More Than Willing (16 page)

“But—”

He crossed the room and held out his hand.

She rose and took his outstretched arm. Her hand trembled atop his arm but she didn’t hesitate. She walked with him as if she accepted his decision without qualm.

“If you change your mind,” Wattich said when they reached the door, “the offer will still be open. It will always be open.”

“I won’t change my mind. I have no intention of stepping foot on Mayfair land ever again.”

Gray let the door bounce against the wall when it opened, then placed his hand at Maggie’s back and ushered her from the room. Every eye in the inn glared at them as they left. The expressions of hopeful anticipation and pent-up expectancy dropped away as if someone pulled a mask from every face to reveal the bleak disappointment hidden beneath.

The room hadn’t seemed so long when they’d entered, the gathering nearly as confining. All Gray heard over the ominous silence was the loud thudding of his boots as they hit the hard wooden floor. Even the sound of Maggie’s boots couldn’t compare to the thundering of his own footsteps.

When they reached the door, Cleary was leaning against the wall, waiting. He pulled his collar up around his neck and stuck his hands in his heavy gloves then opened the door to let them escape the inn.

Gray marched outside, welcoming the cold blast of air and the icy flakes that stung his face. “Get the carriage, Cleary.”

“Are you sure you want to try going back?”

For the first time Gray took note of his surroundings. Snow had fallen at an unbelievable rate since they’d entered
The Spotted Goose and was far above his ankles as he walked. The wind had picked up and whipped around them with such force he had to hold his hat to keep it from blowing off his head. The snow was like stinging pellets burning his flesh wherever it hit.

He stopped short and looked down to find Maggie futilely clutching at her skirts to keep the
m out of the snow. Her chest heaved up and down as she panted to catch her breath. Bloody hell, he’d pushed her through the snow as if she were a stock animal.

He looked back at the inn and was overcome with a sense of panic. He wouldn’t go back. He couldn’t face all of them again. He refused to ask Wattich for lodging for the night and take the chance that if the snow didn’t stop they might not even be able to leave tomorrow.

He frantically searched for an answer.

“Can you get us to Mayfair, Cleary
?” Maggie asked over the wind.

“No!” Gray bellowed.

“Can you?” she asked again, ignoring his objection.

“If we leave right now, Miss.”

“Then let’s go.”

Cleary stepped toward the carriage to open the door but she waved him on. He hurried to the driver’s box.

“Would you assist me?” She looked at Gray.

He
clenched his fists. She expected him to go with her to Mayfair Manor. To return to the one place he’d refused to think about for the last fifteen years. Walk through its doors and sleep beneath its roof. And face what had happened there.

He couldn’t do it.

“The snow isn’t letting up, Mr. Delaney,” she said, only her voice didn’t contain the firmness he’d heard before.

This time he heard a trace of concern, a hint of nervousness, and he saw in her ey
es evidence of her anxiety—whether for him, or because of the weather, he wasn’t sure.

“We should be on our way.” She hesitated. “Or would you rather return to
The Spotted Goose?”

He was unable to move for a moment more, then, a false bravado kicked in and he smiled. With a hearty laugh, he trudged through the snow to where she waited by the carriage and chucked her under the chin. “No, Maggie,
my love. We’ll not return to The Spotted Goose.”

He reached to help her into the carriage, praying she didn’t notice how his hand trembled.

“Let me take you to Mayfair Manor. At least there we’ll be able to find shelter for the night—if the walls haven’t crumbled to the ground since I left.”

He helped her into the carriage then climbed in after her and dropped into the seat opposite her. “Go, Cleary,” he hollered in a voice he hoped didn’t give away his nervousness.

He never thought he’d go back to Mayfair—but at least he had Maggie Bradford at his side.

Maggie studied him as the horses pulled the carriage through the building snow.

His bravery was all an act.

For just a few moments, she’d seen the real Grayson Delaney struggle with whether to return to The Spotted Goose and face the men who’d stared at him with such expectant looks on their faces. Or go back to his childhood home.

She tried to recall his expression before the mask fell back in
to place, and the carefree, ne’er-do-well rogue of London he was reputed to be appeared once again.

It was a practiced look, one honed to perfection by years of training to fool everyone into believing he was a scoundrel. Except…that lighthearted wastrel wasn’t who he pretended to be at all.

Beneath the thick veneer of cheerful humor hid a serious side to his nature. A side that was tortured by something he didn’t want to face. And although she knew it had to be related to the fire and his mother’s death, she knew there was more.

“Don’t expect too much when we reach Mayfair.”

His voice startled her. He’d relaxed into the corner of the carriage the minute they’d pulled away from the inn and pushed his hat over his eyes as if he intended to sleep. She knew that was the last thing anyone as tense as Gray could do, but he obviously wanted his privacy and she decided to oblige.

“Why do you say that?”

“There was a fire there. Have you forgotten?”

“No, I haven’t forgotten. I think you’re the only one who devotes a great deal of time trying to forget that.”

He slowly lifted his hand and slid his hat off his face. His usual gleaming blue eyes glared at her with an icy glint of blackness before he straightened his body in the seat as dangerously as if she’d awakened a sleeping bear. A bear who objected to her accusation that he was a coward.

His eyebrows arched. “Do you?”

“I do.”

“And why do you think that?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “Why don’t you tell me?”

He smiled. Not a happy, jovial smile like she was used to seeing on his face, but a cold, emotionless smile that sent a shiver down her spine.

“I think I’ll wait until we arrive. I’ll have less explaining to do once you see my…home.”

Maggie tried to come up with an adequate response, but before she could the carriage slowed and Cleary hollered that they were there.

“Aren’t you going to get out?” she asked when the carriage stopped and he didn’t move.

He leaned back against the seat and lowered his hat again. “Look out the window.”

She pulled back the heavy drape still closed to help keep out the cold, and looked.

“What do you see?”

Her breath caught. Maybe the snow swirling and spiraling through the air helped to make the scene before her so picture perfect. She hadn’t expected anything so grand. Gray’s comments not to expect anything too elaborate had tainted her opinion. But the estate out the carriage window was the most magnificent sight she’d ever seen.

“Is it that bad?”

“It’s beautiful. Absolutely beautiful.”

“Bloody hell. Cleary got us lost.”

He pushed open the door and jumped to the ground. “Dammit, man. You’ve taken us to the wrong—”

His reaction startled her.

He jolted to a statuesque stillness, his legs braced and his hands fisted at his side. The snow fell around him as the color drained from his face. His gaze remained locked onto the manor house in front of him.

She took Cleary’s proffered hand and stepped onto the ground next to Gray. “Your home is beautiful,” she whispered, unable to keep the admiration out of her voice.

Her gaze lifted as she took in the magnificent stone structure that towered before her. The three stories reached high, each one lined with windows that covered the outside walls. Maggie could only imagine how amazing Mayfield would appear when each room was lit.

Three steps led to the columned portico, and two wings extended outward on either side of the entryway. From where she stood, it was impossible to take in the manor’s entire width.

She’d never seen anything so beautiful. Never had she fallen in love with any home so completely.

He didn’t speak. She waited, hoping he’d say something but knowing he wouldn’t. Couldn’t. Thankfully, the door opened and several footmen rushed down the steps, followed by a very stately gentleman dressed in maroon and black livery.

“Welcome home, Mr. Delaney,” the butler said with a bow that rang with sincerity. “Allow me to help you and the young lady inside.”

Gray nodded his greeting then looked down on her as if the butler’s comment had reminded him she was there. Maggie knew she must have looked as frozen as she felt because he wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her close to him.

“Thank you, Boswick. I’m afraid there is no luggage.”

“I understand, sir.”

The butler didn’t seem shocked at Gray’s announcement. He ordered the footmen back to the house.

Gray didn’t move, but stood as if mesmerized by the sight before him. His gaze traveled from one end of the mammoth three-story stone structure to the other. He studied and evaluated every balustrade and guarding lion perched on the parapet with obvious pride. But there was a visible change in his features when his gaze reached the north wing.

He stared at the third floor windows as if expecting to see somethin
g
or someone. The longer he watched, the more intent his gaze became, and a heavy film of perspiration beaded across his forehead.

She couldn’t stand to s
ee such torture in his features—to see him hurting so.

She pulled one hand out of the fur muff she’d brought and wound her arm around his waist. It seemed natural to hold him, acceptable to want to comfort him. With a deep sigh, she leaned into him and held him.

“Those were my mother’s rooms,” he whispered, pulling her closer against him.

“I know.”

Maggie tried to keep from giving in to him so completely but she couldn’t. She turned into him and laid her cheek against his chest.

His heart thundered in her ear, keeping rhythm with her own as if they were a part of each other.

“I didn’t ever want to come back here.”

“I know.”

He held her a few moments longer then leaned down and pressed his cheek next to hers. “Thank you,” he whispered in her ear, then he lightly kissed her cheek before pulling away from her.

“Is the stable staffed?” Gray asked Boswick.

The butler nodded toward the two men who were running to help.

“Let them take care of the horses and come inside,” Gray said to Cleary. “Cook will give you something warm to eat and drink.”

Gray’s confusion obvious, a place deep in her chest ached when he turned to the butler. “Is there a cook?”

“Of course, sir,”
Boswick said. “Mrs. Hathaway still rules the kitchen with an iron hand.”

“Mrs. Hathaway,”
Gray whispered with affection and a lump formed in her throat.

“I believe she’s busy making a peach cobbler for dinner,” the butler added as he led the way up the snowy walk.

Gray’s hold on her tightened as his footsteps faltered. She felt the pull this place and the people here had on him. And the battle that waged for him not to let them.

They trudged through the snow, their progress slow and labored
. The snow fell harder now than before. By the time they reached the foyer to Mayfair Manor, she was chilled through and through.

“You’ll be warm soon,” Gray said, shaking the snow from his cloak and his hair. But
Maggie half-listened to him. She was busy taking in her surroundings. Beautiful didn’t do Mayfair Manor justice. Perhaps magnificent, or amazing, or breathtaking could be used to describe the classic grandeur of Gray’s home.

“It used to be quite a splendid place,” he said, leaning down to unfasten the closure beneath her chin.

“It still is.”

His fingers stopped beneath her chin and he lifted his gaze to look at the twin winding staircases that led to a second floor balcony. The wood leading up the stairs was a rich, polished oak and an ornately carved railing ran up each staircase and across the balcony that overlooked the circular
entry hall below it.

Gray took it in for several long seconds, then closed his eyes and sucked in a deep breath. “When was this redone?”

“After the fire, sir.”

“Who ordered the work done?”

“Your father, sir.”

Gray still had hold of her open cloak. His fingers grasped the
fabric tighter and Maggie placed her hands atop his to ease his grip.

As if he suddenly realized what he was doing, he released his hold and dropped his hands to his sides.

“Maggie, this is Boswick. Boswick, Miss Margaret Bradford. Boswick will show you to a room and send someone to help you. Just ask if there’s anything you need.”

“Gray—”

“Boswick, send some hot tea and something to eat up to Miss Bradford’s room.”

“Right away, sir. I’ll show Miss Bradford to the yellow room and send Jena up to her.”

“Fine. Fine.”

“Gray—”

“Just ring if you need anything. Boswick will take care of you.”

Gray
walked away from her and through the second door down a hall off the foyer. “What’s in there?” she asked Boswick as he handed her cloak, muff and bonnet to a waiting footman.

“The master’s study, Miss.”

“I see,” Maggie said, looking at the closed door a final time before she followed Boswick up the stairs and into one of the most beautiful bedrooms she had ever seen. Only now the beauty around her had lost some of its cordiality and warmth.

Gray had taken that with him when he walked away from her. Maggie wanted to go to him and comfort him more now than she’d ever wanted to before.

That she was so weak where he was concerned worried her.

The idea
she’d already fallen in love with him terrified her.

****

Maggie lay in the spacious four-poster bed and listened to the muffled sounds of an unfamiliar house in the darkest hours of the night. Usually, she felt uncomfortable spending the night anywhere but in her own bed, but Gray’s
home didn’t seem strange at all. In fact, for some reason she couldn’t explain, she felt as though she belonged here. She knew she didn’t, of course, and never would, but all through dinner, then after when she sat in the morning room and watched the snow pile high in the garden outside the double French doors, she was consumed with a warmth that she never experienced when away from Bradford House.

Maggie tossed from one side of the bed to the other then gave in to her restlessness and sat up. She propped a pillow against the massive oak headboard and leaned against it.

Everyone was in bed—everyone except Gray. He hadn’t come up yet. She knew he hadn’t because she heard him moving about downstairs. Then, an hour or more ago she’d heard a noise that sounded like glass shattering.

She wanted to go down to make sure he was all right, but she told herself leaving the safety of her room wasn’t wise, so she stayed in bed. But she hadn’t been able to fall asleep, and the way her stomach turned in knots, she knew sleep was nowhere in sight.

With a sigh of frustration, Maggie tossed back the covers and got out of bed. She slid her feet in the slippers the maid Jena had given her when she’d brought a nightgown and robe that smelled like the oleander and roses it had been stored in.

Maggie ran her hand across the soft, silky material and wondered if the elegant nightdress had once belonged to Gray’s mother. Somehow, she knew it had, and Maggie felt like she’d been given a glimpse of a woman she’d never know.

With a sigh of regret, she pulled a coverlet from the bed and wrapped it around her shoulders, then walked to the window and pulled back the velvet drapes. The snow was still falling and even though Maggie didn’t want to face the possibility, she knew it was doubtful that they’d be able to leave tomorrow either. A heavy rock fell to the pit of her stomach and stayed there.

She dropped the drape back into place and leaned her forehead against the soft velvet. How on earth would she ever
survive another twenty-four hours this close to him? He consumed every waking moment.

She knew how difficult it had been for him to return to Mayfair. He’d been desperate to avoid coming back because it meant having to relive what had happened here.

She pulled the coverlet tighter around her shoulders and pressed her fist against the ache in her chest. She didn’t know caring for someone would hurt so much. She didn’t know—

H
is footsteps sounded as he climbed the stairs.

Her heart increased its steady rhythm the nearer he came. His g
ait as he walked down the hall was laborious, as if he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders.

He slowed when he neared her room, then stopped in front of her door.