by Jill Metcalf
Anne turned enraged dark eyes on her. “I’m sick of this,” she hissed. “The girl will never do as she is told. And she sassed me again!”
“Florence?” Maggie asked, astounded. “Florence is the most amenable person on this earth. What could she have done?”
“She refused to take the supper to those stable boys again!” The woman said belligerently. “I’ve had this problem with her before. I can’t do everything in this house and everyone on this plantation is fed from this kitchen.”
Maggie’s complexion had turned to angry purple by this time. “And for this you struck her?” she asked evenly, with slow, deceptive calm. “You struck her when you know she is shy of those boys?” Maggie jerked the woman’s hand down in high fury and took a threatening step forward. “How could you strike her for refusing to do something that makes her uneasy? How could you strike her at all?”
“The girl is lazy!”
Maggie flung Anna’s arm away. “Stay away, Anna,” she ordered harshly. “Just get away from me for a moment.”
Hunter had followed his wife into the room and had gone to Florence’s side once he’d determined that Maggie was dealing well enough on her own. He was kneeling amongst the splattered food and the broken china with the girl clinging to his shirtfront.
Maggie knelt beside him. “Florence, let me see, darling,” she said softly, although anger made it difficult for her to control her voice. The shy girl of thirteen turned a cheek that was livid red toward her older sister. Maggie winced when she saw the clear mark of a handprint and raised her eyes to her husband. “Did she hit her head?” she asked, raising a gentle hand to search for signs.
“Apparently not,” Hunter returned grimly. “Fortunately.”
And then, before Hunter could blink, his petite wife whirled away to face the housekeeper again. Clearly she wasn’t through with the woman yet. Once again he felt a swell of pride in his chest as he watched his sweet love in a royal rage of action.
Maggie clenched both hands at her sides in an attempt not to do bodily damage to the older woman she confronted. “Has this happened before?” she asked tight-lipped.
Anna stared defiantly. “I told you…the girl does not do as she is told.”
“I asked you a question and I expect an answer, Anna,” Maggie shot back. “Have you struck her before?”
Anna chose to remain mute on the point and crossed her arms over her ample bosom.
Maggie examined the older woman from head to toe and then, with a squaring of her shoulders, came to a decision. Stepping forward, hand extended, palm up, she said quietly but firmly, “Give me your keys.”
“What for?”
“I want your keys and I want you packed and out of this house within the hour.”
Anna, obviously stunned, could barely speak. “You can’t…”
“I just did, Ann,” Maggie said evenly. “Out…within the hour.”
The woman ungraciously flung her small ring of keys toward the stove and stormed out of the room.
Maggie sighed and bowed her head momentarily before turning to meet the eyes of her husband.
He was smiling!
Jennifer chose that moment to storm the Bastille. The outer kitchen door banged against the wall as she entered. Executing an abrupt stop, the girl stared down at the sight of Hunter and Florence wallowing in spoiled food and broken china. “What…?”
Before Jennifer could say another word, Hunter got to his feet and helped Florence up.
Jennifer, still looking dumbfounded, caught sight of her sister’s bruised face. “What happened, Flo?” she asked softly.
“I fell.”
“Before or after Anna hit you?” Jennifer asked bluntly.
Maggie turned toward her youngest sister. “This has happened before?”
Jennifer shrugged her slim shoulders. “A few times.”
Maggie was completely stunned. “But why didn’t Papa do something about it?”
“Florence would never tell and she wouldn’t let me tell either. She said we needed somebody to cook and, if we said anything at all, Anne would only get meaner.”
Florence was straightening her skirt while trying to regain control over her emotions. But, before she could find the courage to hold her head up, Maggie lifted her chin high.
“You must never allow this to happen to you again, Florence,” she said softly. “You are a good person and a beautiful girl. You are strong in your own right and you will never again allow anyone to harm you. We’ll teach you, Hunter and I. I won’t allow you to become a victim, too.”
*
Hunter Maguire trudged wearily up the stairs to join his wife in their room. For the past four hours he had been looking forward to some quiet moments alone with her. He felt as if he had aged a score of years in the short time they had been at Treemont. Emotion had been running high over several events and the bad news he had uncovered in reviewing Alastair’s books weighed heavily upon him.
He entered the room quietly and closed the door, then crossed the room to where she sat on the edge of the bed, brushing her hair. “Hello,” he whispered, placing the palm of one hand on her cheek before he bent to lightly kiss her lips.
He straightened then, tugging his shirt out of the waist-band of his trousers as he walked to a chair and sat down to tug off his boots.
Maggie’s eyes followed him with sympathy; she could actually feel his fatigue. “It’s been a terrible day,” she offered.
He smiled at her as he dropped one boot to the floor. “Not all of it, my love,” he said in what she deemed a most lecherous tone.
Her face colored and she turned her head away from him, raising the hairbrush once again, as she thought of their morning lovemaking.
Hunter laughed at her embarrassment. “I was referring to the fact that you told me you loved me,” he teased, and she turned back to him laughing softly at her own stupidity. “Well…the love-making was a tiny ray of sunshine in an otherwise stormy day,” he added.
She threw the hairbrush at him.
He laughed again and ducked as the thing sailed past his shoulder, then got him on the rebound as it bounced off the wall and hit him squarely between the shoulder blades.
Maggie raced across the room and fell to her knees beside him. “Oh, Hunter, I’m sorry!” she cried, running her hand down his back and looking for damage.
“I’m all right, little goose,” he laughed.
“I didn’t mean to hit you! I threw it wide.”
“God help me if you ever take aim,” he teased. Her eyes turned to his, and when he saw her honest, painful remorse, he touched her cheek again. “Don’t be silly,” he whispered. “I know you were playing.” He kissed the tip of her nose and turned his attention to the removal of his other boot.
Maggie’s chin dropped down to rest on her hand, which gripped the wooden arm of his chair; she and Denise had removed the two small boudoir chairs earlier in the day and replaced them with this far sturdier one for Hunter.
“Is Anna gone?” she asked, watching the play of muscles across his shoulders and down his arm as he moved.
“Well and truly,” he muttered with feeling.
“I just can’t believe that woman was mistreating Florence and my father didn’t know about it.”
“Florence allowed it to continue, pet, and that is a sad state of affairs. She even forced Jennifer to remain silent. Both girls may have feared things could get worse if they told anyone. Who knows what that woman said to them…what she threatened,” he added gently as he settled back, his chest and feet now bare. He rested his forearm on her shoulder as he toyed with her freshly brushed hair. “We shall have to give Florence a good deal of love and coaching. The girl needs to develop her self-esteem and confidence.”
“If she gets attention from you,” Maggie said softly, “she’ll be all right.”
His hand stilled and he stared at her for a long, breathless moment. “You mean that, don’t you?” he asked, obviously taken abac
k.
“I’m a lucky girl,” she said emotionally, her forehead dropping to rest against his ribs. “I’m grateful for whatever made you come back for me.”
Hunter tugged gently on a handful of hair until Maggie raised her head and looked at him. “It was pure selfishness, pure greed, that made me come back. I wanted the loveliest, liveliest, and sweetest woman any man could imagine taking to wife.” Maggie rose up quickly and threw her arms around his neck. “And she’s a hussy, too,” he teased. She laughed at that and he realized how much he enjoyed the sound of her laughter.
It was an honest and earnest few moments between them; a time of expressing by sight and touch those things that were often difficult to put into words. It was as if each could see beyond the flesh and bone of the other’s chest and say, ‘See, this heart beats only for you’. It was a moment of profound emotion, of extreme sensation that neither had ever experienced before, something that neither had ever envisioned possessing.
And then Maggie was standing before him, pulling on his hands and forcing him to stand. “You said you would teach me to love you.” She dropped her hands to the waistband of his trousers.
“I have the distinct feeling that you already know how, my darling,” he breathed as she made him naked.
She stood back from him then, her eyes slowly perusing his fine, muscular body, and enjoying the fact that she was feeling absolutely no shame as she gazed at him. He was hers, after all, and she was proud of that.
She gave a quick tug on the small pink ribbon on her bodice, shrugged with an exaggerated movement, and stood before him in an equal sate of undress.
“Is this terribly wicked?” she asked, watching his eyes glow in the meager light of the single lamp.
“Perfectly,” he murmured. “Beautifully,” he added as he took his time admiring her body.
Maggie was not certain how to initiate their lovemaking. There seemed to be a difference between lying naked with him and having him stand so boldly before her. And he was a bold one. Eventually she found her courage and stepped carefully out of the gown that was pooled at her feet before taking the few steps remaining between them. When she stood close enough to feel the heat of him radiating toward her she raised her hands and let them rest on his narrow hips. When Hunter failed to touch her in return, Maggie smiled up at him. “You aren’t going to help me at all with this, are you?”
He shook his head, his gaze gentle but serious in his growing anticipation of what they were about to share. “You’ve touched me before,” he said. “You mustn’t feel shy about touching me now.”
“It’s different, now that I understand how much I love you,” she murmured.
“How is it different?”
“It’s suddenly very important that I make you happy,” she returned quietly, adding almost inaudibly, “that I please you.”
“Don’t you understand that I feel the same way?”
Maggie looked momentarily stunned by the softly spoken revelation, but as soon as she reasoned it out, she understood.
“It’s all curious and frightening and magical,” she said as her hand roamed up his chest. Then she was pulling his head down, slowly down toward her slightly parted lips.
Hunter groaned as his arms went around her, pulling her close against him. He was already aching for her but he sought to control the urge to enter her before she had fully exercised her powers over the moment; this was Maggie’s moment.
She guided him to the bed, and what took place there was a true test of two bodies straining to be together while they tortured each other by remaining apart.
And eventually the test had gone too far. Maggie could barely breathe as she looked down at him, her ample breasts pressed against his massive chest. “I want you now,” she said raggedly.
Hunter lay on his back, barely able to keep from groaning as the heat from her ice-blue eyes bored into his heated gaze. “Then take me,” he whispered and smiled at her puzzlement. “I’ll show you, love,” he breathed as he guided her up and over him. “Easy now,” he instructed, and her eyes widened with the pure, sweet sensation of taking him into herself in this manner. Then he touched her, and coached her into moving freely. Soon Maggie exploded into a thousand shards, as her spine stiffened and her head fell back.
Watching her and feeling her body tighten around him was more that Hunter could bear. His restraint tested beyond reason, he pushed his hips into the mattress and then thrust upward, finding his own exquisite release. His body continued to shudder even as Maggie fell upon his chest.
It was several moments before their harsh breathing returned to normal. Maggie, her cheek pressed to his, murmured, “It’s a good thing I don’t discover I’m in love every day. I don’t think I would survive.”
He laughed softly and the palm of his hand connected playfully with her backside. “You will discover love every day…with me!”
“You’re arrogant,” he teased.
“Damn right.”
She eased off him then, but Hunter did not remove his arms from around her and Maggie fell limply on her side close against him. “How can this be, do you suppose?” she murmured, “This special thing between us?”
“I imagine all lovers feel this way,” he returned philosophically.
That wasn’t what she wanted to hear. “Don’t you believe this is special?” she demanded, raising herself up on one elbow to better see his eyes.
“I think it’s very special, my darling. But others have probably gone before us.”
“Oh, pooh!”
He laughed. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t very romantic of me, was it?”
“No.”
“I’ll try to do better,” he teased, his hand lightly stroking her arm. “Perhaps you could teach me.”
Maggie laughed, too. “I would throw something at you again, but I’m afraid of a catastrophe.”
“So am I,” he admitted, and she settled down against him, her fingers stroking slow, small circles on his chest as they both drifted into their own private thoughts.
“I supposed I’ve done a foolish thing, firing Anna that way?” she reflected after a time. Maggie could feel his head moving on the pillow before he replied.
“You did exactly the right thing, as far as I’m concerned,” he said firmly. “And you know you were right. I thought you were magnificent.” He lifted his head a fraction and smiled down at her. “Did I tell you that before?”
“No you didn’t, but it makes me feel better to hear it.” She said. “However, we are now in a real pickle.” She settled more comfortably, using him as a pillow. “You know the limit of my cooking skills and we have to have a nice supper for Denise and Tim.” Maggie enjoyed the feel of his hand roaming up and down her back for a moment before asking, “Do you think we should advertise in town for a new housekeeper?”
When he didn’t respond to her question after several moments, Maggie raised her head to look at him. “Hunter?” she whispered, wondering if he had fallen asleep.
But his eyes were open, and he turned his head toward her, his face a mask of such sorrow that it made her afraid.
“Hunter?” she pressed.
He pulled her had back down to his shoulder and tightened his arm around her. “I hadn’t planned to tell you just yet,” he said. “But I think you need to know.”
“Hunter, you’re frightening me.”
“We won’t be replacing Anna,” he said simply.
Maggie breathed in the momentary relief of the uninformed. “Is that all?” she said, before asking another question. “Who will look after this house after we leave?”
“Maggie, Treemont has some financial difficulties. There are no funds to hire a new housekeeper,” he added.
She was up and leaning over him then. “What did you do with the money?” she blurted.
He stared at her for a long, painful moment. “I hope you don’t mean that the way it sounded?”
Her eyes widening as she took his meaning and what she had fo
olishly said. “Of course not! I only meant…” Maggie stopped, confused and turned away from him to sit up and pound the mattress with a small fist. “What the devil did I mean?”
“I think perhaps you should tell me,” he said quietly.
Maggie turned frantically toward him, now fully understanding his tone. “Oh, no, Hunter!” she cried. “I would never dream of accusing you. I trust you completely. But I don’t understand.”
He forgave her instantly; the financial problem was his alone to deal with. He had reacted defensively in an attempt to protect the very one he knew would suffer the most…his Maggie. How was he to explain what he had found in Alastair’s ledgers? How was he to explain that her childhood home, her haven, was threatened almost beyond hope? How could he explain that he had no cure for what ailed Treemont? Especially tonight when, in his own despondency, he feared he could not solve the numerous problems? How could he explain that to a wife who loved this place beyond all others?
Hunter propped a pillow behind his back and sat up, bending one knee and pulling Maggie up against his side. “I didn’t want to tell you what I’ve uncovered at first, but I quickly realized that would be unfair. After all, Treemont is yours…yours and your sisters’ and you need to know.” He looked down at her then, apologetically. “I intended to pay some bills that were on your father’s desk but when I examined the accounts I found some disturbing entries, Maggie,” he said softly. “I’ve spent three days looking over the records and what I’ve found is alarming, to say the least. Treemont is heavily mortgaged…probably beyond it’s worth. I’m sorry, my darling, but without a large influx of funds we can’t keep this farm afloat.”
Maggie’s eyes grew rounder and more troubled with each word he spoke, until her weary, overburdened mind could only rebel. “Papa was a good businessman,” she cried, drawing away from him.
“He was. I know that.”
“He would not have let Treemont fall into debt. You must be wrong.”
“Maggie, listen to me,” Hunter returned firmly. “This is not an indictment of your father. You must understand, little one, that many farms and other businesses are still struggling to regain what they had before the war. The South suffered great losses of many kinds; financial losses among them. Families all over this state are still recovering even after twenty years. Treemont has done well, consid…”