More Than Willing Page 4

  He released his breath in a sigh of capitulation. “Very well, since you leave me no choice, I guess I might as well tell you. I am here because it’s important that I learn everything there is to know about running a brewery.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Why would you need to learn everything about running a brewery unless you—”

  She stopped. Her gaze darted back to his and her jaw dropped.

  “Yes, Miss Delaney. As unbelievable as it seems, I am the proud owner of a brewery, a fact that I still find hard to fathom.”

  “A brewery you intend to run yourself?”

  He couldn’t mistake the incredulous tone in her voice. “Alas, I’m left with little choice. Either run it successfully or starve.”

  She opened her mouth as if she wanted to make another inquiry but nothing came out. She was at a loss for words, an embarrassing phenomenon that amused him.

  “I see you’re as shocked as I was. It seems that regardless of the vast amount of ale I have been known to consume, I find I don’t know the first thing about how to brew it.”

  “So you came here?”

  He shrugged. “What better place to learn than at one of the finest breweries in England.”

  She paced from one end of her father’s massive desk to the other then stopped and looked over her shoulder. “Where is this new brewery of yours?”

  He paused. “I’d rather not disclose that yet. I prefer to remain anonymous until the time when I can assume ownership.”

  She faced him. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to insist you tell me where your brewery is located. The brewery business is very competitive and—”

  An alarm went off somewhere in the brewery, an alarm that signaled that something was wrong.

  Without bothering to let her finish, Gray ran out the door never doubting for a minute that their conversation was far from over.

  Or that when he returned he may have to tell her the truth and risk losing the workers he needed to run the brewery.

  ****

  Maggie fought the fear and panic she always felt when an alarm sounded in the brewery. The bell that pealed without ceasing was a call for all the brewery workers to assist with some sort of catastrophe and the outcome was more often than not a disaster.

  The last time the alarm had sounded was when young Jimmy Gleck slipped into the hop bin and was buried neck-deep in the grain. He’d gotten hold of a rope just before his weight pulled him under. Luckily the lad could hold on long enough for the men to lower someone to grab hold of him and lift him to safety. That had been one of the fortunate outcomes. Most of them were not.

  Maggie watched Gray Delaney race out the door and ran after him. He was out of sight by the time she hurried down the long hallway. Instead of following him down the stairs, she ran out onto the balcony to see what happened to set off an alarm. Her breath caught the minute she stepped outside.

  Thick, black smoke billowed from every stable opening. The frantic whinnies of trapped horses carried over the shouts of the men as they raced from every direction toward the stable.

  Maggie thought she’d be ill as scream after terrifying scream came from the animals still trapped. Surely someone would get them out. But even Fletcher, who loved the horses more than any man she’d ever met stood helplessly outside, knowing there was no way a man could brave the flames and survive.

  Maggie turned to make her way down the stairs then stopped. Gray raced across the courtyard and ran toward the men who’d gathered. He halted as if he’d run into a stout wall when he saw the flames and smoke.

  At first she thought he’d turn around without offering his help, but after a long second, his feet carried him closer to the stable, slowly at first, then with increasing speed.

  Maggie watched, mesmerized by his reaction. For some reason she couldn’t explain he seemed afraid. Yet she couldn’t believe Gray Delaney was afraid of anything. Then, as if he’d thrown off his reluctance with a show of angry determination, he raced toward the flames now licking from one of the openings.

  Maggie stared in amazement. The man she’d known during her Seasons in London as a rake and an irresponsible wastrel shouted orders to the men in the two long lines reaching from the two wells in the center of the courtyard to the stable. Within seconds water from a steady stream of buckets doused the flames at the entrance.

  Maggie clutched her arms around her middle. She knew if the flames reached the second level it was doubtful they could save the stable. And if the fire got away from them here, they stood a good chance of losing the entire brewery.

  Maggie turned away, unable to watch the fire spread. The horses trapped inside the barn screamed in piercing, high-pitched cries of agony and she clamped her hands over her ears. She couldn’t listen to their desperate cries for help. Yet, even though she tried, she couldn’t keep her eyes averted for long. Her future was in danger, her livelihood  as well as her sisters’  was being destroyed.

  She looked again, thinking she’d find Grayson Delaney in the brigade of workmen but she didn’t. She scanned the area, searching the tumult for a glimpse of him. And when she spotted him, her heart stuttered..

  Gray stood with arms outstretched as several workers doused him with buckets of water. When he was drenched, he turned, then ran through the opening.

  The smoke from fresh hay and smoldering grain wrapped around him, then swallowed him whole. “No!” she screamed, thinking she could stop him, but there was no way he heard her over the shouts of the men fighting the blaze and the cries of the horses fighting for their lives. She cried again but her efforts were useless.

  Maggie ran toward the stairs. What was he doing? Even Fletcher, who’d devoted his life to taking care of the horses wasn’t foolish enough to rush into a burning barn to save the animals the stable hands hadn’t been able to free before the fire grew too fierce. Yet Grayson Delaney was taking the risk.

  Maggie took the stairs as fast as she could without tripping and raced across the brewery courtyard the second she reached the ground.

  “Stand back, Miss Bradford,” Fletcher hollered when she neared the entrance.

  “How many horses are still inside?” she demanded, straining to see any movement amidst the smoke.

  “Three. That young fool went in to get them. I told him not to, but he wouldn’t listen.”

  “Is there another way for him to get out?”

  Fletcher shook his head. “Dang fool. I told him it wasn’t worth the risk but he loves those horses more than most.”

  Maggie stared at the billowing smoke and tried to imagine what it must be like inside with the thick, black haze filling Delaney’s lungs and stinging his eyes. Every time a new dark cloud billowed and rolled, she prayed Gray Delaney was moving through it. But he wasn’t.

  She stared for tortured minutes while the smoke grew thicker and blacker.

  Why wasn’t he coming out? What was taking so long? Unless…

  Maggie’s hand covered her mouth to stop the cry that threatened to escape. She told herself she’d feel the same way no matter which one of her employees was in danger, but an insistent voice shouted over the thundering in her chest that Gray Delaney affected her differently.

  She stifled a cry as the faint clopping of hooves sounded.

  At first she was afraid her imagination played tricks on her. The clopping grew louder and the image of a man on horseback broke through the swirling smoke. The pressure inside her chest eased.

  Gray Delaney rode into the clean fresh air astride one of the huge dray horses. Behind him he had two skittish mares tied to a long rope that he’d wrapped around his waist. The three horses and rider broke into the sunshine amidst loud cheers from the brewery workers still fighting the dying flames.

  He didn’t stop until he was well away from the smoke that swirled from the stable. The flames were under control now and the building was no longer in danger of burning, but the damage was substantial. As hard as it was for her to look at the charred wood and re
alize that this was a major setback, Maggie was thankful that no one was hurt and that they hadn’t lost any animals.

  Delaney slid from the dray horse onto the ground. Fletcher, as well as several other stable hands rushed forward to congratulate him and take care of the animals, working to calm them as they led them away from the smoke.

  Everyone moved away from the smoldering building but Fletcher. The older man stayed rooted to his spot and kept his gaze on Grayson Delaney. The longer the stable master watched him the more the frown on his face deepened.

  Maggie studied the expression on Delaney’s face but she couldn’t find the words to describe what she saw. His complexion had seemed such a warm bronze only moments before. Now, his face was a pale gray, and it wasn’t from the soot that covered his forehead and cheeks. A coldness glazed his expression; an emptiness in his gaze that bordered on something close to terror. Whatever he’d endured to free the horses had taken something vital from him.

  Fletcher must have seen it too. He issued a string of orders that sent another wave of approaching workers who wanted to congratulate Delaney for his bravery, scurrying away. Delaney stared at their retreating backs as if they weren’t there. Then, as if something propelled him from where he stood, he turned and stumbled away from them.

  A wave of concern washed over her and she took one tentative footstep to follow him. “Mr. Delaney?”

  He didn’t acknowledge her question. Nor did he slow his quickening foot steps.

  She feared for him and reached out to him.

  He spun around and raised his arm, whether to ward her off, or to strike her, she wasn’t sure.

  “Delaney!” Fletcher’s voice from behind her stopped him.

  He blinked, his eyes focusing, and she realized he finally saw her.

  A confused mixture of horror and disbelief covered his face and he held out his open hand as if to ward her off. He gasped for breath, his nostrils flaring with each intake. He didn’t speak, only shook his head as if in denial—or in warning—then backed away from her, one unsteady step at a time.

  “Leave him go,” Fletcher whispered in her ear and she nodded.

  “Is he all right?”

  “Give him time, lass.”

  Maggie stared at Delaney’s rigid back as he walked toward the nearest exit. The gate stood open and he turned right on the cobbled path that wound around the back of the brewery to where the Rushbourne River provided the brewery with the clear, clean water it needed to brew ale.

  Linden, oak, birch and pine trees formed a barrier on both sides of the riverbank and he might seek refuge in the shaded covering. She’d gone there herself more than a few times when she needed to escape.

  Maggie watched until he was out of sight, then turned as if she intended to go back to her office. But Lyman’s man waited for her there and she had no intention of seeing him. Not today. She was too curious and concerned about Grayson Delaney to see anyone just now.

  She walked instead to her father’s office and closed the door. The minute the solid door clicked, she pressed her back against the wood and stood there for several long seconds. She shouldn’t intrude on his privacy. He’d suffered through a harrowing ordeal and deserved to be left alone. But he was her employee and she was obligated to see to his welfare.

  She stepped to one of the two windows that overlooked the back section of Bradford Brewery and looked down.

  Her mother had made a small park of sorts behind the brewery. Several resting areas angled from the cobbled pathway, each with a wooden bench on a semi-circle of cement. From each location a panorama of lush plants and flowering bushes bloomed throughout the spring and summer. In the background the Rushbourne River rushed quietly along.

  Her mother would often sit on one of the benches and gaze at the beauty. She used to say she could think better here, could plan what improvements to make with the little money that was left after paying the bills.

  Maggie thought the same. The garden was peaceful, which was why she knew when she pulled back the curtains she’d find him there.

  She spotted him with little effort, as a magnet is drawn to metal. He stood bent at the waist with one palm pressed flat against the trunk of a large oak tree, the other braced against his knee. The material of his shirt stretched taut with every labored breath he took.

  A heavy weight sank to the pit of her stomach. She wanted to go to him yet knew she couldn’t. This was a private moment and he wouldn’t welcome the intrusion. But she couldn’t leave him either. She’d glimpsed another side that was completely opposite from the self-assured, devil-may-care, person he’d spent years convincing everyone he was. The role of the womanizing gambler he’d cultivated so exquisitely may not be the real Grayson Delaney. But she didn’t have any idea who that real person might be.

  After several agonizing minutes he pushed himself away from the tree and took his first step back toward the brewery. He staggered, pressed a hand to his chest, then seemed to gather control as he resumed his pace. His long, confident footsteps ate up the cobbled path with amazing speed. If she hadn’t seen his torment only a few moments ago, she’d never think he was capable of letting anything bother him.

  Maggie watched until he was out of sight, then dropped the drapes back into place and turned around. Everything in this room reminded her of her father, a man who’d rather drink the ale they produced than work an honest day to produce it. A man who’d risk a whole year’s profits in one night of gambling. A man whose charm and good looks had gotten him everything he’d ever wanted. A weak man who had let his wife’s strengths destroy him.

  Maggie walked to her father’s desk and sank into the deep cushions of the chair. She didn’t think it was possible to meet two men who were such exact replicas in her lifetime, but she had. Grayson Delaney was a mirror image of her father and as big a threat to her as her father had been to her mother.

  Her father had always told her she was more like her mother than any daughter had a right to be. And she was. She had her mother’s strengths.

  And she shared her weakness.

  If she didn’t eliminate the danger waiting to ruin her life, she’d risk falling into the same trap as her mother had. Falling in love with a man who would destroy her was a catastrophe she had no intention of repeating.

  Grayson Delaney had to go.

  Chapter Four

  She was a coward.

  Instead of going to the brewery like she did every day, Maggie told herself she’d neglected the estate books too long and had to stay home to work on them. At least that was the excuse she gave so she wouldn’t risk running into him.

  Since the fire yesterday she’d thought of nothing except Grayson Delaney racing into the burning stable. She’d been terrified that he wouldn’t come out alive.

  The emotional attachment she felt toward him frightened her. She’d never experienced anything like this. Never thought she would.

  Suddenly she doubted she had the courage to do what she had to do.

  She avoided the brewery because she wasn’t sure she could bring herself to face him today. The next time she saw him, she knew she’d have to finish the discussion they were in the middle of when the alarm sounded. She knew she had no choice but to send him packing.

  If she didn’t, she’d regret it as long as he was here.

  Maggie dropped her pen onto the papers and rubbed her aching temples. She’d added this same column of numbers at least a dozen times and come up with a different figure each time. That’s what happened when she couldn’t concentrate on anything but Grayson Delaney’s handsome face and magical smile. If she didn’t quit remembering the wicked sparkle in his eyes, she was never going to get any work done.

  She lifted her pen and started to add the column of figures again, then jumped when the door flew open.

  “Maggie, you have to make Charlotte pull her nose out of her book long enough so Mrs. Crawford can fit her for her new gowns.”

  Maggie closed her ledgers in defeat to wa
it for Felicity to finish expounding on Charlotte’s latest travesty.

  “Aunt Hester and I have picked out the most beautiful fabrics and designs for her. All she’s got to do is stand still long enough for Mrs. Crawford to measure her. But she won’t get her nose out of her book long enough for Mrs. Crawford to finish.” Felicity held her small, heart-shaped mouth tight in frustration.

  “Have you finished being fitted?” she asked, staring into a face so beautiful it stole her breath.

  “Yes. Just. And Mrs. Crawford promised to start sewing the minute she returned home.”

  Maggie looked at her sister’s glowing cheeks. “Will the gowns be as grand as you imagined?”

  “Oh, yes, Maggie! Neither Lottie nor I have ever owned gowns so magnificent. I dare say we will be the envy of everyone in London.”

  Felicity rushed around the desk and wrapped her arms around Maggie’s shoulders. “Thank you ever so much. I know what a sacrifice you’re making to outfit Charlotte and me for a Season in London.”

  “Nonsense. You and Charlotte deserve a Season. If Mama were here she’d insist upon it. And so would Papa.”

  “Yes, but only to try to marry us off to the richest suitor who showed an interest in us.”

  Maggie wanted to argue but couldn’t.

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that,” Felicity added with a sheepish expression.

  The look of regret on Felicity’s face tugged at Maggie’s heart. “I wish you were old enough to remember Papa the way he was before he started drinking and gambling. He was so different then.”

  “What happened?” Felicity asked, sitting in the chair opposite Maggie’s desk. “What made him change?”

  Maggie took a deep breath then whispered, “Mama.”

  Felicity’s gaze shot to meet Maggie’s. “Mama? Mama was the most wonderful, loving wife any husband could want. She was perfect. If it weren’t for her, Papa would have lost the brewery years ago. She knew far more about managing a business than Papa does even now. Everyone knows that.” Felicity sat straighter, her determination to protect Mama’s memory evidenced by the tightly clutched hands in her lap and the frown on her forehead. “Why, she made all the decisions when she was alive, just like you do now. You’re just like her.”