Spring Blossom (7 page)

As Denise resumed her seat, Hunter felt
heightened anticipation as he stepped to his right to follow
Alastair around the end of the sofa. As he came to stand behind
her, his vision in blue turned slowly, and with great dramatic
effect, to face him.

He knew, even though he had been warned,
that he had not been able to repress a fleeting look of shock, and
in those first few seconds of seeing her, Hunter realized that was
exactly what she had wanted. Maggie had set the stage in such a
fashion that anyone would be forced to display surprise. He
wondered if this was a game she played often, or had she acted
simply for his benefit? Did the awkwardness of the moment give her
a perverse satisfaction? No awkwardness on her part, he noticed.
She stood regally before him, a cool, disdainful smile on her
beautiful lips. And Hunter felt his anger overcoming his initial
shock and sadness.

“And, of course, you remember, Margaret,”
Alastair announced, not so much with pride this time as with
wariness.

Margaret did not curtsy as her sisters had
but held out her hand to him, an almost triumphant smile on her
face.

He dutifully kissed her hand briefly before
she snatched it away. He did not smile when he straightened but
crossed his powerful arms over his chest as he stared at her;
waiting.

“I believe you made some comment about our
beauty, Mr. Maguire?” she challenged stiffly.

“Margaret!” Alastair cried, aghast.

The combatants ignored him.

“Indeed, you are exceptionally beautiful,
Miss Downing,” Hunter returned softly, “but would you have believed
me if I had told you so?”

Margaret’s eyes flashed as she stated
evenly, “As I do not believe you now!”

“As you wish,” he returned, gazing into her
ice-blue eyes. “I am considering withdrawing the comment at any
rate,” he said after a moment’s reflection. “True beauty is not
found only on the surface.” With that he turned to his host. “I
believe you mentioned a drink earlier, my friend,” he said in a
voice that sounded more steady than he felt.

Embarrassed by his daughter’s behavior,
Alastair cleared his throat, obviously unsettled by the
confrontation that had taken place between his eldest daughter and
his guest. “Yes! Yes, of course.”

As Hunter followed his host across the room
he wondered if he had reacted too harshly, but after brief
consideration, decided he had not. His only regret was the dead
silence that now hung over the room; the younger girls were
obviously uncomfortable with what had taken place.

The scar was a damned shame, he admitted to
himself, an unsightly interference with perfection, but it was made
ugly only by the way Maggie drew attention to it.

The mark ran jaggedly along her right jaw
line for a length of approximately two inches. It was pink in
comparison to her complexion, but not livid as it would have been
when new. In truth, it did little to mar her exquisite beauty.

Now he believed Maggie felt the scar was a
bigger issue and that is why she had plotted to put him off
guard.

“I must apologize for Margaret’s behavior,”
Alastair murmured as he prepared their drinks.

“Margaret is no longer a child, Alastair.
She should apologize for her own behavior.” Cocking his head
slightly to one side, Hunter smiled ruefully at the older man. “But
somehow I don’t believe that happens often,” he added softly.

Alastair looked briefly across the room to
his eldest daughter as he shook his head. “No," he said. “But it is
not a minor blemish in her eyes, you see.”

“I’m sure it’s not.”

“In the beginning I was relieved that
Margaret was not going to hide herself away in embarrassment and
shrink from others. Still, I have never seen her act quite so
hostile. I do apologize.”

The man’s voice was tinged with regret and
almost unbearable sadness. Hunter had the distinct impression his
host was afraid to challenge his own child and wondered at this
attitude. But that was really no business of his, he decided. If
Alastair could not discipline his children that was his own
problem, but he need not expect Hunter to stand meekly by and allow
Margaret Downing to make him a fool. She had caught him unaware
once; she would not have a second chance to do so.

And still he wondered about the old Maggie.
Surely she existed somewhere?

*

Across the room, Margaret was collecting
herself. He was arrogant, she decided. Why had she not seen that
all those years ago? He was obviously not a gentleman, and she
wondered how she could ever have thought of him as one. On the
heels of that thought, she scoffed at herself. Most men were not
gentlemen. They only presented a display of manners when they were
guests in someone else’s home. Although Hunter was no gentleman, at
least he was more brave then most. Others she had met had shriveled
in embarrassment and revulsion upon seeing her for the first time,
and it gave her some satisfaction to see them squirm. After all,
they were the reason she was disfigured.

Margaret closed her eyes briefly as she took
a small sip of sherry, trying to blot out the next thought.
Thoughts about the true nature of men and what she had learned. She
made certain the same beliefs were echoed in her thoughts every day
in the hope that she would be totally convinced of them. But the
exercise was always ruined by a remembered childhood dream and a
hollow, empty feeling she could only describe as an ache somewhere
in the vicinity of her heart.

She knew she must keep trying to convince
her stubborn mind that a liaison with a member of the opposite sex
was not at all desirable, that such relationships were not at all
like the dreams she’d had as a girl.

She glared across the room at the tall, dark
visitor who was quietly talking with her father. She wondered what
her father had told him; and feared the worst. Margaret had never
discussed the ‘accident’ with anyone, and her father would not
allow anyone at Treemont to mention it. She did not even think
about it anymore. She hadn’t for a long time now. But she
remembered the lessons.

She walked around the end of the settee to
sit beside Denise.

Denise was already a lost cause, proclaiming
herself madly in love with that young doctor from Williamsburg. She
was still a child, and yet she was to wed within mere months.
Margaret was saddened by thoughts of the harsh lessons that Denise
would have to learn. It was so senseless, when they could all be
perfectly happy living out their lives at Treemont. As the girls
matured, they would come to understand that a life without men
could be gratifying and peaceful.

Denise leaned close to her sister and spoke
softly. “I believe he has become even more handsome, it that’s
possible.”

Margaret groaned and turned her head to
frown at her sister. “Really! Watching Florence gush and coo is bad
enough. I thought you had more sense.”

Margaret did not frighten Denise. She
ignored her sister’s old-lady behavior, for the most part. She even
boldly teased her on occasionally, hoping that Margaret would one
day come to her senses.

In view of this latest little tirade, she
merely shrugged away her sister’s attitude. “I state only obvious
fact, sister.” Denise paused and took a delicate sip of sherry. “I
believe he must be very brave also.” Another pause…another sip from
her glass. “You did rather misjudge this one, Margaret.”

Margaret narrowed her eyes and primly
straightened her spine, turning her head away. “I don’t know what
you’re talking about.”

“He didn’t become all flustered and
tongue-tied, did he? He didn’t back away as you have so often
forced others to do.”

“You’re being ridiculous,” Margaret hissed,
her narrowed eyes once again piercing her younger sister's
challenging gaze.

“Not at all,” Denise returned calmly. “You
present yourself as if you were some ugly beast and treat every man
who comes near you as if being a man was a sin and he was somehow,
personally, responsible. You like to shock and startle and grimly
enjoy the results you achieve.”

“You have no idea what…”

“Oh, do I not? Well you are not ugly,
Margaret, and all men are not responsible for that silly scar. When
are you going to realize that?”

“This is neither the time nor the place for
this discussion,” she said in her most condescending voice. But she
saw that Denise was not to be stopped and, as she wondered what had
gotten into the girl, Margaret began to fear that she was losing
all authority over her siblings.

“When is the time?” Denise pressed as she
looked quickly around the room before once again devoting her
attention to Margaret. “We are all family here, with the exception
of Mr. Maguire, of course, and somehow I feel he would enjoy a
heated discussion of your attitude toward men.”

“My attitude toward men is the only sensible
one, as I have tried to tell you.”

“Oh, yes, you’ve tried,” Denise said sadly.
“Margaret, do you really want to wither away here at Treemont?” In
her anger, her concern, Denise’s voice had risen.

Suddenly Alastair was before them. “What is
going on between you two?” he demanded in a hushed, authoritative
tone.

Margaret then realized that their
conversation had grown intense and they had been near to shouting.
She looked up at her father and then across the room at Hunger
Maguire. He was looking in their direction, of course, and the man
was smiling. Suddenly concerned over how much he had heard,
Margaret experienced a creeping sense of mortification.

Turning to her father, Denise said softly,
“Papa, I’m sorry.”

“We have a guest,” he reminded them
evenly.

“I apologize also, Papa,” Margaret said, as
she placed one hand lightly on his forearm. “Shall I discuss the
showing of the horses with Mr. Maguire?” Although she was
suspicious of men, Margaret still loved her father and had ways of
calming him during moments like these.

“A reasonable conversation would be nice,”
Alastair returned derisively.

Margaret squared her shoulders and turned
away from her family. As she walked stiffly across the room it
occurred to her that she should not have taken such pains with her
appearance tonight. It appeared that her plan had not affected
Hunter Maguire the way it had previous callers. But then, Hunter
was no like the other callers. She suspected he had come to bargain
for more than a stallion.

He was to remain with them for one week. At
the end of that time, Margaret would see that he had completed his
business and was on his way home.

Alone.

She approached him now and spoke in a cool,
stilted tone as she stopped before him. “Mr. Maguire, you must
forgive my brief lapse in manners. My sister and I became engrossed
in conversation and I have neglected to welcome you to our
home.”

Hunter’s face betrayed nothing, but he was
surprised. She acted as though they had never met before and yet,
her first greeting as she had turned to him with a haughty, regale
air, certainly had a purpose; to shock him? To drive him away?
Either or both were more than likely based on her frigid bearing
right now. Anxious to see how she would proceed, he said, “I
understand, Miss Downing.”

“Pap informs me you are in the market for a
good stallion, Mr. Maguire.”

“There was a time when you called me
Hunter.”

A slight frown creased her forehead as she
pointedly ignored his statement. “We have some excellent stock to
show you. I think you will be pleasantly surprised.”

“Will I, indeed?” A pleasant surprise would
be a nice change, he thought.

“We have a particularly fine mare as well,”
she added, continuing in her businesslike manner. “Would you care
to see her?” She kept her tone cool but pleasant enough, feeling
strongly that the conversation was going well so far.

A hint of humor developed in Hunter’s eyes.
“I bought a fine mare here a few years ago. “Do you remember?”

Margaret raised her glass, the best way she
could think of to break eye contact with him in that moment.

“But at the time you wanted me to choose
another,” he teased.

She remembered, all right, but Margaret did
not want to. Remembering was painful. Her shoulders stiffened
visibly before she lower her glass to a nearby table. “You should
have taken my advice,” she returned coolly, “that little mare gave
us an exceptional foal. Perhaps you would like to purchase her
stallion. He’s an excellent two-year-old.”

Hunter felt stung again. She was being
deliberately distant but this time, he could see a spark of the
young girl he had known. She was reacting toward him with an air of
authority but, still, he could see her intensity when she spoke of
the horses. That had not changed, he was certain. She was too rigid
to appear exuberant, but there was something there that he
remembered.

Tipping his head to one side he asked
curiously, “Should I take your advice about the stallion?”

“Definitely.”

“And of men?” he asked, frowning as her body
stiffened in reaction.

“I don’t know what you mean,” she muttered,
turning pointedly away to retrieve her glass of sherry.

“Do you also consider yourself a good judge
of men?” he pressed.

Margaret’s eyes frantically darted toward
the dining room. “If you’ll excuse me,” she said heatedly. “I must
see about supper.”

Hunter reached out to touch her forearm,
wanting her to stay. But Margaret snatched her arm away obviously
scalded by the brief touch. The icy stare she sent him momentarily
distracted him from his course of questioning. What the hell? That
quick glare was something to be reckoned with…something darkly
meaningful. Suspicious, he asked, “Why are you running away?”

Margaret reacted with a semblance of a
laugh. “Don’t be silly. I’m going to see if our meal is ready.”