More Than Willing Page 7

  “But you would?”

  She met his arched brows with a determined look. “I wouldn’t be happy anywhere but here.”

  Grayson Delaney walked to the fireplace and squatted down to place another log on the dying fire. “You don’t have a choice, you know.”

  He took the poker from the rack beside the fireplace and moved the logs. Within seconds they burned hotter but he didn’t confront her. Nor did he stand in order to use his height to intimidate her. He simply stared into the dancing flames as if he wanted his lowered position to be interpreted as a submissive gesture.

  “I know,” she finally replied, and that realization terrified her.

  For the first time in her life she felt her hold on Bradford Brewery slip. And she’d lost her grip to a man exactly like her father. Yet what choice did she have?

  He was beside her now, close enough that she sensed his nearness like a familiar scent, yet not so close that he threatened her.

  “If Briars refuses to sell, you’ll still have the money you put back for your sisters’ Season,” he said in a voice she knew was meant to comfort her. “If I can convince him to sell, the profits you’ll make from the increase in this year’s sale should more than replenish the amount it took to buy the King’s Crown, plus provide nice dowries for both your sisters.”

  Maggie nodded. He was right. But this was Felicity and Charlotte’s future she risked. Everything depended on this year. By next year it would be too late. The world would discover the secret she’d been keeping and Felicity and Charlotte would pay the price.

  “How much do you think it will take?”

  “I don’t know. It all depends how eager Briars is to sell and whether or not another brewery has made him an offer.”

  “The Jolly Seaman sold for five thousand pounds two years ago,” Maggie said, knowing it would probably take more to purchase the King’s Crown.”

  “Could you come up with that much if we need it?”

  Maggie closed her eyes and sucked in a deep breath, then nodded. She could, but barely. “How soon will you talk to Mr. Briars?”

  “I think I’ll stop by the King’s Crown tonight for a pint and see what I can find out.”

  “Tonight? The King’s Crown is more than an hour’s ride from here and it’s snowing outside.”

  Grayson Delaney’s lips slowly lifted at the corners then he smiled an open smile filled with devilment. “Are you worried over me, Miss Bradford?”

  Maggie crossed her arms over her chest and rolled her eyes to show him the absurdity of his statement. “Absolutely not. I’ve no doubt you’ll have enough ale in you on the way home to keep you from freezing.”

  “Ah, yes. You and my father. He was surprised once when I was attacked by footpads that the blood coming from my wounds was red and not the color of the expensive brandy I was quite fond of drinking.”

  Maggie didn’t have a response for that. Many times she’d thought the same about her father.

  Grayson Delaney gave her another broad smile then walked toward the door.

  “Don’t wait up for me,” he said before he left. “I’ll probably be late.”

  Maggie stared at the empty doorway long after she heard him leave the house. Grayson Delaney was the last man on earth she’d wait up for. The last man she wanted to have to rely on. And…

  …the only man who could help her.

  ****

  Gray’s knees almost buckled beneath him as he walked down the four steps that led from Bradford Manor. His legs felt strangely weak when he realized what could have happened to her if he hadn’t been near, and his arms felt empty without her in them.

  He hesitated for a short moment and told himself he’d feel the same way no matter what young, innocent lass he’d found in such a precarious position. Except he couldn’t explain why he wanted to rush back in and hold her again, just to make sure she was safe. That was a puzzle he refused to decipher.

  But at least she hadn’t dismissed him.

  “Bloody hell,” he muttered beneath his breath. He didn’t know what had worried him more while he waited for her in the entryway, the thought that Maggie Bradford would make good on her threat to send him packing—then he’d have to reveal the truth—or hearing the panic in her voice as she fought off her bloody cousin.

  Damn her father to hell and back for leaving her alone with no one to protect her from the vultures who wanted to take advantage of her. Damn Bradford for putting his family in such a precarious position that they had to scrimp and save to make ends meet. Damn him for gambling away the only means of support his family had, then leaving without telling them what he’d done.

  “Bloody hell,” he said with more vehemence as he stepped off the curb to cross the street. If Bradford were here right now he’d beat him to a bloody pulp.

  He crossed the cobblestones with long, angry steps and entered the brewery by the side gate. She had no idea her father had lost the brewery in a card game. She thought she could provide for her sisters and give them a London Season with the profits from a brewery she didn’t own.

  Gray walked through the courtyard toward the stable. The first thing he’d found out when he’d first come is that everyone, from Chester Murdock, the brewery foreman, to Joey Blatt, the broomboy who swept the brewery clean, thought the same as she did, that the brewery would be passed down to her when her father died. And this was met with enthusiasm from every quarter.

  Everyone he’d talked to was more than eager to tell him that Miss Bradford had run the brewery for years – since her mother died. According to Chester Murdock, who’d been here longer than anyone except maybe Henry Tibbles, Harold Bradford was a terrible manager and if it wouldn’t have been for his wife, he’d have lost the brewery years ago.

  Gray couldn’t help but wonder what they’d think when they discovered he owned the brewery now. Or, how many of them would continue to work for him when they realized who he was.

  So far, no one had associated him with his father, except Miss Bradford. This was the reason it was so important that he prove himself every day. Once they knew he was the Earl of Camden’s second son, it would be nearly impossible to demonstrate that he could run the brewery efficiently.

  Gray walked through the stable and looked over to where Fletcher was putting a smelly poultice on one of the dray horse’s legs. Gray stopped and the old man looked up.

  “I don’t know how you knew to put such a concoction on that swelling, lad, but his leg’s almost good as new.”

  “An old stable hand I used to work with taught me that trick years ago,” Gray lied. He could hardly tell Fletcher he’d learned it from the head groomsman on Camden Estates, who’d learned it from his father before him.

  “Well, no matter who taught you, it’s a good practice to know. There’s always a need to know tricks that work when a good horse comes up lame like that.”

  “Has Mr. Murdock been here yet?”

  Fletcher nodded. “From the anxious look on his face when he came looking for you I’d say something’s wrong.”

  “Did he say anything?”

  “No, he just said he’d wait for you. I expect him any minute.”

  Fletcher barely finished his sentence before there was a rustle at the entrance to the stable and Chester Murdock walked through the stable door.

  “Guess we’ll find out soon enough,” Fletcher said as Murdock came toward them. “Unless you want me to make myself scarce.”

  Gray shook his head. “If what I suspect is right, you’ll need to hear this too.”

  A frown deepened on Fletcher’s brow but Gray didn’t offer any more in the way of an explanation. He was too focused on what Chester Murdock held in his hand.

  “What’s that?” Fletcher asked when Murdock stopped in front of them.

  “The remains of a broken lantern.”

  Gray took the pieces but knew they wouldn’t be of any help. They were probably from one of the lanterns that hung outside nearly every stall. “Where did
you find them?”

  Murdock pointed to the burned out corner of the stable that Gray had asked Murdock not to let anyone touch.

  “Is that all you found?”

  Murdock shook his head. He walked to the opposite side of the barn. Gray and Fletcher followed him through the harness room, then out a side door that led to the back of the brewery compound.

  The familiar slapping sound of the Rushmoore River breaking against the rocky banks covered the rustling sound the three men made as they walked through the overgrown weeds near the side of the wooden stable. Gray looked over his shoulder to the simple cottage Fletcher had let him move into when he first came. It wasn’t much, certainly nothing compared to any of the homes he’d ever lived in, yet this house was more special to him than any of the elegant manor homes that belonged to his father. Maybe because for the first time in his life he was truly thankful to have a roof over his head. Whatever the reason, he enjoyed living a simple life.

  Gray pulled his gaze back to the place where Murdock had stopped and looked to where he pointed. Gray frowned, then sat on his haunches and touched the small mound of straw bunched against the side of the stable.

  “What is it?” Fletcher asked, staring at the darkened straw.

  Gray held it to his nose and smelled. “Oil.”

  “There are three more along the side of the building.” He pointed to three mounds of oil-soaked straw nestled close to the base of the wooden structure. “My guess is that someone threw a lantern in the inside of the stable to start the fire on one side, then intended to make his way out here and set each one of these so there was no way the fire could be put out.”

  “But they were evidently interrupted and didn’t get these set before someone discovered the fire.”

  Murdock nodded his agreement. “And the watchman you told me to post kept them from coming back to get rid of the evidence.”

  “Are you saying the fire was intentional?” Fletcher balled his gnarly fingers into tight fists.

  “It looks that way.” Murdock stared at the mound of soaked straw as if it could tell him who’d put it there. He turned his attention back to Gray. “Do you think this has anything to do with whoever turned the fires up under the hop-boils?”

  “I think there’s a good possibility the two are connected,” Gray replied.

  “But who? Who’d want to do such a thing to Miss Bradford?”

  No one answered, but Gray had a pretty good idea who might have been behind the mysterious accidents. Suddenly, he wasn’t sure what was more important – to beat her conniving cousin within an inch of his life, or take Maggie Bradford back into his arms and keep her safe.

  “Assign some men to watch the brewery twenty-four hours a day,” Gray said, as he and Murdock and Fletcher walked back through the stable. When he reached the front he stared at the charred wood near the entrance. “Whoever is behind this isn’t done.”

  Chapter Six

  Gray slid to the ground from atop the sorrel he’d used to ride to the King’s Crown and gripped onto the saddle when his legs gave out from beneath him. Bloody hell but Geordie Briars could hold his liquor. It had been a long time since Gray found someone who could out-drink him like the owner of the King’s Crown could.

  He held his grip while the big snowflakes slapped him in the face and the earth rolled beneath his feet. He wanted to close his eyes but he’d found out long ago that closing your eyes only made everything spin faster. Instead, he opened his mouth and took in a huge gulp of fresh, cold air, then slowly released it. At least he’d had the two-hour ride home to sober up. Not that it would make any difference tomorrow when he had to work a long day with a head that felt like it wanted to split open.

  When the stable yard stopped bucking beneath him, he released his hold on the horse’s saddle and led the mare through the stable doors.

  “Is that you, Mr. Delaney?”

  Gray spun around and grabbed the top rung of the stall to hold himself steady. “Sure is, Frankie. It’s me. Has there been any trouble?”

  “No. Everything’s quiet.”

  “Good.”

  “Do you want me to take care of your horse for ya?”

  “No, I can manage. Although in the morning I’m going to wish I hadn’t stayed out so late.”

  “Been all the way to the village, Mr. Delaney? Or just as far as the Roaring Lion?”

  Frankie’s last question was said with more than a little humor. The Roaring Lion was a favorite place for the workers to go on a day off. The fact that the proprietor, Mr. Chalmers, had six pretty daughters who all served ale on the busier nights made the establishment even more popular.

  “I bet it was one of the Chalmers lasses that kept you occupied so late.”

  “Not me, Frankie. I gave up women a long time ago.”

  Frankie laughed. “You can’t make me believe that. Was it Dorie who was working tonight?”

  “I can’t tell you. I’m afraid I can’t tell one sister from the other.”

  Gray lit a lantern and hooked it to the nail on one of the upright beams, then led his mare into an empty stall. The lantern didn’t put off a great deal of light, but enough for what he needed. He could bed down a horse with his eyes closed.

  “Oh, you’d know if it was Dorie,” the lad said leaning one shoulder against the wall. “She has the darkest brown eyes of anyone in the world.”

  Gray smiled. They couldn’t be as dark as Maggie Bradford’s. Or as beautiful. In fact, since he’d seen Maggie Bradford, no one was comparable. Not even the saucy little serving girl at the King’s Crown, who’d practically thrown herself at him tonight. There was a time when he would have accepted what she offered without a second thought. But he’d found that since he’d met Maggie Bradford he wasn’t as interested as he’d once been.

  Gray stopped before he lifted the saddle from his horse’s back. The fact that even the most enticing woman wasn’t able to stir his blood was a condition he’d have to evaluate when he was a little more sober. He was sure there was a much more acceptable solution than the one that wanted to pop into his head now. It must be the liquor that played such disagreeable tricks.

  “Well, if you don’t need me.” Frankie pushed himself away from the wall. “I’d best get back to watching the brewery yard. Mr. Murdock says some kegs have come up missing and he wants us to keep an eye out for whoever took ’em. That’s what I’m doing walkin’ around at this time a night.”

  “Good job, lad,” Gray said as he lifted his saddle from his horse. “Keep your eyes sharp and let someone know if you hear or see anything.”

  “Sure will,” Frankie said and left the stable.

  When Gray was alone, he filled the feed bunk and put out water, then started brushing the mare. She deserved extra special care tonight. The snow was deep in places and the trip took nearly two hours instead of the one Gray thought it would.

  He ran his brush down the horse’s flank, the routine so familiar he could let his mind wander to the same subject that had consumed him for most of the day – Maggie Bradford.

  No matter where he went or what he saw, something always reminded him of her. The huge snowflakes that floated before him on the way back tonight sparkled with the same intelligent glimmer he saw in her eyes. The instant they hit his flesh they singed him with the same freezing-hot sensation he’d experienced when he’d held her in his arms that afternoon. His body had been in a constant state of turmoil since he’d heard her frantic cry and he thought she might be in danger. Not since he was fourteen had he imagined he’d ever consider wanting the responsibility of protecting another human being again. That thought made his heart race and his flesh break out in a cold sweat.

  Gray shook his head. In the morning he’d feel differently. When he was sober he’d remember why he could never let anyone rely on him again. When he was sober he wouldn’t have such confusing thoughts.

  Gray tenderly stroked the mare’s hide as if his brush were gliding through the auburn richness of Maggi
e’s hair and his lower body thickened in response to where his thoughts again took him. If she were here now he’d…

  He’d what?

  Gray dropped his forehead against the mare’s side and closed his eyes. For the thousandth time in his life he wanted something he could never have. If his past weren’t enough to repulse her, what did he think her reaction would be when she found out he’d taken everything away from her?

  “Are you all right?”

  The sound of her voice punched the air from his lungs. At first he thought he’d dreamt her, but he knew he couldn’t be so lucky. He knew when he turned around she’d be in the stable with him. “You shouldn’t be here. Go home.”

  “I’ve been waiting for you.”

  She came closer and he swiped the brush down the mare’s flanks. Evidently the horse preferred the gentler strokes Gray had given her before, because she shied away from his touch to put her nose in a bucket of oats.

  “Why are you angry?”

  “I’m not angry.” He turned to face her. “I never get angry. I’m—”

  “…drunk?” she finished for him.

  Gray swallowed hard. Bloody hell but she was beautiful standing there with the lantern-light glowing around her.

  Her hair was down as if she’d been ready for bed and dressed again when she realized she wouldn’t fall asleep until she found out what he’d learned from Briars.

  She wore a warm, serviceable cloak to ward off the cold, but she’d pushed the hood back which allowed the light to outline every delectable feature he’d just dreamt about. Bloody hell, he wanted to pull her into his arms and hold her.

  No, he wanted to do more than hold her. He wanted to touch her and kiss her and make love to her. The familiar heaviness grew more uncomfortable and he turned back to place the brush in the small wooden bin where it was stored.

  “I was going to say I was tired, but you’re right. I’m more than a little drunk. You shouldn’t be here. You’re not safe.”

  “From you?”

  “Do you find that so impossible?”