In Bed With...Collection

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.

CHAPTER ELEVEN (#ud535c0fb-8216-5cc4-a273-7d8e9771b73f)

D-DAY, as Maggie thought of it, could not have been more sparkling. The morning was bathed in brilliant sunshine, the sky and harbour bright blue, not a cloud anywhere, no smear of city pollution. It could have been midsummer instead of autumn. It was the kind of day to make one say, “God’s in His heaven, all’s right with the world.”

Except it wasn’t all right for Maggie.

She tried to brighten herself up by wearing yellow. When she went down to breakfast, Beau was already at the table, perusing a newspaper. Sedgewick was refilling his glass with orange juice. The “Good mornings” exchanged rang with good cheer, sincerely so on Sedgewick’s part.

Beau looked tired around the eyes, as though he hadn’t slept any better than she had. The strain of this entrapped situation was beginning to show, Maggie thought, her heart sinking even lower at the prospect of the news to come...the news which would almost certainly blast this beautiful day and bring the winds of change.

“Jeffrey is preparing a special treat this morning,” Sedgewick informed them as he poured her a glass of juice.

Maggie’s stomach hosted so many butterflies she didn’t feel like eating anything.

“He is an exceptionally good chef,” Beau remarked.

And well he might, Maggie thought, considering the stream of treats that had been coming from the kitchen all week. In Sedgewick’s opinion, good food promoted good humour and the butler was leaving no stone unturned in encouraging what he now saw as a promising relationship. Jeffrey undoubtedly had orders to soothe with excellence and titillate with innovation.

“He considers himself an artist, Master Beau,” Sedgewick answered, beaming benevolent approval at the reformed wild child.

“So what gourmet delight is he producing this morning?” Beau asked with a show of eager interest.

Was it forced? Maggie wondered. How could his stomach not be in knots? Was he confident of taking any outcome in his stride?

“Jeffrey has a friend, sir, who comes from Louisiana. I understand the dish is a favourite there. Fried green tomatoes. Quite delectable, sir. I have sampled it. I promise you are sure to enjoy it.”

“Green tomatoes?” Maggie questioned.

“Yes, indeed. Slices of them coated in a golden crust which has a subtle taste of garlic and onion.”

Garlic was the last thing Maggie needed this morning.

“Tell Jeffrey we await the pleasure,” Beau said, apparently relishing a new eating experience. His eyes were twinkling, despite the look of fatigue on his face. His happy air of anticipation was absolutely incomprehensible to Maggie.

Sedgewick served her with her usual fruit compote and sailed off to the kitchen to deliver the good news. She picked up her spoon and stared at the fruit—slices of peach, pear and mango. Easy enough to slide down, she thought. Maybe she should leave them until after the fried green tomatoes. They might kill the aftertaste of garlic and settle any queeziness in her stomach.

“That yellow dress looks wonderful on you, Maggie,” Beau said warmly. “I must say it’s very heart-lifting to see.”

The compliment startled her. She looked at him, wondering what he meant by it.

He offered an appealing smile. “I do hope it means I’m forgiven for my trespasses.”

Her mind remained blank, unable to find any connection to what he was saying.

“I was sitting here, dreading the possibility you might appear in your jeans, ready for a quick take off,” he explained.

Finally it clicked. He was thinking of their meeting in the library, the morning after...when she’d offered to leave then and there, only agreeing to stay until the results were known and they were clear of the pregnancy fear.

“You don’t want me to go...no matter what?’ she tested, wary of taking anything for granted with him.

“Absolutely not,” he answered firmly.

Her heart hopped, skipped and jumped. His niceness to her over this past week couldn’t have been a pretence. Why would he invite a longer pretence than he had to? Maybe he really had begun to like her as a person. Or...maybe he was still feeling guilty about not treating her as his grandfather would have wanted, still doing penance for his trespasses.

Before she could form a question that might ascertain his motives, Mr. Polly intruded, carrying in a basket of roses, his weather-beaten face wreathed in pleasure.

“Please excuse me, Master Beau...”

“Of course, Mr. Polly.”

“...Prize blooms, these are. I told Mr. Vivian they would be this year. He said to enter them in the Royal Easter Show if they came out this good.”

“Well, go right ahead and do it,” Beau encouraged. “They look like winners to me.”

“Double Delight,” Mr. Polly almost crooned as he held one up for them to admire. “That’s what they’re called. Because of the red and white in the petals.”

“What a perfect rose!” Maggie exclaimed.

“Perfect for you, Nanny Stowe. I thought you might like these for your room.”

He was such a sweetie. “How kind! They’re so beautiful!” she said warmly.

“I’ll take them to Mrs. Featherfield to put them in water for you. And may I say, you’ve always been a Double Delight, Nanny Stowe.” He looked meaningly at Beau. ”I felt sure you would see a prize in them, sir. Thank you for your permission to put an entry in the show.”

Maggie felt herself colouring red on white as the head gardener took his leave of them, having delivered a remark which had the subtlety of a sledgehammer. She quickly picked up her spoon and delved into the fruit compote, hoping Beau was oblivious to her being labelled as a prize worth recognising. To her, the whole staff were embarrassingly obvious with wanting the chance for their relationship to develop into a happy-ever-after and secure future for everyone.

“You see? My life here wouldn’t be worth living if you left, Maggie,” Beau said in dry amusement.

Reluctantly she met his gaze and he grinned at her as he expounded on the situation. “Sedgewick would order Jeffrey to dish up slops for each meal. I’d be sent to coventry by Mrs. Featherfield. Wallace would undoubtedly ensure the grumpiest, bumpiest ride in the Rolls. And Mr. Polly would grow thorns.”

She couldn’t grin back. It wasn’t funny. “They’ve been with your grandfather a long time, Beau,” she reminded him. “They’re frightened of change. You should understand that before deciding on whatever course you’ll take.”

He weighed her words. “You care about them.”