More Than Willing

by Laura Landon

  “How do you do, Mr. Wattich.”

  “Miss Bradford. It’s an honor to have you visit my establishment.” Wattich executed a perfect greeting.

  “The pleasure’s mine. The Spotted Goose has a reputation for serving some of the finest ale in this part of the country.”

  The innkeeper’s eyebrows arched. “Thank you. How kind of you to say so.”

  “May I ask who supplies your ale?”

  Gray noticed the wariness in Wattich’s expression but there was also a noticeable lift to his shoulders as his chest puffed with pride.

  “The Thratchett Brewery.”

  “A fine establishment. They’ve been in business for years.”

  “Yes, they have. Could I interest you in a glass of their ale?”

  “I don’t think—” Gray started to say, but Maggie stopped his words with a lift of her hand.

  “I’d love a glass,” she said.

  “Please, Miss Bradford, sit down.”

  Gray showed Maggie to the chair Wattich indicated and when she was seated, he sat in the chair next to hers. Wattich poured three glasses of ale and brought them over.

  “Thank you,” Maggie said, then lifted the glass to her mouth. “Excellent, Mr. Wattich.”

  Wattich acknowledged her with a proud, yet guarded look.

  She took another sip, then focused her amazing blue eyes on the innkeeper. “Of course, in my opinion Bradford ale is infinitely superior.”

  Wattich’s hand halted with his glass midway to his mouth, his jaw opened slightly, and he stared at her in mild surprise. He hesitated a few moments, then dropped his head back and bellowed a deep laugh. “Spoken like a true brewer,” he said when he’d stopped laughing.

  Gray could have hugged her. Her expression when she acknowledged his compliment contained confidence. Her voice echoed with a tone of authority. And the look on Wattich’s face said his opinion of her had soared.

  “I’d have been disappointed if you considered the ale you produced equal to any other ale.”

  “There is no ale that is equal. My question to you is whether or not you’d like to have my superior ale served in your establishment.”

  “Are you offering to buy The Spotted Goose?”

  Gray’s blood raced cold. Bloody hell but she had courage.

  “Would you consider selling it?”

  The silence that stretched between them sucked the air out of the room. Gray didn’t release a breath until Wattich shifted in his chair.

  “That depends, Miss Bradford.”

  “On what?” Her voice remained steady and calm, as if she were entertaining in her drawing room and the weather was the topic of conversation.

  “On what Grayson Delaney has to do with your offer.”

  Gray’s heart skipped a beat and he forced himself not to react. “I didn’t realize you’d have an objection to any connection I might have to Miss Bradford.”

  Wattich lowered his glass. “I didn’t say I objected. I’m just interested in your involvement in this.”

  “Mr. Delaney isn’t—”

  Gray held up his hand to stop her explanation. “When I discovered Miss Bradford intended to come here I offered to accompany her because I was familiar with the territory. That is my only involvement.”

  “So there is nothing you intend to offer toward the purchase of The Spotted Goose?”

  Gray shook his head. “Nothing.”

  “I see.”

  Orin Wattich rose from his chair and walked to the beveled-glass cupboard and opened a small narrow door on the side. He reached in and took out a bottle then turned to face them.

  “Would you care for a glass of very fine ale?” he said over the quick intake of Maggie’s breath. “I know you’ll recognize its exquisite quality.”

  Wattich filled three clean glasses and brought them over. “I think you’ll like this. I purchased it three years ago. It was a very fine year for Bradford Brewery.”

  Gray couldn’t help but notice how Maggie’s hand shook when she took the glass. A feeling of unease settled over him and he considered refusing the glass Wattich held out to him. Almost as if he agreed to more than a glass of ale if he took it.

  “I believe Miss Bradford would like to make you an offer for your business,” Gray said, taking a sip of the ale. “But first perhaps you could tell her your asking price for The Spotted Goose.”

  Wattich sat in his chair and rolled the glass between his fingers. “There will be only one asking price.”

  Gray smiled. “Then we will have to meet it…if we intend to acquire another inn.”

  We…

  Why the hell had he used that word? It would have been just as easy to use “she.” Then she’ll have to meet it…if she intends to acquire another inn.

  But he hadn’t. And Wattich caught his mistake the minute the word was out of his mouth.

  “My price is whatever amount Miss Bradford has in her bag.”

  “But you don’t even know how much that is,” Maggie said, incredulity evident in her voice. “The amount I brought with me might be no more than a small amount of pin money I carry to buy a meal and see me home in the case of an emergency.”

  “That could very well be, but my price remains the amount in your purse,” Wattich said.

  Ice rushed through Gray’s veins, a feeling of dread thundering against his temples as ominous as the building terror that set his heart thundering. “And…?”

  Wattich turned a penetrating gaze on him. “And your promise that you will reside one month of each year at Mayfair Manor.”

  Gray shook his head.

  “That you will oversee the estate and see to its welfare, like your mother intended.”

  “No,” Gray managed through gritted teeth.

  “And that you will make sure your tenants are adequately cared for.”

  Gray bolted from his chair. “No. The offer for The Spotted Goose is between you and Miss Bradford. I have nothing to do with it!”

  Wattich followed him to his feet. “The success of this offer depends on you. You have everything to do with it.”

  “Mr. Wattich, I—”

  Orin Wattich held up his hand to stop her.

  “Save your breath, Maggie,” Gray said, then threw the remaining liquor to the back of his throat. “There’s nothing you can say that will make a difference.”

  “But I—”

  “Delaney’s right, Miss Bradford. If acquiring The Spotted Goose is important to either of you, Delaney will agree to my terms.”

  Gray’s head pounded. He wouldn’t go back there. He wouldn’t spend even one night beneath Mayfair’s roof, let alone an entire month. He refused to spend hour after hour planning the best way to make Mayfair profitable when he wished it would have burned to the ground the night of the fire. And he wouldn’t… no, he couldn’t call on each of the tenants like his mother and father had done to make sure their house was in good repair and that they weren’t going without.

  Not after what he’d done. He never intended to face any of them again. And if he agreed to Wattich’s terms, that’s exactly what he’d have to do. Surely Wattich knew he’d never agree to that.

  The air caught in Gray’s throat. Of course Wattich knew Gray wouldn’t. That’s why he’d made the terms. Because he knew Gray would never agree to them.

  Gray walked to the cupboard and refilled his glass with the Bradford ale to separate himself from Wattich. “What would you do if I took you up on your ridiculous offer?”

  “Do you think I made those stipulations because I thought you wouldn’t agree to them?” Wattich frowned. “I’ve run The Spotted Goose for more than three decades. I wouldn’t gamble with it so foolishly.”

  Gray studied Wattich’s demeanor as his features grew more serious. Bloody hell. His offer wasn’t a joke. He took a step toward Gray and for the first time in his life Gray wanted to back down.

  “Do you know what it’s been like since you left Mayfair Estate all those years ago? Night a
fter night the old men sit in my taproom and tell stories about how good life was when there was a lord of the manor.

  “Men like Colin Wingston and Robby Stephens tell everyone what it was like growing up with you. You were their hero, and over the years your image has only become larger and more perfect. You could ride a horse better, shoot a rifle better and skip a rock further than any of them. Rumor has it that with just a smile you could get any girl in the county to fall in love with you. You’re a god to them, Delaney. They look up to you, idolize you. Why, I don’t know. But they do.

  “The young men listen for every scrap of gossip that comes up from London about you and they’re confident that we’ll prosper again when you come back. Most of them should have moved on long ago to make something more of their lives, but they’ve stayed here because everyone’s sure you’ll come back some day. And when you do, everything will be like it was before.”

  “Stop!”

  Gray swiped at the film of perspiration that covered his forehead and lifted the bottle of Bradford ale. He sloshed some in his glass and threw it to the back of his throat, then turned to face the man threatening to ruin his life. “I didn’t ask for them to remember me like that.”

  “You didn’t have to. It’s who you are. It’s who they want you to be.”

  “Well, I’m not that person! And I want nothing to do with Mayfair.”

  “If you want The Spotted Goose you will.”

  “Then I guess The Spotted Goose won’t have the distinction of serving Bradford ale.”

  Gray suddenly remembered that Maggie was in the room with them; that she’d heard every word Wattich had said and now she knew. He turned to look at her and a knot settled deep in his gut. A frown creased her forehead and her cheeks were dark as if she was embarrassed that she’d been a witness to what Wattich revealed. But the look in her eyes caused him the greatest apprehension—the look of disappointment. “We’re leaving.”

  “But—”

  He crossed the room and held out his hand.

  She rose and took his outstretched arm. Her hand trembled atop his arm but she didn’t hesitate. She walked with him as if she accepted his decision without qualm.

  “If you change your mind,” Wattich said when they reached the door, “the offer will still be open. It will always be open.”

  “I won’t change my mind. I have no intention of stepping foot on Mayfair land ever again.”

  Gray let the door bounce against the wall when it opened, then placed his hand at Maggie’s back and ushered her from the room. Every eye in the inn glared at them as they left. The expressions of hopeful anticipation and pent-up expectancy dropped away as if someone pulled a mask from every face to reveal the bleak disappointment hidden beneath.

  The room hadn’t seemed so long when they’d entered, the gathering nearly as confining. All Gray heard over the ominous silence was the loud thudding of his boots as they hit the hard wooden floor. Even the sound of Maggie’s boots couldn’t compare to the thundering of his own footsteps.

  When they reached the door, Cleary was leaning against the wall, waiting. He pulled his collar up around his neck and stuck his hands in his heavy gloves then opened the door to let them escape the inn.

  Gray marched outside, welcoming the cold blast of air and the icy flakes that stung his face. “Get the carriage, Cleary.”

  “Are you sure you want to try going back?”

  For the first time Gray took note of his surroundings. Snow had fallen at an unbelievable rate since they’d entered The Spotted Goose and was far above his ankles as he walked. The wind had picked up and whipped around them with such force he had to hold his hat to keep it from blowing off his head. The snow was like stinging pellets burning his flesh wherever it hit.

  He stopped short and looked down to find Maggie futilely clutching at her skirts to keep them out of the snow. Her chest heaved up and down as she panted to catch her breath. Bloody hell, he’d pushed her through the snow as if she were a stock animal.

  He looked back at the inn and was overcome with a sense of panic. He wouldn’t go back. He couldn’t face all of them again. He refused to ask Wattich for lodging for the night and take the chance that if the snow didn’t stop they might not even be able to leave tomorrow.

  He frantically searched for an answer.

  “Can you get us to Mayfair, Cleary?” Maggie asked over the wind.

  “No!” Gray bellowed.

  “Can you?” she asked again, ignoring his objection.

  “If we leave right now, Miss.”

  “Then let’s go.”

  Cleary stepped toward the carriage to open the door but she waved him on. He hurried to the driver’s box.

  “Would you assist me?” She looked at Gray.

  He clenched his fists. She expected him to go with her to Mayfair Manor. To return to the one place he’d refused to think about for the last fifteen years. Walk through its doors and sleep beneath its roof. And face what had happened there.

  He couldn’t do it.

  “The snow isn’t letting up, Mr. Delaney,” she said, only her voice didn’t contain the firmness he’d heard before.

  This time he heard a trace of concern, a hint of nervousness, and he saw in her eyes evidence of her anxiety—whether for him, or because of the weather, he wasn’t sure.

  “We should be on our way.” She hesitated. “Or would you rather return to The Spotted Goose?”

  He was unable to move for a moment more, then, a false bravado kicked in and he smiled. With a hearty laugh, he trudged through the snow to where she waited by the carriage and chucked her under the chin. “No, Maggie, my love. We’ll not return to The Spotted Goose.”

  He reached to help her into the carriage, praying she didn’t notice how his hand trembled.

  “Let me take you to Mayfair Manor. At least there we’ll be able to find shelter for the night—if the walls haven’t crumbled to the ground since I left.”

  He helped her into the carriage then climbed in after her and dropped into the seat opposite her. “Go, Cleary,” he hollered in a voice he hoped didn’t give away his nervousness.

  He never thought he’d go back to Mayfair—but at least he had Maggie Bradford at his side.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Maggie studied him as the horses pulled the carriage through the building snow.

  His bravery was all an act.

  For just a few moments, she’d seen the real Grayson Delaney struggle with whether to return to The Spotted Goose and face the men who’d stared at him with such expectant looks on their faces. Or go back to his childhood home.

  She tried to recall his expression before the mask fell back into place, and the carefree, ne’er-do-well rogue of London he was reputed to be appeared once again.

  It was a practiced look, one honed to perfection by years of training to fool everyone into believing he was a scoundrel. Except…that lighthearted wastrel wasn’t who he pretended to be at all.

  Beneath the thick veneer of cheerful humor hid a serious side to his nature. A side that was tortured by something he didn’t want to face. And although she knew it had to be related to the fire and his mother’s death, she knew there was more.

  “Don’t expect too much when we reach Mayfair.”

  His voice startled her. He’d relaxed into the corner of the carriage the minute they’d pulled away from the inn and pushed his hat over his eyes as if he intended to sleep. She knew that was the last thing anyone as tense as Gray could do, but he obviously wanted his privacy and she decided to oblige.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “There was a fire there. Have you forgotten?”

  “No, I haven’t forgotten. I think you’re the only one who devotes a great deal of time trying to forget that.”

  He slowly lifted his hand and slid his hat off his face. His usual gleaming blue eyes glared at her with an icy glint of blackness before he straightened his body in the seat as dangerously as if she’d awakened a sl
eeping bear. A bear who objected to her accusation that he was a coward.

  His eyebrows arched. “Do you?”

  “I do.”

  “And why do you think that?”

  She shrugged her shoulders. “Why don’t you tell me?”

  He smiled. Not a happy, jovial smile like she was used to seeing on his face, but a cold, emotionless smile that sent a shiver down her spine.

  “I think I’ll wait until we arrive. I’ll have less explaining to do once you see my…home.”

  Maggie tried to come up with an adequate response, but before she could the carriage slowed and Cleary hollered that they were there.

  “Aren’t you going to get out?” she asked when the carriage stopped and he didn’t move.

  He leaned back against the seat and lowered his hat again. “Look out the window.”

  She pulled back the heavy drape still closed to help keep out the cold, and looked.

  “What do you see?”

  Her breath caught. Maybe the snow swirling and spiraling through the air helped to make the scene before her so picture perfect. She hadn’t expected anything so grand. Gray’s comments not to expect anything too elaborate had tainted her opinion. But the estate out the carriage window was the most magnificent sight she’d ever seen.

  “Is it that bad?”

  “It’s beautiful. Absolutely beautiful.”

  “Bloody hell. Cleary got us lost.”

  He pushed open the door and jumped to the ground. “Dammit, man. You’ve taken us to the wrong—”

  His reaction startled her.

  He jolted to a statuesque stillness, his legs braced and his hands fisted at his side. The snow fell around him as the color drained from his face. His gaze remained locked onto the manor house in front of him.

  She took Cleary’s proffered hand and stepped onto the ground next to Gray. “Your home is beautiful,” she whispered, unable to keep the admiration out of her voice.

  Her gaze lifted as she took in the magnificent stone structure that towered before her. The three stories reached high, each one lined with windows that covered the outside walls. Maggie could only imagine how amazing Mayfield would appear when each room was lit.