Spring Blossom Page 9

  Startled, Margaret stopped in her tracks. “Talk privately? About what?” She raised her finely arched brows, shooting him a cocky appearance, but Hunter was not fooled. Something was seriously wrong; something had hurt her severely, far beyond the scar she bore, and he was going to find out what that something was.

  “I want to continue the discussion we were having before Jennifer interrupted us,” he said.

  “Oh, you do! And if I choose not to participate in this discussion…?”

  “But you do,” he said, convinced, “you desperately what to discuss something with someone, even me. But you’re afraid.”

  Margaret clearly resented his high-handedness and tried again to be remote, turning away.

  She was not to escape that easily, however.

  Hunter stepped in front of her, folding his arms across his chest, his feet set apart, presenting a solid, authoritative mean. “You have asked me more than once my reason for coming here,” he said. “Why do you think I've come?”

  Margaret very quickly decided she had sparred enough; she was tired and hungry and wanted a hot bath. And, in order to see an end to it, she snapped, “I suspect you have bargained with my father,” she ground out. “For me!”

  When she tried to step around him, obviously done with conversing, Hunter gently gripped her arm. “Bargained?” he asked in surprise. “You're hardly a side of beef.”

  “I’m not even the stallion you say you are buying.”

  “All right,” he said, thinking it was past time they did away with all pretense. “I want the stallion but my main purpose in coming back was to see you. There was once something very special about the young woman I met here…there was something special between us. I wanted to know if it was still there.”

  Margaret laughed shortly. “Trust me, Hunter, there is nothing there.”

  “You haven’t given us an opportunity to find out,” he said reasonably. “You set your mind against me before I had even arrived. You have either tried to avoid me completely or keep our conversations to business.”

  Exasperated, Margaret raised her palms to the heavens. “I discuss business when it’s required of me, Mr. Maguire. And I like to be alone on occasion. Is that so unusual?” she added as she wrenched her arm free of his grip.

  He let her go, but not without a parting comment. “It’s easy to hide one’s fears in solitude, isn’t it, Maggie? When do you plan to face them?”

  *

  With only three days remaining before he was scheduled to leave Treemont, Hunter was firmly convinced that he wanted to marry Margaret Downing. She was still in there; the girl he had known. She was still beautiful, more than beautiful and possessed a sharp wit, although it had been hardened by an ‘accident’ he had yet to fully understand. And he loved her spirit, or he would once it was rechanneled again. There was only one difficulty…Margaret seemed to have convinced herself that she did not want, or need, him…or anyone for that matter. He was, however, convinced that was a lie.

  Today she had exposed a more tender, vulnerable side of herself. He was convinced that her aloofness and her prim ways were merely a means of concealing her fears, of protecting herself against whatever had hurt her. So now he had two tasks. First he needed to understand her anxieties. Then he had to convince her that there was nothing they could not overcome together.

  The opportunity presented itself the following afternoon when Margaret was entering her bedroom, having returned from a solitary ride, and Hunter was about to return to the lower level of the house to join Alastair for a before-dinner drink.

  Margaret had not fully closed the door to her room before Hunter strode in behind her, gently pushing her forward before he leaned back against the polished door, sealing them inside and, finally, alone.

  “Here we are,” he said cheerfully.

  Margaret whirled to face him, glaring. “Get out of my room,”

  “Ho,” he returned, grinning. “In the past you have often violated my privacy.” He looked around, folding his arms across his chest as he continued to secure the door with his back. “If you want me to leave, you’ll have to talk first.”

  “I have nothing to say.” She strode away toward the tall windows on the opposite side of the room.

  “Very well. I’m in no hurry.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she snapped, turning to glare at him.

  “How about you’re your sake, Maggie?” he asked softly. “You know, I’m not certain whether I want to talk with you, spank you, or kiss you,” he said as he moved farther into the room.

  Maggie’s eyes grew wide as she backed up against the window seat, then teetered and plopped down onto the cushioned window seat.

  “Which do you think I should do?” he asked, halting before her with his arms akimbo.

  “None,” she said firmly.

  He smiled, shaking his head. “I think you are a very beautiful woman,” he said sincerely, “but you don’t seem to want to hear that. That makes me curious.” He drew a dainty boudoir chair close to her.

  “Easy words to say,” she muttered as he made himself as comfortable as possible. The pulse at her temples started pounding painfully as her eyes darted around him, looking for a means to escape.

  “I meant them or I wouldn't have said them. You must know that much about me.”

  But why should she believe him? And if she did…what then? She carried deeper scars than the one on her face and she harbored dark secrets. Surely he would not be so tolerant of those. He would be repulsed by them and she would have to say good-bye to him again, just as she had three years ago…and this time the parting would be forever.

  “What is it, Maggie?” he asked, his dark eyes searching a young face that seemed to be growing older as he pressed her. “Why do you hate me so?”

  She looked at him then, really looked, and saw the vulnerability in his eyes; this man was sincere, but Maggie did not want to get close to him again. She was feeling trapped and wary and the sickness was threatening her stomach. Even though he had coaxed her close to revealing her secret, the thought of his reaction was more than she could bear.

  Hunter leaned forward, resting his elbows on his spread knees as he loosely knit his long fingers together. He was so close to her he had only to reach out to touch the layers of dark skirts she wore. He searched her face, knowing she was frightened but he could not back away now. He had to know. “Why have you been trying to drive me away since the moment of my arrival?” he asked reasonably. “Why did you try to injure me that day when I first rode the stallion?” There was along moment of silence when she refused to look at him. “Why, Maggie?” he urged.

  She raised her pale blue eyes to his much darker ones, at last. “It was not my intention to harm you or Pride,” she said softly. “I just wanted the horse to stay and you to leave.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re here on account of some bargain you made with my father,” she admitted. “But I make my own arrangements now.”

  Hunter shook his head. “There is no formal arrangement.”

  “All to the good,” she said brightly. “Then you are free to go, are you not?”

  He sighed, watching her as he sat back in the chair, his hand falling between his parted thighs. “Margaret,” he said softly, “don’t you realize I’ve come back for you? And not because of any bargain. I'm here of my own accord.”

  “No,” she breathed.

  “I’ve merely been waiting for you to grow up.”

  “You don’t even know me.”

  “That is precisely why I’ve come, so we can…”

  Margaret shook her head, tears threatening to spill over the tips of her lashes as she gripped the cushioned edge of the window seat. “I don’t want you here.” She leaned forward, closer to him, speaking firmly. “I want you to leave. You must leave.”

  Hunter felt the sting of her words, but he remained calm and determined. “Tell me why you want me to leave. If I knew your reasons…”


  She stood up hastily, skirting around his knees as if touching him would inflict some dreadful disease upon her. She whirled away when he quickly rose and put himself between her and the door. Moving to the fireplace, she gripped the edge of the white wooden mantel and stared down into the cold, empty cavity blackened by years of flame and soot and smoke.

  After a moment’s thought, she stiffened her spine and regally raised her head as she turned to stare at him defiantly. “Very well, Mr. Maguire,” she said woodenly, but he noticed her steely resolve was betrayed by the clenching and unclenching of her hands at her sides. “I’ll tell you why I don’t want you here. I recall that you once seemed to care for me, you see, and I had hoped to avoid any unpleasantness between us, but the fact is…I am not beautiful, inside or out. I am not anything like you remember me to be, and you have…”

  “Maggie, for the love of God!” he breathed, taking a step toward her as he stared at the silent tears now streaming down her face.

  “And you have wasted your time by coming here,” she continued, taking a deep, cleansing breath. “Go find yourself a virgin wife if that is what you are seeking, Hunter Maguire,” she added in a whisper.

  Hunter stopped in his tracks only a few feet in front of her. “What are you saying?” he asked in hushed tones.

  That sad smile that made him feel so foolish, so ignorant, was on her face again, even as tears washed past the corners of her delicate lips. “I’m saying I was raped. I’m saying…” She breathed deeply and turned away from the naked pain dawning slowly in his eyes. “I’m saying…you really must go.”

  Stunned, he stood staring at her back as his heart froze in mid-beat.

  Her stance was totally unapproachable, and yet he felt a need to reach out to her, whether for his own consolation or hers, he was not certain. He turned away from her then, away from the bent head and the stiff back, wanting with every ounce of his being to step up behind her and wrap his arms securely around her. He wanted her not to hurt, and he wanted not to hurt for her, but the pain was there and he had to find some way to get past this moment.

  Maggie was clutching the mantel with both hands by the time Hunter walked over to the small chair positioned in front of the window, turned it toward her and sat down. His legs spread, he rested his elbows on his knees and knit his fingers together. He took a moment to gather his thoughts before asking quietly, “When did this happen?”

  His voice sounded so cool, so detached, that Maggie’s pain intensified. She dropped her hands and wrapped her arms firmly around her waist. She had known it would be like this. He was repulsed and, no doubt, disappointed. But that was what she’d wanted, wasn’t it? Hadn’t she wanted him to be so disgusted that he would reject her openly? Confusion warred with her emotions because she had to acknowledge that only moments ago, when she had told him what had happened, she had actually hoped he would want to console her, to have him soothe away this heavy wretchedness that lay so heavily on her mind. No one had been able to do that; why would she think this man could? She could not even bring herself to look at him, knowing he would see her now as a tainted creature.

  Margaret quickly whisked all such hopeful thoughts away, for they were the wishes a different girl would have had in a previous time.

  Knowing he would not leave until she had answered all of his questions. Keeping her back to him, she moved to lean against one end of the sculptured fireplace. “It happened a year ago,” she said.

  Hunter closed his eyes, his head dropping forward briefly with his sorrow. “And you thought my knowing this would drive me away?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, you were wrong, my dear,” he said flatly. “And you give me little credit.”

  She faced him then, the shock of his words clearly evident. “But I want you to leave,” she firmly.

  “I’m sure you do,” he returned quietly staring across the room at her, wondering if it was just him she wanted to reject or would the same hold true for any man?

  “We cannot possibly be more than…”

  Hunter’s dark brows arched in question over her hesitation. “More than what?” he asked, getting to his feet and walking slowly toward her. “More than what?” he prompted again as she began to back away.

  “Stay away from me,” she ordered, but still he advanced.

  “I wish I could have spared you that, Maggie,” he said, taking still another step closer as his gaze held hers. “I could kill the man who hurt you. Now tell me…we cannot possibly be more than what?”

  He was upon her now, standing so close she could almost feel the warmth of him. “Friends,” she cried angrily. “Only that. Anything else is impossible now. Don’t you understand that?”

  “Sweet Lord,” he breathed, as he reached out and gently pulled her against his chest. “My innocent girl,” he muttered under his breath as his arms went cautiously around her. “I’m so sorry for what happened.”

  Suddenly the steel barrier she had constructed to protect her heart seemed to snap and Margaret had the sensation that she could melt into this man’s soul and stay there, forever protected. But this gentle side of him was tearing out her very being as hot tears of release flowed and her fingers clawed at his shirtfront as if to escape the nightmare of her memories.

  As her knees began to sag along with her ebbing energy, Hunter scooped her up and carried her to the high bed. He placed her gently on the mattress, then sat and held her close for a time. He warred internally with anger and frustration at what had been done to her and his inability to resolve the situation or even punish the bastard who had committed this vicious crime. If only he could undo what had been done…

  Margaret dared to cling to him for just a short time; it was like a purging of her dreads and deepest fears just to have told him, just to be held against the warm strength of him. Her mind, totally cleared of thoughts for just a few moments, she actually sagged against him for succor.

  Her eyes were red and swollen by the time she began to take control of her runaway emotions and, with reality once again forcing itself upon her, Margaret began to pull away, turning to lie on her side, her back to him. “I’m sorry for that,” she whispered. “Please leave me to collect myself.”

  “Maggie,” he said softly, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. “I wish I could make it right for you, you must know that. I wish I had the power to change what happened to you. I can’t do that. But please know that this does not change my reasons for coming here.”

  “It does, however, change my past reasons for wanting you to come,” she said woodenly. “Please leave, Hunter,” she whispered.

  And he understood that her words were not focused only upon his leaving her room.

  CHAPTER 10

  “Dammit, man. Why didn’t you tell me?” Hunter raved as he paced the worn carpet in Alastair’s study.

  Alastair’s expression was one of surprise. Clearly he hadn’t expected Margaret to reveal her tragedy and now Hunter wondered if the older man was hiding even more surprises. This feeling that he had been manipulated, did not sit well. He was angry that both daughter and father had obviously felt he would turn and run at the first indication of difficulty. He supposed Margaret was still hoping he would run. But he was disappointed that Alastair could believe he was so shallow.

  Hunter crossed the room, dropped down into the chair opposite his host and rested one booted ankle on his bent knee as he sat back. “What were your thoughts, Alastair?” he asked with tight control. “Why didn’t you warn me?”

  “I felt that Margaret should be the one to tell you when she was ready,” he said softly as he retrieved his pipe and tobacco pouch from the small table beside his chair.

  Hunter leaned forward, his dark eyes piercing those of his companion. “But your silence didn’t help. Can you understand? I didn’t handle the situation well,” he added. “I was so damned shocked I couldn’t tell her half the things that were going on in mind. Not once, in all the times I had heard references to M
aggie’s ‘accident’ had my dull wit imagined this.” He shook his head, unhappy with his own ineptitude. “Not very clever of me.”

  “You had no way of knowing,” Alastair said, then added apologetically, “I did what I thought was right.” He sighed as if a huge weight had centered on his chest. “It’s so difficult to know what to do with her.”

  Hunter sat back in his chair, thoughtfully scrubbing a forefinger across his chin. “Is there anything else I should know?”

  Alastair shook his head, contrite.

  A long silence stretched out between them, the passage of time announced by the chiming of the mantel clock.

  “What will you do?” Alastair asked eventually.

  Hunter raised dark thoughtful eyes from the study of his boot top. He had not yet forgiven, but he thought he understood Alastair’s motives and he could not say that he would have handled the situation any differently; but he certainly hoped he would have. “It’s true that Maggie is not the same girl she was. How could she have remained unchanged by this?” He sat forward in his chair gain, restless in his thoughts, his expression intense. What he would do needed further discussion with Maggie. His intentions had not changed. What would change, and all that mattered, was awaiting Maggie’s adjustment. He was angry on her behalf and he was honest enough with himself to understand the possible ramifications to both of them. To Alastair he said only, “My plans have not changed.”

  The older man sighed audibly before nodding his head in agreement. “I have been hoping you would say that,” he said earnestly. “But…” he hesitated, “Margaret is openly hostile toward any man who comes into this house…”

  Smiling ruefully, Hunter broke in. “I know.”

  “Yes, well, her hostility is understandable, wouldn’t you say?”

  Hunter nodded his head in agreement, and waited.