Morgan held in his frustration the best he could. “Mr. Stewart, I thought we could discuss this matter like two reasonable men.”
“Then you thought wrong.” The man’s voice croaked in a lower tone as he marched to one of the tables and picked up a chisel.
Morgan held back the angry words he really wanted to say as he fisted his hands by his sides. “Mr. Stewart, I would really like to talk to you. I’ve come to offer you a better deal.”
Once again, Mr. Stewart spun around and faced him. Through the clear shield over his face, Morgan noticed how red the man’s cheeks were. The man’s gaze moved over Morgan in a quick sweep.
He waited for the man to say something, but so far not a word came from him. The sun shone through the window, gleaming on Mr. Stewart’s face…his very young face. Perhaps he wasn’t the owner after all. Morgan should ask to see if the elder Mr. Stewart was around.
“Are you Mr. Mel Stewart, the owner?”
The man held out his gloved hand, stopping Morgan from continuing. He followed the instruction, wondering what the man would do next.
Mr. Stewart yanked off his gloves and threw them on the counter. Surprisingly, the man’s hands were small. And then he flipped up the clear shield from his face. In one swipe, the man had removed the helmet looking covering. But then something else caught his eyes. The man’s wavy, blond hair floated from the helmet to cascade down the man’s neck to his shoulders, and partly over his face. And yet…now it didn’t look like the face of a man, but a woman, instead.
With petite fingers, she swept her hair away from her eyes. Something familiar tugged at Morgan’s memory. The shape of her face was delicate, as well as her chin, and especially her mouth. Last night’s images of dancing with Melinda rushed to his mind, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that he had found the woman who had intrigued him, and then disappeared abruptly.
Yet, this couldn’t be her. Where was the lovely, very desirable woman he’d danced with and held so intimately? And why was she wearing men’s clothes?
She lifted her chin and straightened her shoulders. “I’m Miss Melinda Stewart, not Mister.”
“Uh…then who is Mel? Your father?”
She shook her head. “Mel is my nickname while I’m at work. My father is dead. This shop belongs to me and my brother now.”
His mind spun with confusion. How had he not seen this last night? Then again, she was dressed like a lady. She was even graceful like one. Could this be the reason she left the masked ball so quickly? Of course it was. He’d bet anything that she was ashamed, and she didn’t want him finding out her secret.
He struggled with the realization. It was impossible that a woman would work in such a filthy, laborious environment. If society knew, they’d shun her. But apparently, they didn’t know because this shop still received business.
After a few long and awkward moments of silence, his mind cleared enough for him to think of something to say. “Had your father received any of my missives before he died, regarding the deal I offered?”
She scowled. “He had received them. As it is, my brother, Jake, and I share the same feelings our father had.”
“Which is?”
“Your offer can go to the devil.” She folded her arms and lifted her chin, stubbornly. “And I don’t believe I want to do business with a man who cannot tell the difference between a man and a woman.”
It only took a few moments before reality hit him, and his brain registered what she had just said. How dare she… “I’m certain I’m not the only person who has confused you for a man, especially when you hide your true identity behind this.” He motioned his hand toward her attire. “So do not hold that against me, since you are the one fooling others. Would you have acted the way you did last night if I’d known what you do for a living?”
She remained silent for a few seconds before nodding. “I suppose I deserved that. It’s obvious by the look of disgust on your face when you recognized me that you are appalled at my lifestyle. What you don’t understand is that it’s important to have people think I’m a man. I wouldn’t get any business as a blacksmith by wearing gowns and curling my hair in ringlets, now would I?”
“No, you would not. However,” he tried not to let his irritation get the best of him, “if you would like to return to looking—and living—as the lovely woman you really are, as I suppose your father would have wanted, I believe my offer will be of great assistance—”
“Mr. Drake,” she interrupted. “Please don’t presume to know what my father wanted…or what I want for that matter. Plain and simple, I refuse to do business with a wealthy man who has never known poverty. I’m sorry, Mr. Drake, but my land is not for sale. I will never allow devious businessmen like you to take advantage of me.”
* * *
Tears stung Melinda’s eyes, but she refused to shed them. She also wasn’t about to let him see how much his words—and actions—had hurt her. He hadn’t masked his wide-eyed surprise or the revulsion in his expression when realizing she was the woman from last night. Seeing that look on his face nearly crushed her.
She shouldn’t have been shocked by his reaction. She’d suspected he would act this way. Still, seeing it unfold right in front of her, shattered any heroic or dreamy image she’d once had of him.
He stood tall with his shoulders back as if he prepared for battle—which was good, because she wasn’t about to back down on her word, either. She wasn’t afraid of arguing her point. She would not let him buy her only home and source of income. If he didn’t understand that, there was something mentally wrong with him.
He scowled. “Melinda, if you’ll let me explain—”
She held her hand up again, stopping him. “Please cease from using my given name. Besides that, there’s no need for you to waste your breath trying to change my mind. My decision is final. I cannot be swayed.”
“But if you’ll just listen—”
“Mr. Drake, I’m serious. I would like you to leave now.”
He shook his head. “You’re not seeing reason.”
“Indeed?” She arched an eyebrow. “Do you think I’m incompetent of understanding your words just because I’m a blacksmith?” Her temper spiked. “Well, gov’na,” she quickly changed her tone, speaking in a cockney accent, “ah, sorry to dis’point ye, but yer words jus’ aren’t reachin’ me brain. So perhaps ye should jus’ bugger off an’ leave me to me pitiful hole in the ground.”
Annoyance registered on his expression and his lips tightened. “Bugger off?”
She shrugged one shoulder. “Aye, gov’na. Me thinks ye’d ruin yer rep’tation bein’ seen in me shop. After all, I’m nothin’ but a lower-class bumpkin.”
Waiting for his reaction, she watched his nostrils flare quickly. Even his chest rose and fell with entirely too much speed. But the longer she waited for him to say something, the slower his chest moved. Soon, the lines in his face relaxed.
Finally, he released a gush of air out of his mouth. “There’s no need to talk to me like that. I know you’re not uneducated. Our time together last night proved to me what kind of woman you are.” He stepped closer to her and reached his hand out. Just before it touched her cheek, she slapped his hand away.
“Do you think I’m jesting?” she asked as her voice tightened.
“No, but—”
“Then please leave.” She pointed toward the door.
He took a deep breath, folded his arms, and sighed. “Before I go, I would really like to discuss what happened last night.”
She shook her head. “There’s nothing to discuss.”
“I think differently.” He cocked his head and frowned. “Why did you leave without saying goodbye?”
She released a harsh laugh. Had he really been concerned about that? He didn’t even know her. “You cannot be serious.” She marched past him and to another table, pretending to straighten the tools—although she usually kept them straightened, but right now she needed something to do with her ha
nds, and her mind. Remembering everything that had happened last night wasn’t a good thing for her heart. “I think you know why I didn’t tell you goodbye.”
“I want to hear it from you.”
Oh, the infuriating man! How dare he insist of knowing her feelings? They were hers and hers alone. And she refused to share them with a stranger…a stranger who wanted to close down her business.
“Unfortunately, Mr. Drake, I do not wish to tell you,” she said over her shoulder without looking at him.
“Why not?”
His voice was directly behind her. Her heart leapt. Why hadn’t she heard him walking up to her, and standing this close? Shouldn’t she have smelled him? Last night he’d smelled so irresistible. She breathed in deeply, and finally was able to detect his masculine scent of spice. Curses! Why couldn’t she have gone without smelling that wonderful scent?
Holding her breath, she tried to regain control over her emotions. She could not allow him to make her weak. Her father had raised his daughter to be a strong, self-confident woman. She wouldn’t let a stranger ruin that for her no matter how much the memory of his kisses disturbed her thoughts.
Slowly, she turned and faced him. Indeed, he was too close…so close she could see the color of his eyes when she hadn’t been able to see their color last night. They were a dark brown…a very dreamy, dark brown.
Melinda shook away the feeling. He was trying to mesmerize her on purpose, she just knew it. Well, she wouldn’t have any of his trickery. He had one purpose in mind, and it had nothing to do with seducing her. Instead, he wanted to take away her livelihood—the very thing her father spent so many years building. She would not succumb to Morgan Drake’s charms!
When his gaze dropped to her mouth, her heart jumped again. Curse him for making her react this way. Scowling, she pushed him aside and moved past him.
“Mr. Drake, please leave. Do not make me repeat myself, again.” She hurried to the door and opened it, motioning her hand for him to move.
The insipid man appeared too self-assured when he sauntered toward her with a lazy gait. As he met her by the door, he stopped and gave her a teasing grin.
“Miss Stewart, let me warn you. Our little discussion is not over. I will get you to tell me your feelings one way or another.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Consider it a challenge, then, because I assure you, I will be the victor. Not you.” She folded her arms. “I’m not the weakling you seem to think I am. And I will not cower.”
His gaze widened. “I think you underestimate me, my dear. I always get what I want.” He stroked her cheek. “Always.”
Her heart dropped. How could she resist this man now? She must find a way.
The Sweetest Challenge: Chapter Four
Morgan drummed his fingers on the table top as he waited for the barkeep to serve his ale. Although he was still in shock from seeing Melinda again—and dressed as a man—he had to get past her appearance. He had to focus on how to convince her to sell him her land. He didn’t want the blacksmith shop. He wanted what was beneath it. If she was determined to keep the shop as her place of employment—Heaven forbid—then she could find another location. Perhaps closer to town would be better for business.
Nonetheless, she was one stubborn woman and far different from the woman he met last night at the masked ball. Yet, in a way, she wasn’t all that different. Her amber eyes blazed with passion while she’d argued with him, just as they’d done when she’d kissed him. He definitely preferred her wearing a gown and having her hair styled, and yet, there was something relaxed about conversing with her while she wore men’s clothes.
If she wanted to pretend she was a man, he could definitely treat her like one…just as long as she didn’t flash him a sultry smile or didn’t let him see the sparkle of desire in her eyes.
When the barkeep brought Morgan’s ale, he quickly gulped it down, anticipating needing that little extra help this afternoon. He really needed to snap out of the fog his mind had been in ever since meeting the very intriguing Miss Melinda Stewart.
There had to be a way around her stubbornness. Everyone he’d dealt with in life had been able to be bought. Morgan followed in his father’s footsteps, and his father taught him well, which was why Morgan was so successful.
Melinda Stewart could be bought. He just had to find her weakness.
The door opened to the establishment as another patron entered. This one, however, hobbled in on crutches. Morgan studied the young man as he came in and glanced around the mostly empty tavern. Two other men who sat at the table closest to Morgan motioned their hands to the boy. He appeared much too young to be entering a place like this. But the other two men looked slightly older, so perhaps the boy wasn’t that young after all.
“Stewart, it’s nice to see you finally out and about,” said the man with the scruffy hair who sported an unshaved face.
The kid frowned as he awkwardly tried to pull out a chair and sit. “Yeah, my sister won’t allow me to leave the house, so I leave when she’s away.”
The other two laughed. The redheaded man poked the kid in the arm. “Do you always do everything your sister wants?”
The boy named Steward shrugged. “Well, she acts like my mother since I don’t have one, anymore. So I guess I should obey.”
The other two men tilted back their heads and laughed.
“Stewart, you are a pansy!” The scruffy man chuckled and moved the extra cup on the table in front of the boy. “Here, have a swig of this. It’ll put hair on your chest and make you a man.”
Morgan rolled his eyes. Whoever these two men were to the boy, they were not good friends at all.
“Yeah, why not.” The kid lifted up the tin cup. “Melinda isn’t here to stop me, so I might as well drink up.”
The woman’s name pulled at Morgan’s attention. What were the odds… No. This kid couldn’t be Melinda’s brother. Then again, she never did tell Morgan if her brother was younger or older. However, because she was a pushy kind of woman, one who liked to take charge, Morgan wouldn’t doubt she was older. After all, she was the only one working in the shop when he had dropped in to talk to the owner earlier.
Yet, this kid was named Stewart, not Jake. Unless…
Morgan’s arm froze just as he lifted the glass of ale to his lips. Stewart was the family’s name. Perhaps this kid was related to her after all.
The three men at the table clinked their tin cups together before lifting them to their mouths. Morgan rubbed his forehead. If this was indeed Melinda’s brother and he was laid up with an injured leg, she would be required to do all of the work. Could she handle it? Then again, their shop wasn’t making much money. Morgan had already checked with the bank in town and learned they were one month late on their payment.
Finally, his mind began working properly, and he pieced together how he might be able to make Melinda an offer she couldn’t refuse. And if she did, he had a backup plan.
Morgan stayed in his chair, hoping to overhear something from Stewart’s table that might help him in his endeavor. Unfortunately, he didn’t. The conversation going on at their table moved from Melinda, to some kind of search in finding lost treasure, and finally they discussed which women in town had the prettiest face.
Inwardly, Morgan chuckled. He’d been this age at one time, and he recalled having the same conversations with his friends. However, over the years, his opinion of women changed. No longer did the woman with the prettiest face attract him. Women had to be charming, and very intriguing. Women had to have some kind of mystery to their personalities to keep him interested.
Perhaps that was why he found Melinda Stewart so very fascinating. Although he had irritated the woman, he still couldn’t wait until the next time they talked. Hopefully, it would be soon. Of course, he would have to find a really good excuse to see her again…one that would allow her to want to talk to him.
Within seconds, something from the conversation they had earlier struck him. She had menti
oned how she saw the disgust on his face when realizing she was dressed as a man. Part of him wanted to defend this reaction. Any sensible man would have reacted the same way. It wasn’t very often one ran across a woman purposely disguising herself as a man in order to work. Yet, another part of him wanted to apologize to her. He shouldn’t have been repulsed. Surprised yes, but not disgusted.
So perhaps he did have a reason to see her again—to apologize.
When the three men at the table had grown quiet, it jarred Morgan out of his thoughts. He peeked over his shoulder toward the table. The three sat huddled, whispering. Morgan adjusted in his chair, trying to hear their conversation without appearing as if he were eavesdropping.
He caught certain words in their discussion—stagecoach, money, Wednesday, and kidnapping.
He sucked in a quick breath. These three couldn’t possibly be thinking of robbing a stagecoach or even kidnapping…could they? The twist in Morgan’s gut told him they were. Three hoodlums like Stewart and his friends who were down on their luck and needing money would certainly turn to crime to get what they wanted.
“Jake,” one of the men said softly, “make sure your sister doesn’t know about it.”
“Don’t worry,” Jake answered. “I’ll make certain Melinda is kept busy.”
Now Morgan knew. This was Melinda’s younger brother. Morgan also realized that overhearing this conversation gave him an excuse to talk to Melinda.
Soon!
* * *
Grumbling, Melinda kicked her booted foot into the stool, knocking it over. Why had she acted in such a way? True, her feelings had been hurt, but she expected him to act in this manner. Thus, the very reason she didn’t like people to know she was a woman.
She blamed the masked ball last night. She shouldn’t have allowed Judith to talk her into going. Wearing a lovely gown, and having her hair styled made her feel feminine. She missed that. But until Jake was old enough to run their father’s business by himself, she had no other choice.
Her Perfect Gentleman: A Regency Romance Anthology Page 44
