More Than Willing (13 page)

“Well,” Gray
stumbled for the right words, “because your aunt knows I’d never take advantage of your sister.”

“I apolo
gize for my sister, Mr. Delaney.” Felicity’s cheeks glowed as crimson as the scarlet ribbon in her blonde hair.

“There’s no need to apologize, Miss Bradford. I admire your sister’s curiosity.”

“You do?” Charlotte stepped closer to the bed. “Father dislikes my curiosity and I overheard Maggie tell Aunt Hester you were just like Father.”

Gray felt a stab of irritation. He was tired of being compared to Maggie’s father, especially when he knew the comparison wasn’t to his advantage. He was suddenly very curious to discover what these two thought.

“I’m not sure I understand what your sister means by that.” He looked at the older sister. Throughout the whole conversation, she’d remained unusually quiet. “What is your father like, Miss Felicity?”

“Now? Or before Mama died?”

Gray was confused. “Now.”

“I’m not sure I know,” she said, her gaze falling to the floor. “He doesn’t spend much time here or at the brewery.”

Gray knew her answer was a polite way of saying she’d rather not voice her opinion. He decided not to push either of them too fast. He’d always learned he got more information from someone willing to talk than from someone on the defensive.

“Please.
” He nodded toward the chairs in the room. “Won’t you be seated? Since you’ve been ordered to stay with me, you might as well make yourself comfortable. Besides, it will be much easier talking to you if you aren’t towering over me.”

“Oh, I’
m sorry.” Felicity sat in the chair nearest the bed. “How thoughtless of us.”

Lottie pushed another chair closer and sat beside her sister.

“Maggie tells me you are both preparing to go to London for your Seasons?”

“Oh, yes.” Felicity’s
demeanor brimmed with excitement.

“I guess,” Lottie said, her answer not nearly as enthusiastic as her sister’s.

He looked at Lottie. “What? Don’t you want to go?”

“No. I’d rather stay here with Maggie.”

“I thought Maggie was going too?” he asked, certain she wouldn’t allow her sisters to go through the search for a husband without having the final say in their choices.

“Oh, she is – eventually,” Felicity
said. “Lottie and I are going with Aunt Hester in a few weeks and Maggie will come at the end of the brewing season. She’ll stay until we’ve both found husbands—”

“—
if
we find husbands.” Lottie crossed her arms over her middle and pursed her lips into a charming pout.

“
When we find husbands,” Felicity repeated. “Then she’ll come back to the brewery and we’ll go on to our new homes. But we’ve already decided we won’t live far away from here.” Felicity acted as if their location would be one of the demands she and Lottie would make before they agreed to marry.

“I see.
” Gray nodded, trying to keep a smile from his face. “But you don’t want to marry, Lottie?”

“No. I want to stay here with Maggie.”

“Why?”

“So I can read and study and explore and find out all kinds of new and different things.”

“Don’t you think you might meet someone who is interested in those same things?”

“No. Papa said that I was the only one in the world who was interested in reading books. He said I’d never find a husband who’d let me read as much as I do here.”

“Did he?” Gray tried to hide his disappointment.

“But Papa had been drinking when he said that, Lottie. He never would have been so cruel if he hadn’t been.”

“When wasn’t he drinking?” Lottie asked in an angry tone. “And when wasn’t he cruel?”

“Before Mama died,” Felicity answered. “He didn’t drink nearly so much before Mama died. He was always laughing and teasing and calling us pretty names. And he was never cruel. Remember how he told you he thought you’d read even more books than Mama had and she was always reading.”

“Yes,” Lottie said wistfully. “Once Mama was gone though, he stayed away from here most of the time. When he did come home, all he did was drink and argue with Henry Tibbles to get money so he could go back to London.”

“Lottie, you don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do, Felicity. You and I both overheard them one night.”

“But even if we had, you shouldn’t repeat that to strangers.”

“Don’t worry,” Gray said reassuringly. “I won’t tell anyone.”

“Thank you, Mr. Delaney.”

“How long has your father been gone this time?”

“Oh, months.” Felicity looked at her sister to verify that she was right. “He left early last spring and hasn’t been back since.”

“And we’re both hoping he doesn’t come back until Maggie and Aunt Hester help us find husbands,” Lottie added.

“Why is that?”

“Because he won’t care if we like the man he chooses for us to marry or not. He’ll just care how big a bank account he has.”

“Lottie!”

“Well, that’s true. If it wouldn’t be for the letters he sends to Maggie that she reads to us, we wouldn’t even know he was alive.”

A rap on the door stopped their conversation. Felicity ran to open it
, then stepped aside to let Maggie in. “Did you meet with Cousin Lyman?”

“Is he gone?” Lottie
asked, a sense of pride lighting her features.

“Yes, Cousin Lyman is gone.”

“See, Felicity. I told you she’d send him packing.”

“That’s enough, Lottie. I think Mr. Delaney needs his rest now. You and Felicity go back down and keep Aunt Hester company.”

“But shouldn’t we stay to protect your virtue?” Felicity asked.

“Didn’t you hear Mr. Delaney?” Lottie countered with an exasperated clamp of her fists on her hips. “He assured us Maggie’s virtue was perfectly safe with him.”

“Did he?” Maggie said. “How reassuring. I’ll hold him to that promise. Now, you girls go on.”

Maggie waited until Felicity and Lottie had quit the room, then
she turned to Gray. “I think it’s possible that my cousin may have been the person who shot you.”

****

Maggie held the hothouse flowers she’d just cut beneath her cloak as she made her way through the rolling meadow behind Bradford Manor to the small fenced-off area where all the Bradfords were buried. Her mother was here.

Maggie came often, sometimes to place fresh flowers on her grave, or long enough to pull a few errant weeds that sprang to life amid the grass where she refused to allow anything to mar its perfection. And sometimes to sit on the nearby wrought-iron bench so she could talk to her mother.

Oh, she knew her mother couldn’t hear her. But when she was here it was almost as if she could think as her mother thought, reason out her problems as her mother might have, and come to the same conclusions she imagined her mother would have come to.
She prayed that were true. Today, more than at any other time in her life, she prayed her mother’s cool wisdom and unerring common sense would shine through the foggy haze that infiltrated her mind and refused to leave. She wanted to evaluate the things that were going on around her without her heart rushing in to confuse the decisions she knew she should make. She wanted her heart to stop racing every time she looked at him.

Falling in love with him would be such a mistake. As disastrous as the mistake her mother had made.

Maggie lifted the latch on the white picket fence that surrounded the family graveyard, and walked to the back where her mother was buried beneath a large linden tree. The area was the prettiest on all of Bradford Estate, with shade from the huge tree making it pleasant in the summer as well as providing a wall of protection from the wind and snow in the winter. The perfect place for her mother to be.

Maggie looked down on the spot where her mother was buried, hardly noticeable except for the marble stone at the head of the grave, then placed the flowers where she thought her mother’s heart would be. She said a short prayer, the same one she always said, then sat on the bench.

“Oh, Mama. Tell me what to do. Tell me how to keep from making the same mistake you did.” She swiped her gloved fingers across her cheek and wiped away an errant tear. “Tell me that if I am strong enough to keep from giving in to him that my life won’t be an empty existence that’s unbearable.”

Maggie let the rest of her thoughts go unspoken but kept them bottled inside as if she realized speaking
them aloud was useless. How could she expect sage advice when her mother hadn’t made a wise decision herself?

Maggie sat a while longer then rose to leave.
A definite chill was in the air, but it wasn’t nearly as cold as it had been for the last three days. The weather was finally warm enough that she’d allow Gray to go to his own cottage this afternoon without the risk of him catching a chill. She was glad. The time had come for him to leave her house. Felicity and Charlotte got along with him fabulously and invented every excuse she’d ever heard to visit him.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want them to associate with him – exactly. She just preferred that they not develop a friendship with someone they’d never see again after this brewing season. And, if she were really honest with herself, she’d have to admit it bothered her to see how lacking her sisters had been for male company. And how comfortable they were around him. But that didn’t surprise her. He was probably used to having females grateful for every scrap of attention he offered them. What they wouldn’t understand was that she intended to send him away soon.

Maggie pressed two gloved fingers to her temples to ease the pounding that suddenly seemed overwhelming. Gray must go to his own lodging. He’d healed remarkably fast since he’d been shot three days ago and knowing him, the greatest danger was that he’d probably want to go back to work the minute she wasn’t there to keep him confined to his room. She’d have to tell Chester Murdock to make sure he didn’t overdo.

She rose, determined of the path she had to take. When she had the deed to the
King’s Crown she would have to dismiss him. Keeping him here any longer would prove disastrous.

Maggie took her first step back toward the house then stopped. Without understanding why, she cast a lingering glance at the flowers on her Mother’s grave, then in an impulsive move she seldom allowed, she reached down and picked up one of the hothouse roses she’d brought with he
r. She carried it a few steps farther then let it fall to the ground.

She didn’t place the flower on the small patch of earth with as much care as she’d taken when she put the bouquet on her mother’s grave, but carelessly dropped it as if it had fallen there by mistake.

At a casual glance, no one would notice that the earth beneath the flower had been disturbed. If they saw the one lone flower lying at an odd angle on the ground they wouldn’t think it had been placed there on purpose.

She breathed a shuddering sigh that caused a pain to twist inside her chest. A tear rolled down her cheek but she didn’t wipe it away. She let it fall to the ground along with the river of tears that followed.

The sentiment was the least her father deserved.

“You’d better take it easy, Delaney,” Chester Murdock hollered from somewhere below the ladder where Gray fixed a latch on a second-story window in the cooling area. “If Miss Bradford finds out I let you climb around on a ladder before you’ve been back to work even one week she’ll have my hide.”

Gray ignored Murdock’s warnings and tightened the screws that held the window open. It was obvious they’d been stripped from the wood, just another menacing problem to plague the brewery over the past month.

“Bring me up more screws,” Gray yelled down. The brewery overseer ran into the cooperage where the coopers cleaned and repaired used casks, then rushed up with the metal pegs in his hand.

“How many windows did they tamper with?” Murdock asked, handing the first screw through the upper floor window.

“All of them on this side of the building.”

“Blast them to hell and back!” Murdock hissed. “The cold air coming through the windows is what cools the wort when it comes from the hop-boil area. We could have lost weeks of brewing time if you hadn’t noticed that the windows were
closed.”

Gray looked at the long length of windows on the upper level, all standing open now to let in the cold winter air. This was one of the reasons breweries brewed their ale in the winter months, so the wort that came from the hop-boil area could cool quickly. Slowing the cooling procedure could bring the entire brewing process to a halt and cause a brewery to lose days of
productivity—and revenue.

“Do you think Miss Bradford’s cousin could be behind this?” Gray asked. “After all, everyone knows he wants to marry Miss Bradford. What better way to seem indispensible than to cause one disaster after another to make her think she needs him to protect both her and the brewery.”

Murdock shook his head. “I did in the beginning, when things first started happening. It’s possible he turned up the fires to ruin the wort, and started the fire
in the stable. And everything else that happened.” Murdock paused. “Until you got shot.”

“You don’t think he could have shot me?”

“I’ve met the man and I don’t believe he has the nerve to shoot an animal, let alone a human.”

“Not even for the brewery that could be his if he married Miss Bradford?” Gray asked.

Murdock shrugged his shoulders. “He’d have to be a darned good shot to hit you. Especially at night.”

Gray thought about that while he fixed the rest of the latches o
n the north side of the brewery. Then he handed his tools to Chester Murdock and climbed down the ladder. Gray’s shoulder was nearly healed, but holding on to the ladder while fixing the latches caused a strain he wasn’t quite up to yet. Without thinking, he rolled his shoulder and rubbed the spot where he’d been shot.

“You’d better hope Miss Bradford doesn’t find out what you’ve been up to or your ears will burn as bad as that shoulder does.”

Gray laughed. “Don’t worry. I have no intention of letting her know. I have Jeremy keeping watch to warn me when she’s on her way.”

Chester Murdock dropped his head back and bellowed a deep laugh as the lad Jeremy came racing around the corner.

“She’s coming, Mr. Delaney! She just left the manor and is on her way across the street.”

“Thank you, Jeremy.
” Gray gave the boy a pat on the back.

“You finished just in time then,” Murdock said. “I wouldn’t have wanted to be in your shoes if she’d come a few minutes ear—
”

A loud scrape from above stopped Murdock’s words and he and Gray looked up. Gray barely had time to push Jeremy out
of the way before the ladder fell.

Gray dove to the ground and crossed his arms over his head as countless shards of splintered wood exploded all around them.

Men yelled a cacophony of warnings then rushed toward them. Gray lifted his head and slowly moved his arms and legs, thankful that except for a burning sensation between his shoulder blades, he seemed unhurt.

“Are you all right?” several of the men asked.

Gray looked over to see Chester Murdock and Jeremy rising to their feet. “Yes, fine. Take some men and check out the upper floor. Keep an eye out for anyone leaving the area.”

“Right, Mr. Delaney,” they
replied as they disappeared.

“Where are you hurt?” Chester Murdock asked when Gray tried to stand and couldn’t.

“Send the men back to work, then help me up.”

Chester Murdock gave the orders that sent the men back to their areas then reached to help Gray to his feet. The second he moved, another sharp pain shot through the center of his back.

“Mr. Murdock,” Maggie said as she rushed toward them. “Go with the men and make sure they don’t overlook anything suspicious. Then go through every inch of the brewery and make sure nothing else has been tampered with. I’ll take care of Mr. Delaney.”

“Yes, Miss Bradford.”

Gray waited until Murdock was out of hearing then smiled at the ferocious frown on Maggie Bradford’s face. “Thank you for your concern, Maggie, my love, but I’m fine.”

“Are you?” She stepped closer to him and linked her arm through his. “The blood soaking through the back of your shirt suggests otherwise.”

“A scratch, I’m sure.”

Gray tried to make the words sound flippant but the truth was his back burned like bloody hell.

“Another…accident?” she said, looking down at the splintered ladder scattered on the ground.

“Your admirer is certainly intent on trying to get rid of me.”

The color drained from her face and Gray regretted the attempt he’d made to humor her.

“Are you able to walk?”
Thankfully, she recovered quickly.

Gray nodded.

“Good. We need to get you someplace where I can see how badly you’re hurt.”

Gray tried to stop his footsteps but she propelled him toward the side gate. “I can tend to it myself, Maggie,
my love.”

“Stop calling me that,
Mister
Delaney.” She walked even faster than before. “And there’s no way you can reach behind you to do anything worthwhile, so don’t pretend you can.”

They walked through the side entrance of Bradford Brewery and down the much-used cobblestone path that the brewery workers trod every morning on their way from their cottages to the brewery.

“How far is your cottage?” she asked when they reached the old wooden bridge that spanned the Rushbourne River.

“It’s at the end of this first lane,” Gray
replied. “If you’ll just see me to my door, Maggie, my lo— Miss Bradford, I’ll take over from there. I’ll send for the doctor if I think—”

“In the first place,” she said, marching him toward his cottage, “you won’t be able to evaluate whether or not a doctor is necessary. And secondly, Doctor Meechum is far too busy to take time to tend something I am more than qualified to handle.”

“Are you always so bossy?”

“Always,” she answered without missing a beat.

They reached his cottage far too quickly and Gray put his hand on the latch to open the door, then stopped. “You realize the risk you’re taking by coming here unescorted?”

“I’m caring for one of my injured workers. This is hardly the first time I’ve had to assist one of my brewers. But if it bothers you, we’ll keep the door open. Or I can call for Mrs. Fletcher to act as chaperone.”

Gray laughed. “I’ve heard dear Mrs. Fletcher holler at her husband. I’ll take my chances alone with you.” Gray pushed the door open and followed her into his cottage. “Won’t you sit down?” He pointed to the one chair in his single-room home.

“I didn’t come to visit,” she snapped. “I came to tend your wound. Please remove your shirt.”

“No.”

Her eyes opened wide and she stared at him with a befuddled look on her face.

“I can hardly see how badly you’re hurt if you refuse to remove your shirt.”

“Then I guess you will simply have to take my word for the fact that I’m not injured badly enough to worry over.”

Gray held her gaze while she studied him. She moved across the room and sat in the lone chair.

“This is the second time you’ve refused to allow anyone to see your back.”

“Not anyone, Maggie, my dear. Only you.”

“Very well. This is the second time you’ve refused to allow
me to see your back. Why?”

“Would you believe I’m modest?”

She rolled her eyes in exasperation then clasped her hands in a demure pose. “No, Mr. Delaney. You are anything but modest. I think you don’t want me to see your back because you suffered an injury several years ago and you believe I will be repulsed by the sight of it.”

Gray tried to keep the relaxed smile on his face but he felt it wash away as if he’d been doused with water. “But, of course, you are confident you would not be.”

“I would not.”

“Then why do you suppose I am reluctant to let you see it?”

She breathed a deep sigh that made her chest rise and fall, then hesitated just long enough, he thought, to give herself time to consider her answer.

“Because the most obvious question I might ask would be to inquire how you’d received such an injury and that is a topic you prefer not to
discuss.” Her words nearly knocked him to his knees.

Gray sank down onto the bed and stared at her. “How astute you are. If you think you know the reason I don’t want to discuss what happened to me, does that mean you’ve decided to let me see to my wounds myself?”

“No. It means I won’t be shocked by what happened to you and I’m waiting for you to get over your self consciousness.”

For the second time since he’d met her, Gray stamped down an infrequent flash of anger and decided that he couldn’t keep his disfigurement hidden from her forever – especially if he thought he might marry her one day.

“Very well.” He pushed himself to his feet. “There’s a basin on that stand with fresh water in it and some clean cloths beside it. Use the salve that’s in the cupboard by the window.”

He didn’t turn to look at her but pulled a stool out from beneath the table and removed his jacket first, then loosened the laces of his shirt.

Gray felt a wave of frustration when the laces eluded his trembling fingers and pulled at them with a hard tug that snapped them.

“Here, let me.” She stepped in front of him and pushed his hands out of the way.

“You’re a very determined woman, aren’t you?”

She smiled. “So I’ve been told.”

When she had the laces undone, she stepped away from him to get the basin, as if she sensed his need to remove his shirt away from her scrutiny.

Gray hesitated an agonizing moment, then released a harsh breath and pulled the material over his head. When he was finished, he sat on the stool and waited.

For several long moments neither of them made a sound. He expected to hear a gasp of revulsion when she first saw him, but he heard nothing. Not even the soft intake of her breath. But he knew she looked at him. He felt her gaze penetrating his flesh, warming every ragged scar and rippling muscle, soothing and comforting what he’d always considered hideous beyond measure. Then, without warning, she touched him.

Gray nearly bolted to his feet, the feel of her fingers against him so totally unexpected. No one had ever touched him
there. Even the women he’d bedded had avoided touching his back. But she touched him as if his raised flesh was nothing out of the ordinary.

“How old were you when this happened?”

He swallowed hard. “Fourteen.”

Her hands moved across his shoulders. “You’re fortunate you survived.”

“Am I?”

Her hands stopped. “Of course you are.”

He nodded. “Yes, I am.”

He waited, anticipating the next question, searching for the flippant words to avoid an answer. But no question came
, as if she knew he didn’t intend to divulge any information concerning the scars that marred his back.

“You have a splinter of wood
embedded in your back. I’m going to have to dig it out.”

“That sounds enjoyable.”

“For me, perhaps.”

She smiled.

He didn’t see her smile. He couldn’t. She still stood behind him. But he felt her smile. Rather, he felt a warmth wash over him and knew it had come from her smile.

“There’s a sharp knife in that box beneath the wash basin.”

He heard her walk across the room and when she came back she had the knife and a candle in her hand.

“Light the candle and hold the blade over the flame. I’ll clean the wound as best as I can.”

The cleaning stung his flesh.

When she finished, she took the knife and dug the spike out of his back. Her ministrations were swift and sure and her touch
gentle, though the pain seared through him. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth.

“You’ve done this before,” he said when she finished and the pain had lessened enough for him to speak.