"But—" She cut off her words at the hot press of Luc's hand on her knee beneath the table.
She glanced at him, but his gaze was far off, somewhere across the room. He squeezed her leg once and then let go.
"We can review the proposal again in a few months," said a woman across the table. Maggie couldn't remember her name. There'd been too many names thrown at her today.
"I move to delay," Mr. Hemry said. It seemed as if he sent an apologetic glance her eway. Was she imagining it?
The motion to delay was seconded, and then a vote was called.
Maggie didn't know whether she should vote or not. She was silent as a chorus of "ayes" echoed around the table. And surprised when Luc joined them.
She ended up abstaining. She could only hope she hadn't messed things up for Tirith after she returned.
And she couldn't help the curiosity coursing through her. She grabbed her pen and wrote on the pad still on her lap.
Why did you vote to delay?
She slipped it to the man beside her.
It was only a moment before he sent it back to her. He'd written only two words.
Politics, darling.
She couldn't help glancing at him. He wore an air of grimness that he hadn't had before.
And she wanted to know why. But if she asked, he'd know she wasn't Tirith.
She had to slip out of this meeting before he cornered her.
3
The next day, Maggie checked her phone once more before slipping it into the tiny clutch purse she carried. The phone and a tube of lipstick were about all that fit. Seriously? Who carried something so impractical? Tirith, obviously.
Tirith, who hadn't returned her call yesterday, or the barrage of texts she'd sent this morning.
She'd wanted to talk to her sister before any media photo of that kiss with Luc made it over the ocean to her sister.
Bea had slipped into her suite this morning as the stylists were torturing her in the chair. She'd brought an update on the girl who'd been injured by Tirith's reckless driving.
Since she'd been small, Bea had harbored dreams of being a nurse. She had contacts in the medical profession who'd been able to tell her that the girl was pulling through.
Maggie hadn't had to fake the tears that had sprung to her eyes. She'd been praying for the little girl ever since Tirith had told her what happened. Knowing that the girl would survive was wonderful, though Bea had cautioned there would be a long recovery.
Three hours later, Maggie smoothed the skirt of the flowing pink-patterned dress she'd been tucked into this morning. How long had it been since she'd worn something like this? Maybe a church service, more than a year ago?
A dress like this wouldn't survive ten minutes on the ranch.
She needed to get out of the day limo and walk onto the grounds of the Glorvaird Botanical Society. She’d insisted Elizabeth stay at the castle, afraid she wouldn’t be able to hide her terror.
A group of people waited for her, the men in suits and the women in knee-length dresses similar to the one she wore. And hats. She couldn’t forget the fancy hats. Hers was on the seat next to her.
It was all too familiar. The trees, their leaves fluttering in the breeze, would close in on her if she stepped out there. The flowers, so pretty from here, would turn menacing. And those pretty dresses and day tuxedos… She hated to think what her mind would conjure with those.
The memories were too stark here. Too close.
She pulled in a deep breath, pushed it out.
Every few moments, someone glanced toward the limo.
