More Than Willing

by Laura Landon

  “I didn’t come to visit,” she snapped. “I came to tend your wound. Please remove your shirt.”

  “No.”

  Her eyes opened wide and she stared at him with a befuddled look on her face.

  “I can hardly see how badly you’re hurt if you refuse to remove your shirt.”

  “Then I guess you will simply have to take my word for the fact that I’m not injured badly enough to worry over.”

  Gray held her gaze while she studied him. She moved across the room and sat in the lone chair.

  “This is the second time you’ve refused to allow anyone to see your back.”

  “Not anyone, Maggie, my dear. Only you.”

  “Very well. This is the second time you’ve refused to allow me to see your back. Why?”

  “Would you believe I’m modest?”

  She rolled her eyes in exasperation then clasped her hands in a demure pose. “No, Mr. Delaney. You are anything but modest. I think you don’t want me to see your back because you suffered an injury several years ago and you believe I will be repulsed by the sight of it.”

  Gray tried to keep the relaxed smile on his face but he felt it wash away as if he’d been doused with water. “But, of course, you are confident you would not be.”

  “I would not.”

  “Then why do you suppose I am reluctant to let you see it?”

  She breathed a deep sigh that made her chest rise and fall, then hesitated just long enough, he thought, to give herself time to consider her answer.

  “Because the most obvious question I might ask would be to inquire how you’d received such an injury and that is a topic you prefer not to discuss.” Her words nearly knocked him to his knees.

  Gray sank down onto the bed and stared at her. “How astute you are. If you think you know the reason I don’t want to discuss what happened to me, does that mean you’ve decided to let me see to my wounds myself?”

  “No. It means I won’t be shocked by what happened to you and I’m waiting for you to get over your self consciousness.”

  For the second time since he’d met her, Gray stamped down an infrequent flash of anger and decided that he couldn’t keep his disfigurement hidden from her forever – especially if he thought he might marry her one day.

  “Very well.” He pushed himself to his feet. “There’s a basin on that stand with fresh water in it and some clean cloths beside it. Use the salve that’s in the cupboard by the window.”

  He didn’t turn to look at her but pulled a stool out from beneath the table and removed his jacket first, then loosened the laces of his shirt.

  Gray felt a wave of frustration when the laces eluded his trembling fingers and pulled at them with a hard tug that snapped them.

  “Here, let me.” She stepped in front of him and pushed his hands out of the way.

  “You’re a very determined woman, aren’t you?”

  She smiled. “So I’ve been told.”

  When she had the laces undone, she stepped away from him to get the basin, as if she sensed his need to remove his shirt away from her scrutiny.

  Gray hesitated an agonizing moment, then released a harsh breath and pulled the material over his head. When he was finished, he sat on the stool and waited.

  For several long moments neither of them made a sound. He expected to hear a gasp of revulsion when she first saw him, but he heard nothing. Not even the soft intake of her breath. But he knew she looked at him. He felt her gaze penetrating his flesh, warming every ragged scar and rippling muscle, soothing and comforting what he’d always considered hideous beyond measure. Then, without warning, she touched him.

  Gray nearly bolted to his feet, the feel of her fingers against him so totally unexpected. No one had ever touched him there. Even the women he’d bedded had avoided touching his back. But she touched him as if his raised flesh was nothing out of the ordinary.

  “How old were you when this happened?”

  He swallowed hard. “Fourteen.”

  Her hands moved across his shoulders. “You’re fortunate you survived.”

  “Am I?”

  Her hands stopped. “Of course you are.”

  He nodded. “Yes, I am.”

  He waited, anticipating the next question, searching for the flippant words to avoid an answer. But no question came, as if she knew he didn’t intend to divulge any information concerning the scars that marred his back.

  “You have a splinter of wood embedded in your back. I’m going to have to dig it out.”

  “That sounds enjoyable.”

  “For me, perhaps.”

  She smiled.

  He didn’t see her smile. He couldn’t. She still stood behind him. But he felt her smile. Rather, he felt a warmth wash over him and knew it had come from her smile.

  “There’s a sharp knife in that box beneath the wash basin.”

  He heard her walk across the room and when she came back she had the knife and a candle in her hand.

  “Light the candle and hold the blade over the flame. I’ll clean the wound as best as I can.”

  The cleaning stung his flesh.

  When she finished, she took the knife and dug the spike out of his back. Her ministrations were swift and sure and her touch gentle, though the pain seared through him. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth.

  “You’ve done this before,” he said when she finished and the pain had lessened enough for him to speak.

  “Accidents aren’t uncommon at the brewery and Dr. Meechum doesn’t have time to take care of them all. I usually get called to treat those that aren’t so severe.”

  Gray held his breath while she applied salve to his injury. Pain wasn’t the reason his lungs failed to fill with enough air to breathe. Her nearness had a much greater affect on him. And her touch. The soft, gentle movement of her hands on his back sent shock waves pummeling through him. And suddenly, he could imagine her hands moving over his shoulders and his chest and every inch of perfect flesh on his body – instead of his grotesquely marred back.

  The harsh sound of tearing material pulled him out of his reverie and he glanced at her over his shoulder. “I owe you a new petticoat,” he said looking at the long strip of white cotton she held in her hands. “I think I’ll enjoy shopping for the perfect garment for you.” He smiled. “Except the one I choose to replace the one you sacrificed for me won’t be cotton.”

  “You’ll do nothing of the sort.”

  “Oh, yes,” he teased. “And it won’t be white. Definitely not white.”

  “Stop it,” she demanded, her cheeks turning a delightful shade of scarlet. “You know such talk is inappropriate.”

  “Yes, but aren’t you the least bit interested in what color I’d choose for you?”

  Her hands halted their ministration and his heart skipped a beat. Bloody hell, he wasn’t used to reacting this way. When her hands moved again he could breathe.

  “I’m nearly finished,” she finally said. “Do you feel strong enough to stand? It will be easier for me to put this bandage around your chest.”

  Gray pushed himself to his feet. “You’ve worked a miracle. It hardly hurts.” He rolled his shoulders and felt very little pain.

  “Stop that or you’ll make it bleed again.”

  She placed a bandage on his injury, then reached around him to wrap the long strip of her petticoat around his body.

  “Hold this,” she ordered, pressing the material against his chest. Her arms weren’t long enough to encircle him unless she pressed herself intimately close.

  Gray hesitated, hoping she would, then held the material against his chest while she moved to his left. His body stiffened each time she reached around him. Her touch acted like a warm, moist heat that radiated through him to reach deep into the center of his body. He wasn’t sure how many times he could allow her to brush against him without pulling her into his arms.

  “I think that should hold it.” She sounded as out of breath as he felt. “I’ll tear thi
s in two and tie it in the front.

  She tore the material, then stepped in front of him. Her cheeks were a brilliant scarlet and the hand that held one end of the piece she’d torn trembled.

  And Gray nearly jumped for joy.

  In order to reach the other end of the material she’d have to reach around him, only this time from the front. She’d have to lean against him and wrap her arms around his middle. She’d have to step close enough to him that he’d feel the firm contour of her breasts pressed against his chest. She’d situate herself close enough to him that he’d feel her warm, ragged breath wash over his flesh.

  She leaned forward and stopped, as if she suddenly realized how precarious her position was.

  Gray gave her enough time to step away, but she didn’t. She moved even closer, then reached around him to gather the loose end of the bandage. He waited until she’d tied the two ends together, then couldn’t stop himself from gathering her in his arms.

  He didn’t move so quickly to startle her, but slowly lifted his arms to envelop her. He gave her enough time to erase the look of surprise before he stared into her eyes with longing. He paused for her to indicate her unwillingness before he brought his lips down on top of hers.

  But she wasn’t unwilling.

  She was more than willing.

  She didn’t fight him. She didn’t hold her lips lifeless beneath his. Instead, she tilted her head and returned his kiss with a passion that set him on fire.

  Her lips were warm and inviting, the feel of her in his arms pliant and yielding. Gray brought her closer and deepened his kiss. She answered his hunger by parting her lips to admit him entrance. And when he entered her warm, honeyed cavern, she moaned a desperate plea that sent his passion soaring.

  “Maggie,” he crooned, showering her face and neck with kisses.

  She didn’t answer, but cupped her hands to his cheeks and brought his lips back to hers.

  Gray was near to exploding, his passion burning white hot with desire. He kissed her again and again, then deepened his kisses and kissed her over again.

  She wasn’t timid in her response. Her tongue surged forward to meet his, to battle his, to mate. Her hands traveled the length of his body, roaming over his exposed chest, touching his bare shoulders and coming to rest on his scarred flesh.

  His hands moved as feverishly as hers, skimming upward from the sloping roundness of her hips, to the narrowing of her waist, to the gentle swell of her breasts. He hesitated, then cupped them in his palms.

  She leaned into him and Gray was certain he’d been given the most special gift imaginable. The feeling of her nestled against him was euphoric, a mind-soaring experience that left him breathless and trembling.

  He wanted to continue to kiss her until the sun sank beneath the horizon, then take her to his bed and spend this night and a thousand others with her. But a dose of reasoning and common sense crashed through his raging passion and he lifted his mouth from hers with an agonizing moan.

  “Ah, Maggie, my love.” He gasped, his chest heaving and his breaths coming in ragged gulps.

  He pulled her close and held her until she felt steadier in his arms. For several long minutes neither of them moved. Finally, she placed her palms flat against his chest and stepped away from him.

  “Maggie, I—”

  She stood with her back to him and when he spoke she held up a trembling hand to stop him. “I… uh…” She took in a shuddering breath. “I have discovered another inn that might be for sale. I’d like you to negotiate the purchase for me.”

  Gray could have roared with laughter. Of all the statements he expected her to make – no, of all the excuses he expected her to make for why she’d allowed him to kiss her – no, for why she’d kissed him the way she had, he’d never been thrown so completely off the mark. He never expected her to ignore the subject altogether.

  “Of course, Maggie, my love,” he said with a smile on his face. “For you, anything.”

  “Aunt Hester heard of an inn to the north of here that is for sale.”

  An ominous fear settled over him. “How far north?”

  “About an hour’s ride.”

  A chill washed over him. “What’s the name of this inn?”

  She turned to face him. “The Spotted Goose.”

  Gray felt the blood drain from his head and reached out to steady himself. “No.”

  “No, you do not think it’s for sale? Or, no, you will not negotiate the sale for me?”

  “Yes! Both! All of the above.”

  “Why? Because it is near your home?”

  Gray made an effort to calm his building temper. “I have no intention of ever returning to Mayfair. Not even for you, Maggie, my love.”

  She turned around and the look in her eyes acted like a sword piercing his heart. “I did not think you would.”

  “So you thought to change my mind with your kisses?”

  “No. Kissing you was to change my mind.”

  Damn her! “Did you succeed?”

  She shook her head then walked to the door. “I failed on both counts.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Maggie stood in the foyer with her bonnet tied and her cloak fastened while she waited for Cleary to bring the carriage from the stables. She looped the cords of her reticule over her arm and held the bag close to her middle to keep it safe. She had nearly every spare pound she had in the world with her, in case Orin Wattich was interested in selling The Spotted Goose – although that was hardly likely if he was as hesitant of doing business with a woman as most other men were. But she had to try. And she knew not to expect Gray to help.

  Her cheeks burned hot when she remembered the passionate kisses they’d shared just three days ago. Since then she’d gone to the brewery every day as usual, but she hadn’t seen him there. He hadn’t made an excuse to see her as had become his habit. In fact, she almost thought he avoided her.

  Maggie squeezed her eyes shut when her lips tingled. How long would it be before she forgot the feel of his lips atop hers?

  Allowing him to kiss her had been the stupidest thing she could have done. Kissing him back the way she did had been even more brainless. She’d nearly had herself convinced that the only reason his first kiss affected her so was because she hadn’t been kissed in so long. And he’d been drinking, which had to be the reason his kisses turned so passionate. And it was the middle of the night. And he was in a celebratory mood. And…

  She stomped her foot in irritation. She’d been so sure that the second time she kissed him wouldn’t be at all like the first. And it wasn’t. She breathed a deep sigh and clasped her gloved hand over her mouth.

  The kiss had been so much more she couldn’t begin to explain it.

  She looked out the long glass window beside the door to make sure the carriage wasn’t waiting. She was glad Gray had turned her down when she’d asked him to go to The SpottedGoose. She couldn’t let herself forget that even though he’d told her the reason he was here was to learn the brewery business, that may not be his only reason. Or, it may not be the reason at all. Knowing his reputation, she found it far more likely that he was here because he saw the advantage in marrying her. After all, the brewery would provide him with a guaranteed income. If he could convince her to marry him, it would be possible for him to leave her to manage Bradford Brewery so he could run off to London to spend the profits—the way her father had done.

  Maggie looked out the window again, then waved their waiting butler away and reached for the door when the carriage crossed the street. She tucked her reticule close to her and breathed a deep sigh as she left the house. She would show him she could manage without him. Suggesting that he go back to where he’d grown up had been a stupid idea anyway. She didn’t know why she thought returning to where his mother had died would help him face what happened there. Or why she thought going back to where he’d been injured so badly would heal the wounds still raw on the inside.

  The idea had been stupid. Sh
e had no business getting involved with Grayson Delaney or his life anyway. He was nothing but trouble and the further she stayed away from him the better off she’d be.

  Maggie walked out onto the portico and down the steps and short path, then took one step toward the waiting carriage. The carriage door opened and Grayson Delaney stepped out. She came to an abrupt halt.

  “Good morning, Miss Bradford.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m going with you.” He held out his arm for her to take.

  She ignored his offer. “I seem to remember asking for your assistance before and being rejected. I prefer to take your refusal as your final answer and go on my own.”

  “Don’t be stubborn about this, Maggie. Wattich is less likely to deal with a female than Briars.”

  “I am Miss Bradford to you, Mr. Delaney, and you may go back to your job in the brewery so I can be on my way.”

  He stepped back from her and smiled. “Did you bring any cash with you?”

  She didn’t answer, but clutched her reticule closer against her woolen pelisse.

  “Good. Wattich is the kind that will be influenced by the sight of a few pounds.”

  “Thank you for your advice,” she said with a lofty air. “Now, if you will excuse me.”

  “Of course.” He stepped back for her to climb into the carriage.

  “Do you know which road to take to get there, Cleary?” he asked.

  “Aye, Mr. Delaney.”

  “Very well, man. Be on your way.”

  Maggie sank back into the cushions and breathed a sigh of relief when he didn’t follow her inside. She felt the carriage shift and just as it was about to leave the door swung open and Gray bolted inside.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m going with you, Maggie, my love.”

  “No you’re not!”

  “Ah, but I am. I told Cleary that you’d probably object to a guard going with you—”

  “A guard?”