by Laura Landon
“I don’t need anyone to protect me.” She placed the pen she held in her hands down on the desktop with a decided slap and glared at him. “I would like to talk to you before we begin.”
“Ah, I was wondering when we were going to get around to this.”
“Please, be serious.”
He sat back in his chair and tried to look contrite. “Very well. You have my complete attention.”
She glared at him as if she didn’t find his attempt to humor her amusing in the least.
“From the time I was small, my mother instilled in me the philosophy that to make a mistake wasn’t the tragedy.” She rushed this out as if the best way to confront an uncomfortable situation was to put it behind her as quickly as possible. “To repeat the mistake was. I made a grave mistake last night.”
“Exactly what mistake are you referring to?”
“You know exactly what I’m referring to.”
“I think I do.” He held back his smile. “Except I’m not sure I consider it a mistake.”
“Then you should. Because it was a mistake. A mistake that will never happen again.”
“It won’t?”
She stopped, her breath catching in mid sigh, her body halting as if she’d turned to stone. Her face turned pale and the small inkling of concern he felt for her grew larger.
“Please.” She kept her voice low, perhaps for Henry Tibbles’s benefit, or because her word was meant as a plea, and begging came so very hard for her. “It can’t.”
She rose from her chair and walked to a window that overlooked the small park below. “You were right when you said I needed you. I do,” she said without turning to face him. “A woman is at a monumental disadvantage in today’s world. My mother realized that too, except she had Father to act as the figurehead for Bradford Brewery. I don’t…until my father returns,” she added quickly.
“So you are forced to accept my interference.”
“Your assessment was correct when you said we need to acquire more tied properties. How advantageous is it to produce more ale if you have nowhere to distribute it? The King’s Crown will be a huge boon. It has one of the finest reputations in the county and the amount it would purchase would be very impressive.”
“Has your father left you in such a precarious position?”
She didn’t answer and he sensed she wouldn’t without prodding. He crossed one ankle over the opposite knee and gave her his full attention. “I realize I struck a nerve but you might as well explain yourself. If you knew me better, you’d know I am like a dog with a bone. Once I latch onto something, I don’t let go.”
She looked over her shoulder and gazed into his face for a long revealing moment. “Have you ever met my father?”
“No, I’m afraid I haven’t had the pleasure.” He tried to imagine what kind of man would risk his family’s future over a deck of cards, then abandon them rather than face what he’d done. “Or wouldn’t I think it was a pleasure?”
She turned away from him again but her smile reflected in the pane of the window. “Oh, yes. It would be a pleasure. Everyone who meets my father adores him. He’s the life of a party, always happy, always the center attraction, and he enjoys nothing more than to drink the night away with his friends.”
“But…”
“But sometimes he forgets he has a family to come home to, or that others rely on him to make good and wise decisions.”
“Which he doesn’t always do.”
She shook her head.
“How did your mother handle this?”
Her expression changed. He thought he’d seen every facet of her personality but at the mention of her mother her face took on a warm glow.
“My mother was hopelessly in love with my father and did everything in her power to make up for his shortcomings.”
She hesitated for a few seconds and Gray didn’t rush her to continue. Somehow he knew it was important for her to tell him how special her mother was.
She released a sigh. “Mother was a wine merchant’s daughter working in her father’s shop the first time she met Father. She said it was love at first sight for her, but it took her a little longer to convince Father that he loved her enough to marry her.”
“Which she evidently did.”
“Oh, yes. Father said it didn’t take all that much work on Mother’s part. He held off because he didn’t want to make it too easy on her.”
Gray smiled. “Did your father’s family object to him marrying a merchant’s daughter?”
“Not terribly much. Father wasn’t Baron Bradley then, but my grandfather’s second son. He acquired the title, however, less than a year after he and Mother married when Father’s older brother and my grandfather both died of a fever.” Worry lines darkened Maggie’s features.
“Is that when things changed for your parents?” Gray asked.
“Father was totally unprepared for the responsibility that came with the barony. He’d lived the spoiled, pampered life of a second son, never dreaming that the day would come when he’d be forced to run the estates as well as the brewery.”
Gray tried not to react to the description she painted of the life of a second son, but much of what she said struck close to home.
“Fortunately,” she continued, “Mother had spent her entire life helping in her father’s shop. She was a brilliant business woman who understood the inner workings of a business far better than Father could ever hope to.”
“A trait she passed down to you.”
She paused as her fingers ran across the wood that separated the window panes. “I cannot claim to possess her brilliance and I will never be as accomplished a business woman as she was. But she endeavored to teach me everything she knew. One cannot come away without a certain amount of knowledge when taught by a master.”
“So your mother ran the brewery while your father ran away to London.” Gray tried not to let his statement come out like an accusation but from the narrowing of her gaze, he’d failed.
“Father was overwhelmed by every aspect of the brewery. London Society was familiar territory to him. He hated life in the country and was bored to death whenever he was forced to spend too much time here. So he left to go where he was comfortable, where he wasn’t lost in Mother’s shadow.”
“Your mother sounds like an amazing woman.”
“She was.”
“I wish I could have known her.” Gray wasn’t sure when he’d crossed the room or how he could have gotten here when he’d sworn he would stay far away from her.
“You would have admired her.” She seemed unaware of how close he stood.
“How old were you when she died?”
“Nearly seventeen. Felicity and Charlotte were only nine and ten. Too young to get along without a mother, so Aunt Hester came to take care of us. She was Father’s paternal aunt and her family was already grown.”
“But you no longer needed a mother.”
She turned around and the surprise registered on her face. She hesitated for a few long seconds as if she wanted to step away from him, then braced her shoulders and stood firm.
Sometimes he couldn’t guess what she thought, but now, he read her like a book. “You don’t have to answer,” he said, his voice so soft it was almost a whisper. “My guess would be that you were closer to your mother than your sisters. And that you missed her more than anyone.”
She wrapped her arms around her waist as if hugging her body would make her decision to reveal anything easier.
“There’s so much about Mother that Felicity and Lottie were too young to remember, or appreciate. They loved Mama but they didn’t know her like Father and I did. When she died, we were the ones who truly realized what we’d lost.”
Gray was surprised by her last admission. “Your father loved your mother that much?”
She frowned. “What? Did you think my father didn’t love her?”
“I don’t know what I thought.” He kept his hands at his side so he didn’t
reach out to her. “I just assumed that—”
“That because my father drank and gambled much of the profits Mother worked so hard to make that he didn’t love her?”
“That’s certainly what his actions suggest.”
“Nothing could be further from the truth. My father drank and gambled because he couldn’t cope with the huge responsibility that had been thrust on him. He spent a majority of his time in London because he was unable to compete with Mother.” She lowered her gaze to the floor. “Can you imagine how embarrassing it was when the brewery workers went to Mother instead of Father with their questions? Or how uncomfortable it made him to delay answering any question until he’d talked the situation over with Mother to make sure he didn’t give the wrong answer?”
“I imagine it made for some very awkward moments.”
“Yes,” she answered on a sigh that was filled with the hurt and embarrassment only a child can feel for her parent.
“And yet your father loved your mother?”
As if she couldn’t look him in the eye, she turned again to stare out the window. “As much as Mother loved him in return. It was a love that was fated to cause more heartache than joy, more pain than elation.”
She lifted her small hand and slid her index finger across the window panes. “One day when I was about ten or eleven years old I came in here and found Mother sitting at the desk. Her eyes were red and I realized she’d been crying. Do you know what I asked her?”
Gray didn’t reply because no answer was necessary.
“Most children would have asked their parent what was wrong, but I didn’t. I said, ‘What did Father do, Mother?’ Of course she told me he hadn’t done anything, but I knew it was a lie and became angry. Because I was immature and didn’t understand life at all, I asked my Mother why she’d married Father when he made her so unhappy.”
“What did she say?” Gray asked because he was anxious to hear the answer.
“She said, ‘I married him because I couldn’t live my life without him. If I would have to make the choice a thousand times over, I wouldn’t choose anyone differently.’”
She turned from the window until she faced him squarely. Her gaze locked with his as if she wanted to make sure she had his full attention.
“And the reason you told me this?” He tried to look more relaxed than he felt.
The air crackled with a tension that came close to sparking. He knew what she was going to say. He knew why she’d told him about her mother and father. She intended to warn him that she would not repeat her mother’s mistake. As if she’d have the possibility to make that mistake.
He wanted to laugh. He had no intention of marrying anyone. He was a confirmed bachelor, an irredeemable rake, and most of all, he had no plan to change.
He looked at her and opened his mouth to tell her how remote that possibility was, when
the air left his body in a rush so strong he reached for the corner of the desk to steady himself. A thought invaded his mind that was so potent he couldn’t swing free of it. For the first time in his life he was filled with an emotion so intoxicating he thought he might be drunk from it.
He wanted to smile.
Damn. He was smiling.
“I know why you’re here, Mr. Delaney.”
Damn. Why hadn’t he seen it before? He looked at the serious expression on her face and broadened his smile. “Do you really?”
He doubted it. He most assuredly doubted it because he didn’t know until just this moment why he’d come – why he’d really come.
“Yes. You want my brewery. And you think you can marry me to get it.”
“Which I can’t, you’re telling me.”
“Which. You. Can’t. I won’t make the same mistake my mother made. I won’t marry a man so identical to my father it’s as if you’d been cast from the same mold. I won’t spend my life regretting a mistake I made in a moment of weakness.”
Gray shrugged his shoulders and sighed heavily. “Very well.” He pushed himself away from the corner of the desk with a quick shove, then picked up the ledgers he’d worked on and looked at her. “Should we get busy then?”
He motioned for her to sit back down so they could resume working on the papers he’d brought from Briars. When he glanced up he nearly burst out laughing at the surprised expression on her face. “What?” he asked with all the innocence he could muster.
“That’s it?” she stuttered, her eyes as big and round as china saucers.
“That’s what?”
“You aren’t going to argue with me, or tell me that wasn’t your intent?”
“To marry you to get Bradford Brewery?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“No, what?”
“No, that wasn’t my intent. When we marry, Bradford Brewery won’t have a thing to do with it.”
“Didn’t you just hear me?”
“I heard you fine. You think the reason we’ll marry is because of the brewery. But it won’t be.”
“No, because I have no intention of ever marrying you. Ever.”
“I know,” he said in a placating tone. “Now, should we get busy?”
Gray stood before his chair and waited for her to cross the room, but she didn’t. She simply stood as still as a marble statue and stared at him with the most beguilingly confused look he’d ever seen. With an inward chuckle, he placed his ledgers back on the corner of the desk and walked across the room.
“Maggie, dear,” he said, resting his hands on her shoulders. “Don’t worry so. You have nothing to fear. I have the same philosophy in regards to marriage as I have with kissing.”
Gray couldn’t help himself. He shouldn’t move too fast. The last thing he wanted was to frighten her. But when he looked down at that delectable turned-up nose and her more than kissable lips, his body seemed to move on its own.
He placed his index finger beneath her chin and tilted her head upward just enough so his lips could meet her lips. Very slowly, he lowered his head and kissed her.
She started to pull away, but he deepened his kiss before she could break their contact. She moaned, not a moan of fear or revulsion, but a small, earthy sound that indicated her surrender.
He couldn’t risk kissing her too long, that would make her fearful of him and resist him at every turn. Yet, his heart raced faster and he wanted to continue to kiss her until the same time next year. He shared one final kiss with her and pulled away.
“You’re safe with me, Maggie, my love.” He dropped his forehead to hers. “I’d never kiss an unwilling female.” He dragged in a deep breath of air. “And I’ll never marry an unwilling bride.”
Her breath shuddered and she opened her mouth to say something but a sound from the doorway stopped her.
“Do you need anything else, Miss Bradford?”
Gray dropped his hands from her shoulders and turned his head. Henry Tibbles stood in the doorway.
“N…no, Henry. There’s nothing. Thank you, for checking.”
“Of course,” Tibbles said with a scowl on his face and a warning glare in Gray’s direction. He turned.
“Mr. Tibbles.” Gray stopped him. “Do you have the income and expenses for the current year compiled?”
“Of course,” he answered in a terse tone.
“Miss Bradford and I will need those figures as soon as possible.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll bring them right up.”
Tibbles started to leave but Gray wanted to make at least one attempt to ease the hostility he felt in Maggie’s employee. “Mr. Tibbles?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Thank you.”
Tibbles hesitated, then his shoulders seemed to ease just a fraction. “You’re welcome, sir.”
When he was gone, Gray turned back to Maggie. Her face appeared pale beneath her flushed cheeks. “We’d best get busy,” he said. “I’d like to have all the information at hand before I meet with Briars again tonight.”
“You’re go
ing back…tonight?”
“Yes. But this time you’d be wise to let me give you my report in the morning. I’m afraid we won’t have Tibbles to interrupt us, and I can’t promise to be near the gentleman I was last time.”
Gray chuckled at her shocked expression but he quickly ushered her to her chair before she had time to chastise him. When she was settled, he relaxed back into his chair and propped an ankle across the opposite knee. The sooner he got all the information he needed, the sooner he could escape the physical torture of being so close to her.
“Now, I believe you have the figures to indicate the annual ale produced here. How many kegs do you show the brewery produced last year?”
Chapter Nine
Maggie tightened the sash of her robe around her waist and slipped her feet into her slippers, then walked across her dark bedroom and silently opened the door. She couldn’t stay confined any longer. She couldn’t stand the waiting, not knowing what progress Gray had made with Mr. Briars.
She lit a candle from one of the few glowing embers in the fireplace and stepped out into the hallway, then down the stairs. When she reached the entryway she hesitated, not certain which room she wanted to go to. Snow had started falling again and from the morning room she could look out the double French doors onto the patio and the garden beyond. She could start a fire in the grate and snuggle up in a blanket and hope to eventually fall asleep in the chair.
Or, she could go to the room her Aunt Hester had turned into a sitting room. Only a few hours had passed since she and her sisters retired for bed and the room should still be a little warm. Or…
…she could go to the library.
From there the large windows on the east looked out onto the street, then to the brewery beyond it. Perhaps she’d catch a glimpse of Mr. Delaney when he returned. The expression on his face might tell if the evening had gone well or not. Perhaps she’d just watch him for a few seconds and pray that this time her heart wouldn’t race in her breast when she saw him. Or that her lips wouldn’t tingle as they had each time she remembered the kiss they’d shared this afternoon. Or that the heavy weight wouldn’t settle deep in her stomach like it did each time she thought of him.
