliff?”
No immediate answer...pensive...thinking back. When she spoke, the words came slowly. “It was like she’d been transported to another world and she couldn’t quite believe it. Excited by the adventure but frightened of putting a foot wrong. And surprised. Mostly surprised.”
“By what?’ Beau prompted.
Feathers frowned. “I think...that we’d let her fit in here. I had the sense she wasn’t used to belonging anywhere. What she brought with her....well, it was really pitiful. Some well-worn jeans and T-shirts, a couple of those cheap Indian dresses...” A shake of the head. “...The bare minimum of everything.”
I tend to travel lightly.
“Of course, Mr. Vivian soon fixed that. I suggested she throw out her old clothes but she wouldn’t.” Another frown. “She said they were the only things that were hers.”
The clothes Vivian bought me won’t fit into my usual life.
“She had no idea how to make the most of herself, either. Seeing her now, you would hardly recognise her as the same girl who came here. No make-up, her glorious hair stuck into a plait. And she was thin. Too thin. All bones. Mr. Vivian said she was a thoroughbred racehorse who needed grooming and training. I remember how surprised she was when he showed her how she could look. Like she couldn’t believe it was her.”
Vivian is gone.
So was his magic wand, Beau thought. It’s over for Maggie and she knows it.
You made me realise that today.
“She needed looking after,” came the motherly opinion. “That’s what I thought of her. She was like a waif of the world who’d never had anyone to look after her.”
It’s best I leave.
Beau was suddenly seized by a heart-squeezing suspicion. Maggie was gone. That was why she hadn’t come down to breakfast. She had already left. Packed the things belonging to her and stepped back through the looking glass to the reality that had been hers before coming here.
He leapt up from his chair and barely quelled the impulse to go racing up to the Rose Suite. Her bedroom was off-limits for him. Absolutely. If she was there and he went banging on her door...it would be gross behaviour, open to distasteful interpretation.
“Is something wrong, Master Beau?”
The concern voiced by the housekeeper burrowed through his inner agitation. He looked at her distractedly, his mind dictating that any meeting with Maggie would have to be conducted on neutral ground.
“Feathers, I would like to talk to Nanny Stowe. Would you please go and ask her to join me here?”
“You mean...now?”
“Yes. Please.”
“Shall I leave my scrapbook with you?”
“Yes. Thank you.” He could barely curb his impatience. “It is rather urgent I see her,” he pressed.
The housekeeper looked pleased. “I’ll be as quick as I can, Master Beau.”
She sailed off with an air of triumph. Beau was left with the strong impression she was in league with Sedgewick to set him straight on the subject of Nanny Stowe. However, neither of them could have any idea of what had transpired between him and Maggie last night It complicated everything. There was no longer a simple line to take. Maggie may well have decided the game wasn’t worth the candle if she had to take him into her life.
And if she had the missing million, why stay? Why put up with the aggravation of him when he couldn’t get a damned thing right?
Beau paced around the library like a caged tiger. He’d messed up big-time, not giving Maggie Stowe the benefit of the doubt. He would have to chase after her if she’d gone. Which could present one hell of a problem. A woman from nowhere could easily slip back into nowhere, especially with a million untraceable dollars at her disposal.
He’d hate not knowing about the child, if there was to be one. To be left wondering would be a dreadful torture. It didn’t matter that it hadn’t been planned. His child was his child. A fiercely paternal possessiveness swamped every other consideration and Beau was on a feverish roll of resolution to pursue his bloodline to the ends of the earth, if necessary, when a knock on the door delivered a swift kick to his heart.
“Yes,” he snapped, expecting bad news.
Maggie Stowe stepped into the library.
Disbelief choked Beau for a moment. The subsequent relief at seeing her was short-lived. She wore jeans and a T-shirt and her gorgeous hair was confined to a plait, making the contours of her face sharper and the blue of her eyes more blue...guarded eyes, wary and watchful as though he were a wild animal who might strike at her, and she hugged the door, keeping her escape route handy.
Beau’s hand came up, a finger stabbing emphatically at her. “You are not to leave, Maggie.”
Her chin came up. Defiance flared. “I don’t believe you have the right to tell me what to do, Mr. Prescott.”
“Oh, for God’s sake, call me Beau! After what we’ve shared, it’s ridiculous to stick to formalities.”
A flush stained her cheeks.
He was doing this wrong. Beau knew it but somehow couldn’t stop it. Every time he saw her he went haywire. “Relax! I’m not going to assault you,” he shot at her as he turned aside to walk to the desk and put it between them. “Not that I did last night,” he added with a warning look over his shoulder. She was not going to pin that on him. No way! He might be guilty of a lot of things but he wasn’t guilty of taking an unwilling woman to bed with him.
“I have no intention of accusing you of anything, Mr. Prescott.”
“Beau,” he repeated with fierce insistence, glowering at her from behind the desk. “You are perfectly safe with me, I promise you. I just want to talk.”
“Surely the simplest solution is for me to leave.”
“No!”
“You could pretend this never happened. Out of sight, out of mind,” she quietly argued.
“That won’t work.”
She looked bleakly at him. “What will work? You hate this. You’re obviously upset. Why make a meal of it when I’m willing to walk away?”
“Is that what you were preparing to do? Without telling me?’ Just the thought made him feel hollow inside.
“No. I agreed to wait until we know,” she answered flatly.
“Why didn’t you come down to breakfast?”
“I overslept.”
“My grandfather wouldn’t have bought those clothes for you,” he pointed out. A flash of pride.
“No. They are rightly mine.” A flash of pride. “Vivian did pay me a salary and I bought some things for myself.”
“Why are you wearing them?”
“I