He wanted to curse. No, what he really wanted to do was fold her into his arms and kiss her desperately, kiss her until every hint of that vulnerability was gone.
He didn't dare.
"Maggie," he murmured. It was the first time her name had crossed his lips.
"Don't," she whispered. She didn't look at him again, not really. Her gaze was on his ear, maybe, or his hair. Everyone watching would see her looking at him, but she wasn't.
Don't. It was the one thing she could've said to wake him up. She didn't want him to make a scene.
She cleared her throat. "Is Guinevere watching from home? Surely this will make the news."
Guinevere. Thank God one of them was keeping their head. It wasn't him.
Maggie liked Guinevere. Of course she wouldn't want to cause drama at an event that could decide the fate of Guinevere's foundation.
Was his niece the only reason she'd joined Tirith for this event? She could've slipped away into the night, no one the wiser.
It was his turn to clear his throat. "You look..." He shook his head as he swung her into a twirl. She came back into his arms. She fit there. Did she know it, too? "I can't find the right words. Everything sounds trite. Tonight, you're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."
Roses of color bloomed high in her cheeks. "Thank you," she murmured.
"Was it a good reunion with your sister?"
Her glance flicked over his shoulder, presumably to rest on Tirith at the edge of the ballroom. There was so much emotion behind that look.
"I think she'll be okay now." When she returned her attention to him, her smile was a shade too bright. "I left her personal assistant to pack what few things I brought with me. I'll leave in the morning."
He felt as if he'd been punched in the throat. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't speak. And the song was coming to an end.
Ask her to stay. He was going to do it. He opened his mouth to blurt out his feelings, no matter the crowd that was watching them.
She spoke first. "When will you know if tonight's event was enough? Financially, I mean."
The foundation. She'd just told him she was leaving, and she was worried about the foundation. She wasn’t thinking about him at all.
Could she send a clearer message? Maybe it was better that he hadn't spilled his feelings for her.
"It won't be." He'd seen the final attendance numbers already. Unless someone slipped him a large donation check before the night was over—unlikely—come tomorrow he would be scrambling for funds. "I'll figure something out,” he said. “It's what I do."
The music ended, and he drew to a stop, letting his hands fall away from her.
Now. Ask her to stay. Beg.But he did none of those things.
He gave her a slight bow. "Thank you for the dance. And for... everything."
He walked away.
Maggie should've leftafter the dance. No. She shouldn’t have listened to Tirith in the first place. She shouldn’t have come down at all.
Now, two hours later, she was torturing herself.
She'd tried to let herself be distracted by the myriad of people who'd introduced themselves to her.
But nothing could distract her attention from Luc and Tirith.
Her sister had been poised and collected. She'd directed numerous cheques into Luc's hands, where they disappeared quickly into an inside pocket of his jacket. She did it so effortlessly, laughing and talking with the powerful men in the room, laying a hand on their arm or drawing their wives into the conversation. Maggie would need years of lessons to learn to work a room like that. Tirith did it naturally.
And Luc was right by her side. Flagging down a waiter to refill her champagne glass when it was empty. Touching the small of her back. Even the way he angled his body toward Tirith bothered the heck out of Maggie.
