Tirith had made it her concern. And Maggie couldn't help wondering why. How had her sister met Luc? How long had it taken her to fall for his charm? To discover the man's true heart beneath?
Maggie had seen enough to know he was someone she'd like to know more. Someone she could fall for—if he hadn't already been taken by her sister.
They were besieged by another large group of patrons, and Maggie kept shaking hands. Smiling. But her thoughts kept returning to Luc.
When she began to be overwhelmed by all of it, he smiled charmingly and joked that he didn't want her to get sunstroke, and then gently guided her to the most private corner beneath the huge canvas tent.
When she sat, he pressed a cold glass of lemonade into her hand. "Halfway there," he said. "Good job on not fainting."
She smiled a little just before she drank from the cup.
"So this is the big secret, hmm?" he said almost absently as he gazed around the area. He stood with the confident ease of someone accustomed to power. One hand rested in his pocket, the lapel of his jacket open to reveal a flat, toned belly beneath. "The reason you haven't been home in so long."
"Glorvaird isn't home anymore," she admitted softly, tearing her eyes away. He belonged to Tirith. Not her.
"How is it the public never found out?"
"There was no need. The ransom demand was made almost immediately and..." She suddenly had to focus on her breathing. In. Out. In. Out. When she could, she smiled for him. "And then it was over."
Such an understatement to encompass those forty-eight terrifying hours. But now wasn't the time or place to talk about such a sensitive subject. There were people circulating all around, though she and Luc been given a wide berth. What had she been thinking, confiding even this much in him?
She pressed the back of her wrist to her forehead. "I've been trying to get in touch with … with her."
She'd almost slipped up and said her sister's name. Luc was intelligent. He must know who she was talking about. "I thought I should explain to her that"—she dropped her voice—"the kiss meant nothing."
His eyes narrowed slightly, his gaze resting on her face for a moment that stretched a smidge too long. He clapped a hand to his chest. "I'm terribly wounded. Not sure I'll survive this critique on my romantic skills."
She attempted a smirk, but a reluctant smile pulled at the corners of her mouth. "I don't want any hint of scandal, or confusion, when she comes back."
There was something calculating behind his gaze, but it was quickly shuttered. "As much as it pains me to admit this, your—sheand I have—"
"Excuse me. Your highness? The second receiving line is waiting." A staff member who looked suitably embarrassed to have interrupted them stood nearby, shifting his feet anxiously.
No more time for talking. Though Maggie wished he’d waited a few more seconds before interrupting.
She and I have… what?
4
"Oh, you're a beautiful one, aren't you?"
Maggie approached the regal palomino, and the groom holding its bridle gave her room to admire the marvelous beast.
"Well, I feel appropriately put in my place."
Luc's wry statement made her want to nuzzle her face against the horse's snout. To hide.
They'd never finished their conversation two days ago.
And as she hadn't been able to connect with Tirith, she was more unsettled than before about her feelings for the man.
Seeing him at today’s polo match brought all the emotions from the garden party right back to the surface. Yesterday, she’d spent a hour on the phone with her therapist. Talking through the flashbacks and crazy emotional roller coaster had helped. Or at least she’d thought it had.
But today, as their eyes met across the horse's shoulders, the shared knowledge of what she’d been through was there in his eyes.
"All right?" he asked in little more than a whisper.
She smiled tightly. "I found a horse," she answered.
