by Robyn DeHart
She smiled. “I love to read as well. The reading room was my mother’s idea so many years ago. She was the real book lover in our family. She loved stories and wanted access given to everyone. It was one of those ideas you have when you’re dreaming of possibilities. I don’t think she ever imagined it would be a reality, and it’s such a shame she didn’t live to see it fulfilled. As soon as we moved the factory out here and we had so much room, Papa added the reading room.”
She paused long enough to watch him stretch. With his arms over his head, the fabric of his shirt stretched taut, revealing a hint of his sinewy chest. “What did you want to do? I mean, when you were a child?”
Gareth leveled his eyes on hers, and didn’t speak for several minutes. “When I was much younger, and my father was still alive, I wanted to box like he did.”
“Box? As in a boxing ring? Fighting?”
“Yes. That wasn’t really his profession. More of a favorite pastime. But it seemed very exciting to me as a boy. But then we left for Ireland.”
“Did you ever box?” she asked.
“No, I’ve never even tried it.”
“So your family moved to Ireland?”
“My mother and us kids,” he said.
“But your father did not?” she asked.
“No. We left him here. Shortly after that, he died in a boxing match.” He sounded more angry than sad, and she had to wonder if he still carried around the scars of a twelve-year-old boy.
Her stomach lurched. “Oh, how dreadful, Gareth. I’m so very sorry.” She wanted to go to him. Pull him close and hold him, but she knew he would not accept the gesture. She could offer no comfort though. She had barely been able to swallow her own loss.
He shook his head. “It was a long time ago. The wounds had long since healed.”
But she wasn’t so certain she believed that. There was something there between him and his father. Anger or guilt or something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Something unsettled that left Gareth restless and that had ultimately brought him back to London to resolve it. Whether or not he realized that himself.
“So at some point, you must have realized that boxing was not for you. Did you want to do anything else? Even something you felt was out of your reach?”
“No, after that, I knew I only had to find something that paid a decent wage. Something honest,” he added. “What about you? You’re so full of questions tonight. What were your childhood dreams?”
It was hard to remember who she was before her mother died. She knew she was different. Simpler and full of dreams and big ideas. “I wanted many different things. But I think for most of my childhood, I wanted to grow up and be like my mother. Be a wife and have a little girl whom I doted on.”
“And now? Do you still want those things?”
“No,” she said quickly. She would be unable to explain to him why she couldn’t have those things. Why she’d had to give up those dreams. She wasn’t certain anyone would understand her reasons. “Now I want different things.”
“Such as?”
“This factory. I want to be a true heir to it. I want my father to leave it in my hands and know it will be well cared for.”
“And that is what will happen?”
She closed her eyes a brief moment. How she wished that would happen. “No. As it stands now, when he dies, this will cease being a private business and will become a company. Owned by many, none of whom toil here. None of whom love this place.”
“But you love it?”
“In my own way. I love my father. And he loves it. I want to run this factory for him.”
“Isn’t all of this rather unorthodox for a woman? Especially one of your breeding? I would have suspected a lady such as yourself would have married years ago.”
“It is odd, I suppose. Women work in factories, but to have one in charge of the entire outfit? That will be unique. But I’m determined.” She ignored his comment about marriage.
“What does your father have to say about this?”
“Every time I’ve approached him with it in the past, he’s switched the subject. I’m not certain if he doesn’t believe I’m capable or if he simply doesn’t want to burden me with it. Perhaps both. But I’m determined to prove to him that I’ll gladly take the burden. That I want to. I don’t want him to lose this company. Even in death. Why, do you find it odd?”
He shrugged. “Different. But you’re different from any woman I’ve ever met. If anyone can administer this factory, you can.”
The words “thank you” were right in her throat, but she was unable to utter them. He was quite accomplished at pretending he was this uncaring oaf who didn’t like people. But she’d seen sparks of a gentle heart on more than one occasion. There was definitely more than met the eye when it came to Gareth Mandeville.
“I spoke with Mr. Munden when I arrived,” she said. Perhaps now was the time to broach this subject.
He did not look up.
“Gareth, why would you not allow him to search your rooms if you know it will prove your innocence?”
That pulled his glance up to hers. “Do you honestly think that giving him permission to do so will prove anything to him? No.” He didn’t give her time to answer. “All it will do is feed his need to have power over me. And when he finds nothing, he’ll create some excuse about how I sold them, or I’m storing them elsewhere. I’ve worked with men like Munden before. He will not give up—this is only the beginning with him.”
He was so matter-of-fact. As if it were completely natural to have someone not only assume the worst of you, but, in a sense, pursue you. It wasn’t natural and it wasn’t right. “Why is he after you?” she asked.
“How the hell should I know?”
The dark stubble on his chin and upper lip gave him a dangerous look, yet Meg felt no fear. He was angry, and rightly so. It was unfair for him to be accused of something while someone else got away with it.
“The Ladies’ Amateur Sleuth Society hasn’t found anything yet, but we have a plan. I started speaking with the other workers today to see if anyone heard or saw anything about that night.”
“I didn’t see you come in today,” he said.
“Oh, not here. I started with the packaging and molding rooms. Women talk more than men, so any gossip would circulate among them first.”
His eyebrows raised slightly. “And?”
She sighed. “Nothing.” But many of the women had known who he was. Apparently Meg wasn’t the only one to find him handsome. A fact she found rather annoying regardless of how unimportant it should have been to her.
He shrugged. “It’s not your responsibility,” he said.
“It is my responsibility because the theft occurred here. I cannot allow a thief to run amok and do nothing about it. Amelia and Willow are going to ask around at some pawnbrokers. We figure if we were to steal something, that’s probably where we would try to sell it.”
“That’s clever,” he said.
Her heart seemed to flip in her chest. Perhaps he didn’t think her an utter fool. “My friend’s husband is an inspector for hire and he has friends at the Scotland Yard, so if we need professional assistance, we can ask them.”
“I don’t think that’s necessary. The authorities haven’t even been notified. Besides, I thought you knew how to do this sort of investigating. Being the amateur sleuth that you are.”
She thought she detected a light smile play across his mouth, but she wasn’t certain. He was goading her. But he was also correct. She did know how to sleuth. She wasn’t as clever as Amelia or Willow, but surely she could be of assistance.
He might not feel this investigation was necessary, but she certainly did. Her heart beat a rapid tattoo and she gifted him with a smile. “We will discover the real perpetrator. You can rely on the Ladies’ Amateur Sleuth Society.”
He smiled, and her stomach jolted. The lines creasing his forehead relaxed, and she was struck again by the perfection in his lips.
He was so handsome.
“I appreciate your help, Meg, but you don’t owe me anything. So if you and your friends want to ask around or something, I’m not going to attempt to stop you. I doubt very much I’d be able to do so. But don’t go to any great deal of trouble.”
“You are not the only reason I am engaged in this investigation, I’ll have you know.” She took a deep breath and held her chin out. “If this criminal thinks he can run willy-nilly in my father’s factory, then he’s not prepared to deal with me. That being said, if you’re worried about me getting hurt, I can assure you, I can take care of myself.”
“No, I wasn’t worried about that.”
“Oh.” That pinched. Why wouldn’t he be concerned for her safety? Any decent man would be a tiny bit worried. Or at the very least spend a moment with a furrowed brow.
They worked in silence for several minutes. Each working on one last box. Meg held the last mirror in place, then paused to examine her work.
“It appears we have completed the task. They look nice, don’t you agree?” she said.
He looked around the table, but only shrugged in response. He released a great sigh. “I don’t work well with others,” he finally said. He stood and walked over to her side of the table, close to the door. “I’ve done enough tonight. Thank you for your help.”
“Have you tried it?” she prodded.
He was growing impatient. She could tell by the tight clench of his jaw and the sharp movements of his hand.
“Tried what?”
She stood, but did not dare move closer to him. “Working with others? Don’t you have to do that here? What is the difference with me?”
“The difference?” he grumbled. “Let me tell you the difference. The men in this factory dress a little different from you.” He came to stand in front of her. He leaned in and put his nose beside her left ear and slowly inhaled. “They smell different from you.”
Chills scattered all over Meg’s body, and she felt her breasts tighten. Oh my. What she’d pegged as annoyance apparently was nothing less than desire. Desire for her, in particular. Her pulse sped up, as did her breathing.
He leaned even closer, and she felt his warm breath on her neck. She closed her eyes just as he took her earlobe in his mouth and suckled it.
“I would imagine they taste much different too, although for that one I have no base of comparison,” he said.
Desire coiled so quickly through her body, she feared she would melt into the wood-planked floor. She turned her head ever so slightly, and he grabbed her fiercely and pressed his lips to hers. His body molded against hers, pressing her already sensitive breasts to his chest. He pushed her onto the table and fell over her, all the while trailing hot kisses over her neck, collarbone, and ears.
She wanted him. Wanted whatever pleasure he could give her. It was wrong. Improper. Immoral. And completely irresistible.
His lips met hers and his tongue tantalized her. Teasing, licking, stroking until she thought she would go mad. She reached behind him and pulled him down to her and slanted her mouth, giving him full access. Their tongues stroked and played, and shivers cascaded over her like delicious waterfalls of pleasure.
She felt his arousal push into her belly, and she instinctively pushed against him. Wanting more, wanting release, wanting him.
His hand slid up her abdomen and cupped her right breast. Her back arched instinctively, and she felt her nipples harden. Gracious, she’d never felt such sensations. He kneaded the sensitive flesh, and the tingles between her legs intensified.
With a movement full of impatience, he slipped his hand beneath her bodice and stroked her aching nipple. His mouth left hers and blazed a trail to her ear, then down her throat.
She bucked erratically against him.
“Oh, Gareth,” she breathed.
“Blast!” he said, then rolled off her. He stood against the door, with his hands clenched at his sides.
She slowly came to her feet, but had to grab on to the table so she would not fall. “What’s the matter?” she asked. “If you’re worried about my maid, she’s napping. Falls asleep every evening by seven.”
He shook his head. “I can’t do this,” he said. “Not with you.” Then he turned and walked out the door.
Not with her? What did that mean? What was the matter with her? She knew she was no great beauty, but neither was she plain or unattractive. So why not her?
More importantly, why did she need him to want her? He was not a suitor, and they were not going to marry, so why did it matter? The easy answer was because it felt good. His kisses and his touches sparked her body.
She’d never before been kissed or embraced in such a fashion, and she loved it. Loved the desire coursing thick through her blood. It wasn’t merely the sensations, though; she knew it wouldn’t be the same with just anyone.
It terrified her to examine the situation more closely to discover the truth. She was playing a dangerous game, and ultimately she knew she would lose.
Gareth closed his eyes and let the wind slap at his face. A storm was brewing, and the wind had picked up considerably. He’d gone too far tonight. Why did he find it so difficult to be in the same room with Meg and not touch her? There was nothing that unique about her body. She was a woman. He’d been with women before.
Why were her lips so much more tempting? Her laughter so much more appealing? Her presence so much more inviting? She was an innocent, and he shouldn’t toy with her emotions and virtue with such disregard. He could blame her for being a temptress, but he was the true one to blame. He and his selfish nature for taking what he wanted without giving thought to the repercussions. Just as his father had done, and his father before him.
This was not what he needed right now. Yes, he wanted a higher position in the factory, but he certainly didn’t want to achieve it by nuzzling the owner’s daughter. If anything, that might lose him his current position. This whole fiasco with Munden had really broken his focus on his work. He need only find that focus again and resist the temptations that being near Meg brought.
But she was so different from any other woman he’d ever encountered. The differences seemed more elaborate when he considered her wealth and privilege. Unlike most women of her station who sat around and gossiped and drank tea all day, Meg had plans. Even the silly society she and her friends had formed. It was not something that women of their birth should be doing.
She was unmarried by choice, he assumed. Because it seemed unlikely that Meg had not had her fair share of eligible suitors. Yet she wanted to forsake the life of a woman and being a wife and mother to take her father’s factory. Perhaps he’d been wrong when he’d assumed no one would understand his need to prove himself. It was a noble sacrifice born out of a sense of responsibility, and Gareth couldn’t ignore that.
Unfortunately, it was a trait that only made her more appealing to him.
Chapter 7
Meg walked into her family dining room not quite certain what to expect. She had received a summons to dine there for the evening rather than in her father’s chambers where she had been eating since his accident. And lo and behold, the answer to her question sat at the far end of the table.
“Papa!” She hurried to his side. “But how did you get down the stairs?”
“Pah,” he said gruffly. “The doctor finally listened and brought me some crutches. So I walked. Or rather I hobbled, with some assistance.”
“But you could have fallen,” she protested.
“Ah, but I didn’t. Sit, child, let us dine together as civilized people would.”
She gave him a small curtsy, then took her seat at the opposite end of the table. A spot reserved for a wife, but he had never even considered remarrying after her mother died. He’d ached too much. They both had. Which was precisely why it was becoming abundantly clear she had to cease dallying with Gareth.
Every moment without him, she wondered when the next moment with him would arrive. This infatuation was gro
wing stronger by the day, and it should end. But something in her simply didn’t want it to.
If she was not careful, her heart would get tangled in something she would have no idea how to undo. She couldn’t walk through that pain again. She wouldn’t. It was her sunny disposition that had finally eased her father’s pain. She’d swallowed her own sorrow in an effort to bring her papa back from the edge. And it had worked. Nothing seemed to make him happier than seeing his Meggie smile. If she got her heart broken again, it might destroy them both.
So it mattered not that Gareth did not want her. Yes, her pride was bruised, but that was for the best. Because she could not want him.
She would help him; she owed him that much. But after that, she would focus all her attention on the factory.
“Tell me, Meggie, how are things down at the factory?” he asked.
“Have you not spoken to Mr. Sanders?” she said. “Has he not apprised you of everything?” She wasn’t certain how much information her father had regarding the goings-on at the factory. If he knew of Gareth’s predicament, and if so, how much. Would he approve of the way she’d handled things thus far?
He chewed thoughtfully on his bite of pheasant, then wiped his mouth with his napkin. “He has mentioned a few things. Profits are up. We’ve almost completed negotiations with Wakemore for their condensed milk, so it won’t be long before we are in production of the dairy chocolates.”
Perhaps he knew nothing.
“Oh, and he has mentioned that there is a thief working there. And that you have become somewhat of a champion to him.” His eyebrows rose in clear amusement.
At least he was not angry with her, although when had he ever been truly angry with her? “But Papa, he is not the thief.”
“You know this for certain?” he asked.
She did. But she definitely couldn’t tell him that. At least not in detail how she knew. “I do.”
“How is that?”
