Читать книгу In Bed With...Collection - Emma Darcy, Emma Darcy - Страница 51

CHAPTER TEN

MAGGIE felt miserably alone in her big bed, lying in the darkness, endlessly reviewing the past six days.

Playing with fire, she thought. Every time she was with Beau Prescott, it was playing with fire. And she was bound to get burnt.

It would have been better, safer, to have kept a solid distance from him since their night of madness which had so insidiously locked them into this waiting together. Instead, she had left the door open for him to infiltrate all her defences.

Just being with him put her at hazard, his physical presence playing havoc with her senses. The daily doses of charm and caring interest made her feel even more vulnerable, seeding hopes she knew had no solid basis for growing into something good.

If it all stopped tomorrow, if the test result was negative and he gave vent to any expression of “Thank God I’m saved!” Maggie knew she would shrivel up and die inside.

Yet if the test result was positive, how much weight could she attach to his turnaround in behaviour towards her? The paternal instinct might be aroused, but how long would it survive if resentment set in? The wild child might start chaffing against any tie. The will to be honourable could conflict very badly with the need to be free.

Maggie was acutely aware of his holding a rigid control, especially over the simmering sexual attraction which neither of them admitted to on the surface. He didn’t want to compound the problem they already had, didn’t want to get so close there was no room for an easy retreat. The truce was simply a truce from which either of them could withdraw, no promises made, no obligations entered into. It was important to remember that when the deadline came tomorrow. She would hate to make a fool of herself.

The awful part was, no matter how complicated it made her future, she wanted to be pregnant with his child. Somehow—underneath all the conflicts between them—she still wanted to believe they were meant to mate. Surely when he had come to her, she had instinctively responded to that primitive urge. It was the only excuse she had for doing what she’d never done before... putting herself in jeopardy, in a position where there might be no way out.

The old fear suddenly seized her. She determinedly beat it away. There was a way out of this web of circumstances. She could simply step back into the life she’d had before coming here and leave all this behind.

She shifted restlessly, fervently wishing the long hours of this night were already over. Her bed offered no comfort. It kept evoking erotic memories, memories that made her feel a deep sensual craving for the same sexual experience to be repeated. Except she wanted the intimacies to be on more levels than the strictly physical. She was hopelessly obsessed with Beau Prescott, even though common sense dictated he was probably more her enemy than her friend.

Feeling torn by too many conflicting feelings, Maggie tried to will herself to sleep. At least tomorrow would bring answers, whether she liked them or not. The doctor had promised the result would be telephoned and faxed through to them as soon as it came in, which would surely be tomorrow morning.

Answers were better than being in the dark.

Beau shifted restlessly in his bed. He’d used every relaxing technique he knew and they were all useless. His body knew damned well what it wanted—Maggie Stowe—and there was no telling it otherwise. Every night he craved to be in bed with her, wanting the wild heat of their coming together again. And every night he had to exercise this constant control over the torturous desires raging through him.

Thank God the truce would be over tomorrow. This limbo of waiting was killing him. After the result of the blood test came through he could move their relationship onto a different plane. If it was positive, surely the pregnancy would grant him the leeway to get closer to her. Closer in every sense. If it was negative, he would probably have to fight her decision to leave. Either way, it meant action...change...and he would have some barometer of what she was feeling towards him.

She couldn’t deny there was a hell of a lot of chemistry between them. These things weren’t one-sided and he had the evidence of that one night together to prove it. Nevertheless, he doubted sexual attraction was enough to hold her here.

This past week she had been very wary of him, certainly not inviting any touching. Even in conversation she’d been cautious, weighing her replies before giving them. It was obvious she didn’t trust any spontaneity with him, probably believing it had led her astray and she wasn’t about to repeat that mistake. He suspected, in her mind, it was a huge mistake.

He now knew she usually shied clear of ties, never staying long in one place, never attempting to put down any roots. She frankly admitted to having been a drifter, taking up an amazing array of jobs; crewing on a yacht, picking tomatoes, waitressing, helping to run camping tours, being a clown at children’s parties.

She wouldn’t be pinned down to when and where, clearly suspicious of his motives for questioning her, but the experiences she had related over these past few days had a credibility he couldn’t doubt. Besides which, when he’d questioned Sir Roland about the first meeting with his grandfather in the restaurant, both accounts of the evening dovetailed. Maggie had not lied nor embroidered the story in any way.

Having a string of godfathers did not fit what he knew of her now. The missing million didn’t fit, either. She had a strong streak of independence and an untouchable inner core which he equated with the will of a survivor.

Remaining for two years at Rosecliff with his grandfather was something exceptional in her life. He was sure of that. But then the climate here had been exceptional for her under his grandfather’s rule... acceptance without question, approval, liking, respect. When those personal values were threatened she moved on. At least, that was what had stood out to him in the investigators’ reports.

Beau knew those reports, word for word, having read them so many times, endlessly analysing, trying to solve the enigma of the woman from nowhere. Mrs. Zabini’s statement still teased him with its implication of a harsh, subservient upbringing.

“I think she a runaway. No papers. Very few clothes. She say eighteen, but I think younger, maybe sixteen. Is difficult to get nanny to travel with circus so I not question too much. She say she come from big foster family and used to looking after little ones. Whether true or not, she very good with children. Do everything. No complaining.

“But not comfortable with people. Very shy. Keep to herself. I think she afraid of people. When policemen come round circus she hide. But she no thief. She never make trouble. I think she not want to be found. I think she run from bad things so I let be. The Zabinis know of running from bad things in old world. She not of old world, but fear is same.

“When we stop for our resting she leave. No want to stay in one place. My husband, he write reference for her. A good girl. Good nanny. She go with our blessing.”

From Wilgilag, the story was much the same.

Very good with the children, but shied from adult company. Didn’t talk about herself. No family. No connections. No mail ever came for her and she never wrote letters. Everything was smooth sailing—no problems, no trouble—until the owner’s sister arrived for a visit. Her curiosity about the nanny, nagging her with questions, apparently drove the girl away. A cattletrain came in, loaded up, and she left with it. No goodbyes. No reference. Never heard anything more of her.

Beau wondered how long and how far Maggie had kept running before she began to feel safe. The fear Mrs. Zabini had spoken of must have dissipated somewhere along the line before she’d met his grandfather or she wouldn’t have been a participant in the publicity he invited. On the other hand, maybe she felt she looked so different, no one would identify her as the Margaret Stowe who had gone missing over ten years ago. She was also under the protection of a very wealthy man with influence in high places.

The situation had now changed and she could be getting ready to run again. Beau knew she didn’t feel safe with him. The trick tomorrow would be to convince her she was. Especially if the test proved positive.

If it was negative...

Well, he wasn’t really prepared for fatherhood. It hadn’t been on his agenda. Having it thrust upon him was hardly ideal. Yet he knew he would be disappointed if a negative result came in.

Crazy...

As crazy as wanting Maggie Stowe so much, every cell in his body ached.

He didn’t have the solution to anything.

He only knew that tomorrow had to move him closer to it.