More Than Willing (4 page)

Maggie watched, mesmerized by his reaction. For some reason she couldn’t explain he seemed afraid. Yet she couldn’t believe Gray Delaney was afraid of anything. Then, as if he’d thrown off his reluctance with a show of angry determination, he raced toward the flames now licking from one of the openings.

Maggie stared in amazement. The man she’d known during her Seasons in London as a rake and an irresponsible wastrel shouted orders to the men in the two long lines reaching from the two wells in the center of the courtyard to the stable. Within seconds water from a steady stream of buckets doused the flames at the entrance.

Maggie clutched her arms around her middle. She knew if the flames reached the second level it was doubtful they could save the stable. And if the fire got away from them here, they stood a good chance of losing the entire brewery.

Maggie turned away, unable to watch the fire spread. The horses trapped inside the barn screamed in piercing, high-pitched cries of agony and she clamped her hands over her ears. She couldn’t listen to their desperate cries for help. Yet, even though she tried, she couldn’t keep her eyes averted for long. Her future was in danger, her livelihood

as well as her sisters’

was being destroyed.

She looked again, thinking she’d find Grayson Delaney in the brigade of workmen but she didn’t. She scanned the area
, searching the tumult for a glimpse of him. And when she spotted him, her heart stuttered..

Gray stood with arms outstretched as several workers doused him with buckets of water. When he was drenched, he turned, then ran through the opening.

The smoke from fresh hay and smoldering grain wrapped around him, then swallowed him whole. “No!” she screamed, thinking she could stop him, but there was no way he heard her over the shouts of the men fighting the blaze and the cries of the horses fighting for their lives. She cried again but her efforts were useless.

Maggie ran toward the stairs. What was he doing? Even Fletcher, who’d devoted his life to taking care of the horses wasn’t foolish enough to rush into a burning barn to save the animals the stable hands hadn’t been able to free before the fire
grew too fierce. Yet Grayson Delaney was taking the risk.

Maggie took the stairs as fast as she could without tripping and raced across the brewery courtyard the second she
reached the ground.

“Stand back, Miss Bradford,” Fletcher hollered when she neared the entrance.

“How many horses are still inside?” she demanded, straining to see any movement amidst the smoke.

“Three. That young fool went in to get them. I told him not to, but he wouldn’t listen.”

“Is there another way for him to get out?”

Fletcher shook his head. “Dang fool. I told him it wasn’t worth the risk but he loves those horses more than most.”

Maggie stared at the billowing smoke and tried to imagine what it must be like inside with the thick, black haze filling Delaney’s lungs and stinging his eyes. Every time a new dark cloud billowed and rolled, she prayed Gray Delaney was moving through it. But he wasn’t.

She stared for
tortured minutes while the smoke grew thicker and blacker.

Why wasn’t he coming out? What was taking so long? Unless…

Maggie’s hand covered her mouth to stop the cry that threatened to escape. She told herself she’d feel the same way no matter which one of her employees was in danger, but an insistent voice shouted over the thundering in her chest that Gray Delaney affected her differently.

She stifled a cry as t
he faint clopping of hooves sounded.

At first she was afraid her imagination played tricks on her.
The clopping grew louder and the image of a man on horseback broke through the swirling smoke. The pressure inside her chest eased.

Gray Delaney rode into the clean fresh air astride one of the huge dray horses. Behind him he had two skittish mares tied to a long rope that he’d wrapped around his waist. The three horses and rider broke into the sunshine amidst loud cheers from the brewery workers still fighting the dying flames.

He didn’t stop until he was well away from the smoke that swirled from the stable. The flames were under control now and the building was no longer in danger of burning, but the damage was substantial. As hard as it was for her to look at the charred wood and realize that this was a major setback, Maggie was thankful that no one was hurt and that they hadn’t lost any animals.

Delaney
slid from the dray horse onto the ground. Fletcher, as well as several other stable hands rushed forward to congratulate him and take care of the animals, working to calm them as they led them away from the smoke.

Everyone moved away from the smoldering building but Fletcher. The older man stayed rooted to his spot and kept his gaze on Grayson Delaney. The longer the stable master watched him the more the frown on his face deepened.

Maggie studied the expression on Delaney’s face but she couldn’t find the words to describe what she saw. His complexion had seemed such a warm bronze only moments before. Now, his face was a pale gray, and it wasn’t from the soot that covered his forehead and cheeks. A coldness glazed his expression; an emptiness in his gaze that bordered on something close to terror. Whatever he’d endured to free the horses had taken something vital from him.

Fletcher must have seen it too
. He issued a string of orders that sent another wave of approaching workers who wanted to congratulate Delaney for his bravery, scurrying away. Delaney stared at their retreating backs as if they weren’t there. Then, as if something propelled him from where he stood, he turned and stumbled away from them.

A wave of concern washed over her and she took one tentative footstep to follow him. “Mr. Delaney?”

He didn’t acknowledge her question. Nor did he slow his quickening foot steps.

She feared for him and reached out to him.

He spun around and raised his arm, whether to ward her off, or to strike her, she wasn’t sure.

“Delaney
!” Fletcher’s voice from behind her stopped him.

He blinked, his eyes focusing, and she realized he finally saw her.

A confused mixture of horror and disbelief covered his face and he held out his open hand as if to ward her off. He gasped for breath, his nostrils flaring with each intake. He didn’t speak, only shook his head as if in denial—or in warning—then backed away from her, one unsteady step at a time.

“Leave him go,” Fletcher whispered in her ear and she nodded.

“Is he all right?”

“Give him time, lass.”

Maggie stared at Delaney’s rigid back as he walked toward the nearest exit. The gate stood open and he turned right on the cobbled path that wound around the back of the brewery to where the Rushbourne River provided the brewery with the clear, clean water it needed to brew ale.

Linden
, oak, birch and pine trees formed a barrier on both sides of the riverbank and he might seek refuge in the shaded covering. She’d gone there herself more than a few times when she needed to escape.

Maggie watched until he was out of sight
, then turned as if she intended to go back to her office. But Lyman’s man waited for her there and she had no intention of seeing him. Not today. She was too curious and concerned about Grayson Delaney to see anyone just now.

She walked instead to her father’s office and closed the door. The minute the solid door clicked, she pressed her back against the wood and stood there for several long seconds. She shouldn’t intrude on his privacy. He’d suffered through a harrowing ordeal and deserved to be left alone. But he was her employee and
she was obligated to see to his welfare.

She
stepped to one of the two windows that overlooked the back section of Bradford Brewery and looked down.

Her mother had made a small park of sorts behind the brewery. Several resting areas angled from the cobbled pathway, each with a wooden bench on a semi-circle of cement. From each location a panorama of lush plants and flowering bushes bloomed throughout the spring and summer. In the background the Rushbourne River rushed
quietly along.

Her mother would often sit on one of the benches and gaze at the beauty. She used to say she could think better here, could plan what improvements to make with the little money that was left after paying the bills.

Maggie thought the same. The garden was peaceful, which was why she knew when she pulled back the curtains she’d find him there.

She spotted him with little effort, as a magnet is drawn to metal. He stood bent at the waist with one palm pressed flat against the trunk of a large oak tree, the other braced against his knee. The material of his shirt stretched taut with every labored breath he took.

A heavy weight sank to the pit of her stomach. She wanted to go to him yet knew she couldn’t. This was a private moment and he wouldn’t welcome the intrusion. But she couldn’t leave him either. She’d glimpsed another side that was completely opposite from the self-assured, devil-may-care, person he’d spent years convincing everyone he was. The role of the womanizing gambler he’d cultivated so exquisitely may not be the real Grayson Delaney. But she didn’t have any idea who that real person might be.

After several agonizing minutes he pushed himself away from the tree and took his first step back toward the brewery. He staggered,
pressed a hand to his chest, then seemed to gather control as he resumed his pace. His long, confident footsteps ate up the cobbled path with amazing speed. If she hadn’t seen his torment only a few moments ago, she’d never think he was capable of letting anything bother him.

Maggie watched until he was out of sight, then dropped the drapes back into place and turned around. Everything in this room reminded her of her father, a man who’d rather drink the ale they produced than work an honest day to produce it. A man who’d risk a whole year’s profits in one night of gambling. A man whose charm and good looks had gotten him everything he’d ever wanted. A weak man who had let his wife’s strengths destroy him.

Maggie walked to her father’s desk and sank into the deep cushions of the chair. She didn’t think it was possible to meet two men who were such exact replicas in her lifetime, but she had. Grayson Delaney was a mirror image of her father and as big a threat to her as her father had been to her mother.

Her father had always told her she was more like her mother than any daughter had a right to be. And she was. She had her mother’s strengths.

And she shared her weakness.

If she didn’t eliminate the danger waiting to ruin her life, she’d risk falling into the same trap as her mother had. Falling in love with a man who would destroy her was a catastrophe she had no intention of repeating.

Grayson Delaney had to go.

She was a coward.

Instead of going to the brewery like she did every day,
Maggie told herself she’d neglected the estate books too long and had to stay home to work on them. At least that was the excuse she gave so she wouldn’t risk running into him.

Since the fire yesterday she’d thought of nothing except Grayson Delaney racing into the burning stable. She’d been terrified that he wouldn’t come out alive.

The emotional attachment she felt toward him frightened her. She’d never experienced anything like this. Never thought she would.

Suddenly she doubted she had the courage to do what she had to do.

She avoided the brewery because she wasn’t sure she could bring herself to face him today. The next time she saw him, she knew she’d have to finish the discussion they were in the middle of when the alarm sounded. She knew she had no choice but to send him packing.

If she didn’t, she’d regret it as long as he was here.

Maggie dropped her pen onto the papers and rubbed her aching temples. She’d added this same column of numbers at least a dozen times and come up with a different figure each time. That’s what happened when she couldn’t concentrate on anything but Grayson Delaney’s handsome face and magical smile. If she didn’t quit remembering the wicked sparkle in his eyes, she was never going to get any work done.

She lifted her pen and started to add the column of figures again, then jumped when the door flew open.

“Maggie, you have to make Charlotte pull her nose out of her book long enough so Mrs. Crawford can fit her for her new gowns.”

Maggie closed her ledgers in
defeat to wait for Felicity to finish expounding on Charlotte’s latest travesty.

“Aunt Hester and I have picked out the most beautiful fabrics and designs for her. All she’s got to do is stand still long enough for Mrs. Crawford to measure her. But she won’t get her nose out of her book long enough for Mrs. Crawford to finish.” Felicity held her small, heart-shaped mouth tight in frustration.

“Have you finished being fitted?” she asked, staring into a face so beautiful it stole her breath.

“Yes. Just. And Mrs. Crawford promised to start sewing the minute she returned home.”

Maggie looked at her sister’s glowing cheeks. “Will the gowns be as grand as you imagined?”

“Oh, yes, Maggie! Neither Lottie nor I have ever owned gowns so magnificent. I dare say we will be the envy of everyone in London.”

Felicity rushed around the desk and wrapped her arms around Maggie’s shoulders. “Thank you ever so much. I know what a sacrifice you’re making to outfit Charlotte and me for a Season in London.”

“Nonsense. You and Charlotte deserve a Season. If Mama were here she’d insist
upon it. And so would Papa.”

“Yes, but only to try to marry us off to the richest suitor who showed an interest in us.”

Maggie wanted to argue but couldn’t.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that,” Felicity added with a sheepish expression.

The look of regret on Felicity’s face tugged at Maggie’s heart. “I wish you were old enough to remember Papa the way he was before he started drinking and gambling. He was so different then.”

“What happened?” Felicity asked, sitting in the chair opposite Maggie’s desk. “What made him change?”

Maggie took a deep breath then whispered, “Mama.”

Felicity’s gaze shot to meet Maggie’s. “Mama? Mama was the most wonderful, loving wife any husband could want. She was perfect. If it weren’t for her, Papa would have lost the brewery years ago. She knew far more about managing a business than Papa does even now. Everyone knows that.” Felicity sat straighter, her determination to protect Mama’s memory evidenced by the tightly clutched hands in her lap and the frown on her forehead. “Why, she made all the decisions when she was alive, just like you do now. You’re just like her.”

“I know.”

“Then how can you say that? Even Aunt Hester says the brewery never needed Papa as long as Mama was here.”

“Don’t you see, Felicity? That was the problem. Mama was so perfect Papa couldn’t compete with her. Mama was so good at running the brewery she didn’t need him. No one needed him.”

Felicity stared at her with rounded eyes. “We needed him.”

Maggie shook her head. “Little girls need their mothers. Perhaps if he would have had a son…”

Maggie looked up to find her sister studying her. “Did Papa love Mama?”

“Too much,” Maggie answered. “So much their love destroyed them.”

Felicity’s look changed until it contained a depth of understanding Maggie wasn’t sure she wanted her sister to possess.

“Is that why you refused the suitors who offered for you?” Felicity asked. “Because you’re afraid to fall in love?”

Maggie shoved the papers around on her desk. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Yes, you do. I heard the argument you had with Papa when you refused the Earl of Gaffney’s offer. Papa said he was rich as Croesus but you said he wasn’t a good match for you. That he was weak. You were comparing him to Papa, weren’t you?”

“No. Of course not. I—”

Charlotte burst through the door with Aunt Hester at her heels. Thankfully, Maggie didn’t have to come up with a lie her sister would believe.

“Maggie, you’ve got to help me. Felicity and Aunt Hester have picked out all these materials and expect me to decide which fabric I want made into which gown and which gown I intend to wear for my come-out. How am I to know? You know I’ve never had an eye for fashion.”

Maggie sat back against the chair that had been her mother’s and tried to forget what Felicity had almost said. “You don’t have to worry, Lottie. How often have you said that Felicity has the best eye for fashion in all of England? Let her help you.”

“That’s what I told her.
” Aunt Hester sat primly in the chair opposite Felicity. “You’ll help her, won’t you, Felicity?”

“Of course.”

“See, Charlotte,” Aunt Hester said with a decisive nod. “Now, what about you, Margaret?”

Maggie raised her brows. “Me?”

“Yes. Surely you realize you have to have some new gowns too. This may be Felicity’s and Charlotte’s come-out, but you’ll be expected to attend the functions they do. Even though you’re probably too old to catch someone’s eye, it doesn’t mean you won’t have to be dressed properly.”

“Maggie’s not too old to catch someone’s eye,” Lottie said in an indignant tone. “She’s simply…,” she
squinted her eyes in thoughtfulness, “…more mature than most of the debutantes who will be in attendance.”

Aunt Hester brushed her hand to the side as if ignoring any argument. “Being seven and twenty is considered by even the most optimistic as being on the shelf. But
spinsterhood was Margaret’s choice and it’s too late to change things now.”

“No it’s not,” Felicity rebutted as if the idea of her eldest sister remaining alone for the rest of her life was unthinkable. “I’m sure she’ll meet just the right man in London, the same as Lottie and I are guaranteed to do.”

Aunt Hester opened her mouth but Maggie held up her hand to stop her words. “
I
am not under discussion here. And there’s no need to worry. I already informed Mrs. Crawford that I will require a few new gowns and picked out several fabrics last week when I arranged for her to come here today. They will be done the same time as the gowns she’s making for the girls.”

Aunt Hester smiled. “I don’t know why I was concerned. You are so much like your mother I should have known you wouldn’t fail to take care of even the smallest detail.”

Maggie felt a heavy weight settle in the pit of her stomach. Yes, she was exactly like her mother. Everyone who’d known Genevieve Bradford had repeatedly told her that very thing, and her father had reminded her often enough when he’d been drinking. But his reminders were more like accusations.

“Do you think Papa will be back before we leave for London?”

Maggie stared first at Lottie who’d asked the question, then at Felicity who waited for an answer. She wasn’t brave enough though to look at Aunt Hester. “I’m not sure. I read you the last letter we received from him. He explained how busy he was and that he’d gone to Italy to tour a new brewery being built there.”

“But he didn’t say anything about coming home,” Lottie added.

“Are you afraid you won’t be able to have a Season if he doesn’t arrive? If you are—”

“No, it’s not that,” Felicity was quick to add. “Lottie and I both know you’ll take care of everything. It’s just that…”

Maggie waited for Felicity to continue and when she didn’t, Maggie looked at Lottie for help.

“What Felicity is too kind to say is that we both hope Papa waits to come home until after our Season. We’re afraid he’ll try to marry us off to someone we don’t even like and it will cause a terrible row. I can stand up to him,” Charlotte said, lifting her stubborn chin. “
But Felicity’s never been able to.”

Maggie took one look at Felicity’s pale face and rushed to where she stood. “You’ll never have to marry anyone you don’t love,” Maggie whispered as she held her sister tight. “Neither of you will. I promise.”

Maggie released her sister when there was a knock at the door.

“Mr. Lyman Bradford to see you, Miss.”

Maggie’s heart seemed to lodge in her throat. She didn’t have time for this now. Ever since the fire yesterday she’d done her best to avoid a conversation with him, pleading she was too busy. Now, she saw a meeting was inevitable.

“Show him to the morning room, Holbrook.”

“Very good, Miss.”

“Do you want me to go with you?” Aunt Hester asked after Holbrook left the room.

“No. The fewer people he has to talk to the sooner he’ll leave.”

“Be careful,” Lottie warned, the tone of her voice indicating she understood more than Maggie considered either of her sisters did.

“Lyman is nothing more than a distant cousin who has taken up residence nearby and wants to renew an acquaintance with the only relatives he has left.”

The unladylike snort Aunt Hester made at Maggie’s falsehood wasn’t lost on either of her sisters.

“Anyone with two eyes in their head can see there’s more to his persistence than that,” Lottie said, mimicking Aunt Hester’s unladylike snort. “His idea of renewing an acquaintance and yours may have two totally different objectives.”

“Don’t worry. I can handle Cousin Lyman. Now go back to Mrs. Crawford and finish getting fitted.”

Aunt Hester ushered Felicity and Charlotte out and Maggie took in a deep breath, then walked to the morning room.

“Cousin Lyman, what a pleasant surprise,” she said stepping into the
chamber. Maggie made sure the double doors of the morning room stayed open behind her before she took her first step toward her guest. “I trust you’re well.”

“My welfare is not at issue,” Lyman Bradford said, rushing across the room to take her hands in his. “
Your welfare is my concern. Are you all right?”

Maggie
looked at her cousin. He was handsome enough, she supposed, if you overlooked his lifeless brown hair that lay flat against his head. And the sharp angle of his overly large nose. And there was something about a man with a weak chin that gave her a feeling of superiority. She grew suddenly repulsed by him and wanted to pull her fingers out of his grasp but she didn’t. Instead, she looked up at Lyman and smiled. “Of course. I’m perfectly fine.”

“When my man came back to report there was a fire at the brewery, you can’t imagine my concern. I imagined you in all sorts of danger.”

“Nonsense,” she said, finally managing to free her hands from his grasp. “It was a small fire. Quite insignificant.”

“That’s not the impression I got. Several horses could have met their demise, not counting the loss in human terms. Even your own life, perish the thought.”

“Oh, I was hardly in danger. Only the man who risked going into the stable to free the horses was in peril.”

“Yes, my man related the bravery of one of your workers, although I’m not sure any animal is worth a man’s life. But then, it’s a known fact the working class thinks differently than
we do.”

Maggie forced a smile. “Yes, they do.”

She turned away from him to stand by a chair angled opposite a floral sofa. The closest he could sit was on the end with the arm of the sofa separating them. Maggie motioned for the servant who entered with a tea tray to set it on a large table and roll it in front of her. This would separate them further. When there was an adequate barrier between them she motioned for her cousin to sit.

“How have you adjusted to life at Grange House? I was there once with my father and I remember it was exquisite.”

“Yes, it’s a beautiful home. I’ve grown quite fond of it. But I didn’t come to discuss Grange House. I came to discuss you.”

Maggie gave him as sweet a smile as she could muster and handed him a cup of tea before he
made any move to slide closer. “I am hardly an interesting subject, Cousin Lyman.”

“Please, call me Lyman, Margaret.”