Under the Spaniard's Lock and Key

by Kim Lawrence

Maggie blinked, realisation sending a soft pink wash over her skin.

  He was serious.

  This was a proposal. The fact he would hastily withdraw it did not alter the fact that he had made it.

  Maggie admired the misplaced sense of honour that had made him propose, and even though she knew marriage under these circumstances was totally and utterly wrong she was unable to dispel the unsettling suspicion that, had she been carrying his baby, she could not have lived up to her own principles without a struggle.

  She looked at him, a punch-drunk glaze in her wide eyes. ‘I…I didn’t think,’ she admitted.

  It looked to Rafael as if she wasn’t thinking now; she looked as if adrenaline alone was keeping her upright. He grimaced and silently cursed the impatience that had made him prematurely blurt things out that way.

  The priority was getting a medical all-clear because he still felt little confidence in the hospital’s assurance she was fine.

  In his view they were simply covering their backs against litigation. He would not relax until they had a diagnosis from a non-biased source.

  ‘Wow, Rafael, I really appreciate the gesture, a really lovely gesture,’ she began thickly. ‘But you see—’

  ‘You “appreciate”…!’ he echoed.

  ‘Yes, really, it’s—’

  ‘Yes.’ He swallowed. ‘You said—a lovely gesture.’

  Maggie winced at the sardonic note in his voice.

  ‘It is not a gesture, Maggie. We will speak of this afterwards.’

  ‘No, I have to tell you now.’

  Ignoring her anguished wail, Rafael walked over to a door and pushed it open. He turned and gestured for her to enter before him.

  She sighed and, left with little choice, she acceded to the silent request and walked past him.

  The room she found herself in appeared to be a large drawing room. It was not, however, the decor or antique furnishing that caught Maggie’s attention, but the man standing next to the Adam fireplace.

  ‘Maggie, this is Dr Metcalf…James,’ he said, turning to the older man. ‘I am grateful you came so promptly.’

  Maggie watched the two men shake hands and felt her resentment stir. Did Rafael really think she would sit back and let him take control of her life this way? Maggie scowled and said loudly, ‘I do not need a doctor.’

  ‘Possibly,’ Rafael conceded. ‘But as he is here now it would be foolish, not to mention rude, to make this a wasted journey.’

  Her jaw clenched. ‘Don’t patronise me, Rafael. If you want to waste your money on a totally unnecessary consultation that’s your business, but I don’t have to waste my time when I already know I’m fine.’

  ‘So you are a doctor now.’

  Maggie threw up her hands in utter exasperation. ‘No, but I’m not a hypochondriac by proxy either.’

  ‘Is that an accepted medical term?’

  ‘Shut up, and in case,’ she added coldly, ‘you forgot, I was examined by a doctor after the incident.’

  All humour evaporated from Rafael’s manner as he scowled darkly. ‘Not an incident,’ he corrected. ‘An assault, and not a doctor, a medical student.’

  Maggie, who was not about to explain the intricacies of the medical hierarchy, sighed. ‘It doesn’t take a Harley Street specialist to diagnose a black eye.’

  Neither man denied the job description, but then this was no surprise. Rafael would only consult the best.

  ‘For the record James—’ his gaze was trained, not on the medic, but on Maggie ‘—and I explain because I understand that things such as uncharacteristic mood swings are sometimes diagnostic of an underlying problem with head injuries—but, no, she is always this unreasonable and difficult.’

  Maggie’s dark eyes flashed in response to this display of deliberate provocation. ‘Thank you. I am in the room, and you are embarrassing the doctor.’

  ‘Not at all,’ the older man intervened smoothly. ‘Now if you just give us a few minutes, Rafael, I’m sure I’ll be able to put your fears to rest.’

  Maggie rather enjoyed seeing the startled expression when Rafael realised he was being asked, albeit politely, to leave the room.

  His steel-reinforced jaw tightened imperceptibly, but after a pause and what she suspected was a tough internal struggle—clearly his natural response to an order, even one couched as a polite suggestion, was not to smile—he nodded and produced one anyway.

  Not that Maggie found the sardonic grin in her direction at all apologetic, but he did leave.

  Maggie’s shoulders sagged with relief when the door closed. It was a temporary reprieve, but at least it gave her breathing space and the opportunity to explain to the doctor that she really did not need a consultation.

  The doctor agreed totally with her, which begged the question how did she end up being examined, anyway?

  The examination was thorough but not lengthy. The doctor pronounced that her facial injuries were superficial and advised she take painkillers to ease the discomfort.

  Maggie said, ‘I fine with pain, actually. It’s just a bit uncomfortable.’

  The doctor, who didn’t look impressed by her stoicism, produced a bottle from his bag and handed it to her, saying, ‘Just in case you change your mind and they won’t harm the baby, but then you’re a nurse—you already know that.’

  Maggie’s fingers tightened around the bottle as she managed to produce a half-hearted smile. She was not going to take her anger out on this man. She intended to reserve that for Rafael, who was a control freak of the first order.

  Or maybe he wanted confirmation of the pregnancy? Ironic when if he’d only let her get a word in he’d already know there was no baby.

  ‘I know Rafael is concerned that the attack could have harmed the baby…how far along are you?’

  ‘There is no baby, doctor.’

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  THE doctor had been gone a few minutes when, after a tap, the door opened. Maggie, who had been nursing her anger while she waited, spun around with a wrathful glower.

  The maid holding the tea tray looked as startled as Maggie felt. She forced herself to smile and said thank you as the girl nervously put the tray down on a console table and beat a hasty retreat.

  It was five minutes later when Rafael walked through the door, by which time Maggie had eaten several of the delicious smoked salmon and cream cheese sandwiches from the tray to revive her flagging energy levels and silence her growling stomach.

  ‘How dare you go around telling people that I’m pregnant?’

  ‘Shall I be mother or you?’

  ‘Very funny.’

  ‘I am not laughing,’ he pointed out as he lowered his rangy frame onto a leather armchair.

  A quick survey of his face through her lashes revealed that this was an accurate assessment; it was easy to read what he wasn’t. What he was was more of a challenge and one beyond her capabilities.

  ‘And I would not call one medic “people”—but as I was asking him to examine you and make a diagnosis it seemed logical to give him all relevant medical information. And before you start accusing James of revealing confidential medical details, I can assure you the only information he imparted was that you are well.’

  ‘But you tried?’

  He flashed her an incredulous look as he crossed one ankle over the other and gritted, ‘Dios, you make me dizzy with your pacing. Sit before you fall down.’ Rafael had to dig deep into his reserves of self restraint to stop himself leaping to his feet and physically enforcing his suggestion.

  To see the pallor of sheer exhaustion etched into her delicate bruised face was a torment; not to respond to it intensified the agony.

  ‘Of course I tried. It embarrassed me that I had to.’

  Maggie winced as her sense of fair play kicked in hard. Shaking her hair back from her face, she lifted the stray strands that had crept down the neck of her top with her hand and flopped in an attitude of weary defeat into the chair opposite Rafael.

 
‘All right, let’s get this over with.’

  ‘You make it sound like pulling a tooth.’

  A procedure, she reflected grimly, that generally involved a local anaesthetic. This offered no such luxury. She expelled a shaky breath and watched as he left his seat to pour tea from the pot.

  ‘Drink,’ he said, handing her a cup before retaking his seat.

  Maggie winced as she took a sip. ‘I don’t take sugar.’

  ‘You look like you need it.’

  ‘You’re the one who will be in shock, not me.’

  Rafael expelled a deep sigh and leaned forward, his hands planted on his knees.

  ‘Susan’s right—you are pregnant.’ It emerged as a statement and not a question.

  Maggie exhaled. ‘No, I’m not,’ she said, wondering whether he would be able to hide his relief.

  There was no relief because it soon became clear he didn’t believe a word she was saying. ‘She is hurt you didn’t feel able to tell her.’

  ‘Of course I’d feel able to tell her—if I was. I’m just not.’

  ‘She thought perhaps that you wanted to tell the baby’s father first?’

  ‘And you told her that was you…great, have you not been listening to me, Rafael? There is no baby!’

  ‘Your mother is sure—’

  ‘My mother has been sure that I’m pregnant ever since I got engaged to Simon.’

  At the mention of the other man’s name Rafael tensed.

  ‘It was her worst fear. She never thought he was good for me—my entire family were relieved when we split up.’ The same family that, it appeared, had welcomed Rafael with open arms.

  One of life’s little ironies.

  Rafael’s anger and frustration at her denial escalated.

  ‘That won’t wash. She didn’t seem afraid to me—hurt because you hadn’t told her and concerned because you bottle things up—’

  He stopped as a hissing sound escaped through Maggie’s clenched teeth.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  The question drew an incredulous laugh from Maggie. ‘Why would anything be wrong?’ she asked with bitter irony. ‘My family has been discussing my character flaws with a stranger who walked in off the street!’ she exploded.

  ‘Not walked, exactly—I drove there.’

  ‘Well, don’t think you got preferential treatment because they were impressed with your big car. My family are not like that.’

  ‘Yes, I did get that.’ Having been born with a name that had been opening doors for him all his life, he had found it a strange experience to have a door stay firmly closed—until he had said the magic word: Maggie. ‘I think they just liked me.’

  ‘That’s because she thought you were the father,’ Maggie returned gloomily.

  The smile that briefly lightened the brooding intensity of Rafael’s expression had a definite hint of smugness. ‘So you finally admit it.’

  ‘No!’ Maggie flicked a glance at his dark lean patrician profile and thought, She took one look at you and decided you were the catch of the century.

  ‘I think Mum’s mindset is almost anyone is better than Simon.’

  It was name that he was fast growing to hate. ‘If ever I need my ego deflated I will know where to come. This has nothing to do with…Simon. I am your first sexual relationship.’ His glance drifted to her lips.

  ‘But Mum doesn’t know that, unless you told her?’ Which was becoming a less ludicrous possibility by the second.

  ‘It was not a subject that came up.’

  ‘Well, thank God for that,’ she breathed, thankful for small mercies.

  ‘You are obviously very close. I assumed—’

  ‘Can we leave my sex life out of this!’ she cut in, not even making a pretence of being able to match his casual, almost careless attitude to that particular subject.

  Meeting his eyes, she caught her breath and thought, Cancel careless. There was nothing that could be categorised careless in the glow reflected in those platinum depths.

  ‘I have never discussed my sex life with Mum.’

  ‘We will leave your sex life out of this, though I think it is very much part of it.’

  He was struggling to be patient. He understood she was in denial, but her continued refusal to face up to facts was hard to take.

  He had to make Maggie understand that he appreciated how she must be feeling and that he was going to be there for her—that she wasn’t alone.

  ‘I think Susan is a pragmatist. You are pregnant and, like any mother, she wants to know that you will be looked after.’

  Maggie lifted her hands in a gesture of utter frustration.

  ‘And,’ he said, ignoring the interruption, ‘I reassured her on the subject.’

  ‘Oh, God!’ Maggie groaned, lifting her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. ‘I’m not pregnant!’

  A hissing sound of anger escaped through his clenched teeth. ‘Will you stop pretending, Maggie? I saw the baby clothes.’

  She watched in bemused silence as he got to his feet and stalked to the opposite end of the room with the grace of a restless caged panther. He was so damned gorgeous that even the sight of his broad back made her ache.

  The swell of longing that tightened in her chest made it hard for Maggie to speak as she echoed.

  ‘“Baby clothes”?’

  He spun back, dragging a hand over his dark hair as he pinned her with a lethal steely glare of disapproval. ‘Isn’t it about time you stopped this act?’

  ‘I’m not acting.’

  Her response did not soften the grim severity of his expression. ‘In the bathroom, the boxes.’ He saw the realisation wash across her face and said, ‘Finally! Now can we start discussing this like two adults?’

  Maggie covered her mouth with her hand. ‘You saw the clothes and thought…’ She stopped, exhaled a shaky sigh. ‘So that was why you left so suddenly?’ It was totally illogical of her to feel hurt by the fact he had been so spooked that his first instinct had been to run.

  The fact was he had come back, even though a baby was the last thing he wanted in his life, because despite his reputation Rafael was a thoroughly decent man, and with a strong sense of responsibility.

  And because he was a decent man he would try to hide his relief when he realised the truth, she thought bleakly.

  ‘I’m not pregnant, Rafael. No!’ She held up her hand and said quickly, ‘Please, just hear me out.’ She paused, choosing her words with care, ashamed that for a split second she had wished there had been a baby and she would have an excuse to keep him in her life.

  ‘There were baby clothes in the boxes. A friend at work passed them on to me because she knew—’

  ‘That you are pregnant.’

  ‘No, she knew about the work I do at the shelter.’

  His dark brows twitched into a frowning line above his hawkish nose. ‘“Shelter”?’ Was this yet another diversion?

  ‘When Simon was campaigning during the by-election he visited a shelter. It’s a place,’ she explained, ‘where women who are escaping abusive relationships go. They stay there while they get back on their feet. Some have children with them.’

  Simon, happy with the results of the photo opportunity, had seen no reason to go back, privately confiding that he had found the entire experience depressing.

  When asked if she felt the same way Maggie had admitted she had been shocked but not depressed; actually she had found her visit to the shelter, if anything, uplifting.

  The people who worked there, she had explained to him, had been so tremendously dedicated, and the courage and resilience of many of the women who, despite all they had been through, were looking forward to starting a new life inspirational.

  Simon had been unable to understand her attitude and he had been less than happy when she had continued the association with the shelter, not on any formal basis, but she had become quite involved with fundraising.

  ‘Some of the women have children and babies.�
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  He leaned his broad shoulders against the wall and studied her face in silence for what felt like an eternity to Maggie.

  ‘This is true?’

  She nodded.

  ‘And the clothes, they are for them?’

  She nodded again.

  ‘How do you have time for this shelter? You work impossible hours and—’

  ‘So do you.’

  ‘That is not the same…’ He exhaled slowly and met her eyes. ‘So you are not pregnant,’ he said, not portraying any particular relief, but then maybe it was still sinking in.

  ‘No, so you can relax—you’re not going to be a father.’ It was difficult not to notice that he didn’t look relaxed.

  Rafael passed a hand across his eyes and peeled himself away from the wall. His demeanour as he walked across the room toward her was not one she would have associated with a man who had just had a narrow escape.

  As he got closer Maggie’s levels of nervous tension soared. There was something ominous about his body language and she began to talk, the words tripping over each other in her nervous haste to get them out.

  ‘I’m sorry you had all the worry and my mum made it worse. Some men would have walked away.’

  He stopped a few feet from her. ‘I did.’ In shock or not it was a response that he would never forgive himself for. ‘I was a coward.’ He had not known how to tell her he loved her.

  ‘A bit harsh.’

  He gave her a long level look. ‘Not harsh enough.’

  The depth of self-condemnation in his voice made her blink.

  ‘You did come back and it’s all a happy ending. No baby, no wedding bells.’

  Rafael continued to stare back at her, not looking like a man who was celebrating his lucky escape.

  Maggie’s control snapped. She didn’t need this. It was tough enough putting a cheerful face on the fact that there was nothing beyond a physical attraction which by his own estimation only had a short time to run before it fizzled out—at least on his part—to keep them together.

  Rafael was going to walk away some time soon and this time he wouldn’t come back, and he was standing there acting as if it were his life that had just fallen apart.

  ‘It doesn’t change anything.’

  Maggie was startled by this incomprehensible interpretation of the situation.