She was still avoiding him and it had been almost three weeks since their conversation on the balcony in which he first accused her of doing so. He didn’t know what was more infuriating: her casual disregard for something that had shattered his views about her or that she refused to be alone with him for any amount of time. 

“‘A disaster waiting to happen.’ She’s right and you know it, Roxton,” the hunter muttered to himself as he passed through the treeline and toward the clearing. “What the devil were you thinking? There’s no future in it. How could you let some kisses go to your head like some snot-nosed school boy?” 

But in truth it wasn’t just the feel of her lips against his, though that the largest part of it. What happened between them had been building since they had first paddled up the Amazon. “As far as you know, she has no nobility to recommend her, regardless of how much money she has. Mother would hate her. Such audacity and arrogance -- there’s not a proper bone in her body.” 

He knew all of the rationalizations -- had repeated them to himself from day one -- and yet there was no accounting for feelings. “Dammit! You’re a bloody fool,” he berated as he lined up his sight, eyes tracking the plateau for any sign of dinner. 

[Ah, but maybe that’s why you’re drawn to her, chided his conscious. Besides, when have you ever wanted a prim and proper anything?] 

Roxton sighed and lowered his rifle. It was true. Having seen more than his share of London Seasons and the meat markets they entailed, he counted himself lucky to have escaped the claws of some sweet, young debutante. Instead, he always seemed to be drawn to the scandalous girls. Though they were more apt to not marry at all, he often thought they were the most truthful. None pretended to be searching for more than a meal ticket and there were a few who were highly successful. Most out of that limited number ended up as mistresses to wealthy nobles or in a some instances, married to much older men who were soon to die and leave them very wealthy widows. 

He sometimes wondered which category Marguerite fell into. Had she married some old geezer just to have the comfort of extreme wealth? Or had she instead selected a consort with a very generous heart? Either way, he knew she had never been grouped with the sweet ones. A small smile flickered over his lips at the thought of Marguerite in her first Season. 

Those beautiful blue eyes dazzling some worthy prey even as she mentally weighed his purse. He knew his first instincts had been correct; he should have thrown her to the wolves. But one thing that had stayed him was the niggling idea that she had already been there and back too many times to count. 

And yet, he hadn’t lied when he’d said he trusted her. He did. He trusted Marguerite to first and foremost look out for Marguerite. She would rescue the rest of the party because she realized that she wouldn’t survive out here on her own. But beyond that that brutal truth, there lay something more. Something that neither could outright deny existed between them and when she had dismissed their kiss and the wealth of feeling it had generated, it hurt, like a piece of his heart had been cut out. 

Nevertheless, “Paradise fruit” or not, there had been two in that kiss. And when he had said, “Later,” he had meant just that, especially since “later” also entailed putting some distance between a world that was too good to be true and hopefully, bringing back some sense of reality. Unfortunately, between that night in her tent and the next day, she had lost the fruit-induced happiness and slammed those walls back up. Even though he was glad to see her return to her normal self, if Marguerite had her way, “later” would never occur. 

The day following their conversation, Challenger and Summerlee had decided to explore the area in search of various plants and the protector in him had felt honor bound to accompany them, leaving Marguerite and Veronica at the treehouse. Little did he know that a trip that should have taken only a few hours would expand into a two day search for the plants themselves, only to lead to a run-in with a possessed shaman. 

And then, the supposed clan in the caves. Yet another opportunity to talk was neatly diverted by the mysterious heiress. Instead of staking her usual claim on the pond, she had chosen to follow one of the many rivers downstream in search of a way home while Roxton had remained in the treehouse with Summerlee in order to restock their armory. After the volcano had erupted and the trio had been freed from the cave, the first words they’d spoken to each other in more than weeks were a pair of hastily traded insults. If looked at in a certain light, their behavior was almost amusing. Unfortunately, Roxton didn’t see the situation in that certain light. 

At least, something good had come from the German pilot’s short visit a few days later. Gone were the stiff silences between them, even though they had yet to return to their normal bickering. Summerlee had mentioned, just in passing, some of the things that had occurred, but mainly, much to Roxton’s displeasure, had glossed over the particulars, ending the conversation with, “Maybe we’ve all been given a new chance.” 

Much as the older man would probably deny it, Roxton knew Summerlee had a soft spot for Marguerite. She, alone, was the one whom he advised, with whom he shared secrets. How appropriate was it that he was the one to encourage her to take a new step. “If only she would take it in my direction,” Roxton grumbled as he eased a branch out of his way and stepped a little further into the clearing. 

He was being extra cautious since Veronica had warned the entire area was known for its Raptor nests. Having irritated more than one mama in his time on the plateau, Roxton was beginning to learn an evening meal wasn’t necessarily worth the risk of potentially becoming said evening meal for something else. 

Suddenly, in the trees behind him, the snap of breaking twigs followed by muttered curses in a least three different languages shattered the stillness of the morning. He spun around and aimed high uncertain what had brought her after him, but knowing it couldn’t be good. 

“Damn you, Roxton,” Marguerite berated harshly, “I *told* you that you didn’t have to go alone. All I needed was a couple of minutes!” 

The hunter sighed and lowered his weapon, then removed his hat to smooth his hair away from his already sweaty forehead. “Did it not occur to you that the reason I didn’t invite you was that maybe I needed some time alone?” 

Marguerite grimaced with distaste as she pulled a small insect from her otherwise impeccable attire. “You of all people should know it’s too dangerous to be out here by yourself.” Eyes daring him to challenge her views, she crossed her arms and ventured out to the clearing. 

Roxton gaped at her. “Since when have *you* wanted to spend time with *me*? You’ve done your best to not have anything to do with me for the last month or so!” 

“Give it a rest, Roxton. How can I possibly avoid you? We live together, after all!” Seeing his leering eyebrow, she quickly amended. “You know damn well what I mean! I can’t believe how childishly you’re behaving. Traipsing off by yourself in the middle of the jungle...” 

A slow grin spread over his lips as he warned, “Careful, Marguerite, I might begin to think you were concerned about my safety.” 

“Well, you do happen to be the best shot of all of us and we really can’t afford to lose our meal ticket, now can we?” she scoffed, neatly side-stepping him to take a look around. “So,” she continued with false brightness, “what are we hunting today? Raptor? Wild boar?” 

“Any of the above will do,” Roxton bit out, slinging the rifle over his shoulder and joining her amid the taller grasses. “Our meat supplies are running low.” 

“Oh, joy, once again the lovely opportunity to become a vegetarian. Really, Roxton, you need to get out more.” 

The hunter shook his head at her tone and smiled to himself. Though he had stated otherwise, he was glad that she had joined him. Maybe they could not only return to their previous relationship, but take a few steps forward as well. 

****

“Did you see that?” Marguerite asked, stopping so suddenly that Roxton almost ran into her. 

Irritated by her sudden pause, he bit back, “See what?” 

“That!” she exclaimed pointing to a distant hill. “That...flash...” She gazed intently at something only she for the moment could see and then grabbed Roxton by the arm and drew his face to hers. “Can’t you see it? It’s almost sparkling.” 

Enjoying his brief encounter with the honeyed scent of her, he nonetheless couldn’t help the retort that passed his lips. “Trust you to find the only sparkling thing for five miles.” 

She abruptly pushed him away and started out, eagerly anticipating what she was certain had to be jewels. “Come or not, but I’m going to find out what it is.” 

Roxton cast an amused glance toward her back as she frantically cut through the underbrush, unmindful of the thorns and stickers that were bound to leave her pants with several tears. He opened his mouth to warn her only to close it shortly thereafter deciding he would risk her future tirade to enjoy the potential view. He heaved a self-pitying sigh and followed her, rifle at hand; ready for any of the nasty surprises for which the plateau was famous. 

Within minutes of first spotting the light, the pair reached the edge of the clearing, but instead of finding the source, they encountered something more amazing. The entire face of the hill was covered in a crystalline substance. Awed, Marguerite caressed the shiny surface as she walked further into the grotto. “Marguerite, wait!” chastised Roxton who had paused for moment to absorb the sight. “You don’t know what’s in there!” 

Dazzled by the display, she shrugged off his concerns and walked further ignoring his muttered, “Damn, infuriating woman,” knowing he would follow her. Just inside the grotto, she took in a quick breath. Did the air seem sweeter? 
She shook her head, continuing on until she reached a more expansive area. 

Roxton found her moments later staring up at the crystallized wall. “Marguerite, don’t run off like that again. Who knows what the devil is in here!” He searched her face and asked, “Marguerite, did you hear anything that I said?” 

“I heard you, Roxton,” she breathed, her mouth barely moving. “And, unfortunately, so did that.” He followed her gaze to the top of the wall face only to take a step back in shock. 

Glancing uncertainly at her, he asked, “Is that what I think it is?” 

She nodded. “It’s a warning.” 

Roxton shook his head, bewildered. “And it’s in English.” 

****

“You can read that?” Marguerite tore her gaze from the inscription to judge whether or not Roxton was joking with her. 

The hunter shot back, “I think I recognize English when I see it.” He glanced over to her then returned to the writing. 

Looking as if he’d lost his mind, she replied, “Roxton, it’s not English... It’s German.” 

“I’m looking at the same thing you are, Marguerite, and what I’m seeing is the King’s English.” 

“And I swear to you, it’s German. It says, ‘Vorsicht,das Bild das du siehst ist nicht die Wahrheit, es ist eine Maske die wegzunehmen ist.’” 

“Beware, the image you see is not a truth. It is a mask to be lifted away,” Roxton interjected, his words overlapping hers. 

Startled by his perfect translation and knowing that he didn’t *speak* German let alone read it, she looked back at him. “Maybe the words appear in different languages depending upon the person who’s reading them...” she murmured, more stunned by the possibility than the actual message. 

“Do you think Veronica’s parents could have left it here to tell anyone else to avoid the place?” Roxton asked, chambering a bullet and surveying the area. 

Marguerite shook her head as she fully absorbed the words. “Anything’s possible here -- you know that,” she replied wryly. 

Roxton stared thoughtfully at the words and then turned his measuring gaze on his companion. “You’re seeing that in German wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with that pilot, would it?” 

Inwardly shocked at his insight, for a brief moment, she considered telling him the truth about her connection with Dieter. Then at the last second, she decided against it and countered, “Why, Lord Roxton, one would think you were jealous!” 

The hunter in him knew that was not the response she had originally planned. However, glad to hear her attempt to restore their usual flirtatious teasing, he let it pass. He’d get the truth out of her someday. 

A mischievous smile graced her lips as she cast an appraising glance in Roxton’s direction and then peered into the cave. “Let’s see what else is in here.” 

“Mar-“ Roxton’s warning was cut off by a distinctly familiar roar. “Maybe you’re right,” he answered, pushing her further along. They walked in silence for a few feet before Marguerite caught her foot on a piece of the crystal which had fallen in some sort of landslide. Grabbing the wall to catch her balance, she didn’t notice that the path dropped several feet down into the grotto. As she righted herself and took her next step, she felt the rock give underneath her. Seconds passed like minutes, but before she could call for help, she landed only to fall forward into a pit of crystals and then tumble into the darkness. 

****

Marguerite awoke what seemed to be a few minutes later to find herself before a wall of crystal so clear that she could see her reflection. She stood quickly then glanced down at the clothing she saw in the image and found that she had changed from her khaki pants and blouse into a gown of pure white. “What the hell?” she murmured, smoothing her hands over the lacy material and relishing in the finery. 

“You were warned,” a soft, child-like voice whispered, the sound catching in the cool air to hang for a moment before disappearing altogether. 

“Warned?” Marguerite asked imperiously. “What are you talking about?” 

A rush of frigid air permeated the cave sending shivers across her body. “Take heed,” answered the voice, “though you will learn the truth, you may not like what you see.” 

Before she could ask for further information, another voice echoed through the grotto. “Marguerite Krux, you hide behind a myriad of facades; open your eyes and your true self will be revealed.” 

Marguerite, highly skeptical that an invisible voice could tell her anything she didn’t already know about her sordid past, forced a pleasant smile to her lips and glanced around the crystal. “Looks pretty good to me,” she murmured as she continued to see only her own reflection. “Maybe a few smudges here and there, but otherwise...” 

She trailed off as the image before her began to change. In moments, the reflection she saw merged into something horrid. Gone were her raven locks and in their place were white tufts of fuzzy hair springing out in haphazard directions from her scalp. Her near-perfect skin had wrinkled and folded over itself until she could barely discern her face. But worst of all was the black fist-shaped object that beat in time with her pulse. Horrified, and yet, at the same time, mesmerized, by the ghastly sight, Marguerite rubbed her eyes quickly, hoping that the image would disappear. 

“This, Marguerite Krux, is your true self,” mocked the second voice. “Your greed and self-centeredness have hardened your heart beyond repair. The beauty you believe exists in you is false. It was replaced one act at a time as you amassed your fortune through any and all means with no regard to honor. Your soul is dying and, with it, so will you.” 

The chilly wind whistled through the air, breaking Marguerite from the trance and replacing the image of the old woman with her normal reflection. “There is still time,” offered the child’s voice. “A true and unselfish love will not erase all of the damage you have done, but, in time, it will ease it. It is up to you to decide.” 

Suddenly, the reflection disappeared and Marguerite crumpled to the floor. 

****

“Dammit, Marguerite! I turn my back for a moment and you disappear!” Roxton muttered as he peered out of the cave to determine if the raptor had found something better to eat. Nodding when he heard no further sounds, he turned and followed the heiress’ footsteps into the cave. A curious breeze ruffled his longish hair, tickling the back of his neck and sending a slight shiver down his spine. “Marguerite!” he called as he slowly inched his way further. Damn, but it was dark even with the gleaming crystal.

He followed the path until he reached the open area and then paused a moment.  She had to be around here somewhere -- the crystal alone would keep her occupied for days.  Roxton called out once more, but with uncertainty.  Yes, she was forever wandering off when there were potential jewels to be had, but she always answered when someone called for her.  That is, if she was able.

The last, foreboding thought spurred his hunter’s instincts into overdrive.  Peering into the semi-lit darkness, he finally glimpsed an oval shape near the edge of the cave.  He walked the few remaining steps and found the object to be Marguerite’s hat.  Realizing she wouldn’t willingly leave the item behind, his concern increased a notch.

“Marguerite!” he called one last time.  Then, suddenly, he heard a soft groan coming from a few feet ahead.  Hurrying toward the sound, he found her sprawled across the cavern floor.  He laid the rifle aside and knelt down, easing her head into his lap.  “Are you alright?”

She groaned and tossed him an evil look.  “What does it look like?  I fell and bashed my skull against the damn rock!”

Roxton flashed a confident grin at her and murmured, “Yes, I’d say you are.  OK, up you go, but slowly.”

The room swirled around her forcing her to close her eyes in the hope of regaining her equilibrium.  “Easy,” Roxton cautioned as he drew her to her feet.  

She nodded fleetingly, only to regret the action a moment later.  When she reopened her eyes, she caught her reflection in the crystal.  Marguerite, shocked by the normalcy of the image, stood still, her mind replacing the haggard form from her dream with the one that she now saw.  

Roxton, curious by her sudden fascination, squeezed her arm and asked, “What’s wrong?”

Marguerite shook her head slightly, murmuring, “Roxton, when you look at me...what do you see?”

As a typical member of the male gender, Roxton, caught off guard by her question, failed to read the underlying fear in her words.  Instead, he awkwardly answered, “I, uh, see you.”

She nodded wryly and shook his hands away.  “Of course you do,” she bit out scathingly as she grabbed her hat, jamming it low over her eyes before stalking back to the mouth of the cave.  “What else is there to see?”

****

Roxton, confused by her seemingly sudden anger, picked up the rifle and sighed while Marguerite, furious at herself for her moment of weakness, stalked out of the grotto and into the open field.  She paid little attention to her surroundings, intent only on putting as much distance as possible between herself and the cave. 

John neared the opening and watched as she walked out. Picking up his pace, he grabbed her arm and yanked her back into the cave. “Are you out of your mind?” he cried, ignoring her struggles. “You didn’t even *look* to see if the Raptor had returned! Do you want to get yourself killed?”

Marguerite scowled, finally wrenching her arm from his bruising grip. “I’m a big girl; I don’t need “the great white hunter” to follow my every move!” She glared up at him, waiting for him to deny her assertion. 

One look at her stubborn visage rocketed Roxton’s temper to previous unheard of heights. “You may have paid for this damned expedition, but it’s my job to make sure that everyone gets home in one piece! And that, Miss Krux, includes you! So you’d better get used to it!” 

“Fine, be a damned control freak. Go on, have a look -- I’m sure the bloody dinosaur is long gone.” The hunter took in a quick breath, stifling frustration and murderous intent, then slung the rifle off his shoulder and eased through the opening, careful not to draw any undue attention.

A loud roar greeted him and, stunned by the massive size of the beast, he paused, mouth agape.  Regaining his senses, Roxton back-peddled quickly, pushing Marguerite back into the cave.  “No, my dear, I don’t think you want to go out there right now.”

Marguerite tossed him a sullen look and jerked off her hat.  “You’re right as always,” she muttered bitterly.  “Really, Lord Roxton, how do you do it?  How do you manage to be so bloody perfect *all* the time?”

The tone in her voice rolled off him, easily ignored, but the pain he finally read in those damnably fey eyes did not.  “Alright, Marguerite, out with it!  What the hell happened in that cave that’s got you so wound up?”

Flashing a false smile, she ran a hand through her unruly curls and answered, “Oh, nothing much.  Just got a glimpse into my soul, that’s all.”

Roxton looked up at the inscription above.  “The warning?”

“Seems it serves a purpose after all,” Marguerite grimaced, sliding down the rock face to sit on the ground with a huff.  

The hunter knelt in front of her and tipped her chin up so that she was forced to meet his eyes.  “Tell me,” he murmured the concern evident in his voice.

Undone by the genuine emotion in his gaze, Marguerite haltingly began to describe the image and the words the voice had spoken.  She couldn’t, however, reveal the child’s advice, couldn’t voice the feelings that existed between them, even though they just might save her from herself.

When she had finished, Roxton looked away and cursed softly.  He pulled her into his arms and whispered soothing words against her temple.  “That image may have been who you were, but its not the Marguerite Krux that I know.”  ‘And love,’ he mentally added.

Blinking back tears, she clung to him, savoring the feel of his arms around her.  “Roxton, there are so many things about me that you don’t know -- that I don’t want you to know.” 

He pulled back a little and, brow furrowed, asked, “What? Are you afraid I’ll turn tail and run?” Seeing her suddenly stricken face, he sobered and grasped her hands to his chest. “My dear, I may not have been involved in the War, but 
I do know that there are certain atrocities that are reserved for just that time. There is no easy way to draw a line to separate the right and the righteous in battle.” 

He paused and searched her eyes. “Summerlee told me what he said. How he had left his old self behind when he came here. Whether you know it or not, you’ve done the same. It’s a different world and no one here begrudges you a clean slate.” 

Marguerite glanced away, unable to absorb the raw honesty in his eyes.  Roxton took advantage of his unobstructed to view to fully take in the woman before him.  “Do you really want to know what I see when I look at you?” 

Her gaze quickly returned to his, uncertainty warring with sadness in her eyes.  He smiled tenderly at her wary expression and explained, “I see a beautiful woman who knows and speaks her own mind, a woman who is fiercely independent and yet so desperately wants the love and approval of another. She is not weak by any stretch of the imagination, and when she does give her heart fully, that man will be the luckiest son of a bitch in the world.” 

Struck by his estimation of her, she smiled up at him, inordinately pleased by his words. As the moment drew out, she knew they had passed a hurdle, but she couldn’t resist one last dig.  She found her voice and, eyes gleaming with soft satisfaction, cheekily proposed, “And would you like to be that man, Lord Roxton?” 

Roxton’s lips spread into a wide smile. “Nothing would give me more pleasure, Miss Krux.”
 

“For now, we see through a glass, darkly, but then face to face; now I know in part, but then I shall know fully just as I have been fully known.  But now abide faith, hope and love, these three, but the greatest of these is love.”  
-- 1 Corinthians 13:12-13