To Dream Again

by Laura Lee Guhrke

  "Mara, I know you like to plan for every possible contingency, but unanticipated problems always come up," he said. "I want to be prepared to deal with them. That's all."

  He gave her his reassuring smile. She wasn't reassured.

  "Please don't," she whispered. "Don't ask me to sign my name to a debt of ten thousand pounds. I can't."

  His smile faded, and she saw a glimmer of steel come into his blue eyes. His mouth tightened and he let his hands fall away from her shoulders. She thought for a moment he intended to argue with her, but instead, he turned away. He walked over to his desk, picked up the proposal she'd written, and brought it to her. "I must go. Let’s discuss this further when I return."

  She nodded and took the document from his hand, then watched as he headed for the door.

  After pulling the black jacket from its hook, he walked over to the table by his desk and picked up the carrying case that held his train set. He started out the door, but paused and looked back at her.

  She met his eyes, not bothering to hide how she felt. But he said nothing more and turned away, leaving her there alone. Mara looked down at the bank proposal in her hands, and she had the feeling she would find herself ten thousand pounds in debt whether she liked it or not.

  She set the proposal on her desk, placing it neatly in the center of her blotter, and went downstairs to meet with Michael about next week's production schedule, trying to put thoughts of Nathaniel aside. She'd thought a kiss had changed everything, but she'd been wrong. A kiss changed nothing at all.

  ***

  Hell. Nathaniel listened to the steady clip of horses' hooves as the cab carried him through Cheapside, but all he heard was the pleading in Mara's voice. He stared at the shops and open markets he passed, but all he saw was the fear in Mara's face.

  He was becoming far too susceptible to wide eyes and warm lips and whispered fears. Knowing it would be foolish to borrow less than they needed, he'd almost given in to her request anyway. All because of a kiss. Hell.

  They were in business together, he reminded himself. He would do well to remember that from now on. There was no place in a business partnership for romance and courtship. No place for waltzes and soft kisses. No place for desire and sweet oblivion. He should never have kissed her. But the truth was that he hadn't been able to stop himself.

  All night, the lilac scent of her had haunted him. Even now, he could still smell it. He could still feel the silky tangle of her hair and taste the sweetness of her lips. He could still feel the sensation of drowning in her.

  Thinking about the night before, reliving it, brought all his desire rushing back in a flood, and Nathaniel took a deep breath. He leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes, wishing he could close his heart.

  He hadn't expected that. He hadn't expected to lose himself in her. It had taken every bit of willpower he possessed to stop it when he had. One more kiss, and he'd have agreed to anything she wanted.

  If he could not keep some distance between them, he would begin giving in to her fears, and the only thing he'd ever wanted would be in jeopardy. All because he didn't want to see bitterness and hurt in her eyes.

  He knew he shouldn't kiss her again. But he was sure that given half a chance, he would.

  ***

  That afternoon, Mara left the factory and walked back to the lodging house to fetch milk for Algernon. Bottle in hand, she returned to the factory and started up the stairs to her office, but Percy's voice stopped her on the mezzanine.

  "Mrs. Elliot?"

  She went over to Percy's desk. He and Michael had both moved their desks up here, and assembly had been moved downstairs, even though the remodeling was not quite finished. "If I hear any more complaints about the noise and the dust, I shall scream," she told him. "Boggs will be finished in a few more days."

  Percy shook his head. "That isn't it. There's a gentleman upstairs waiting to see you. He asked to see Mr. Chase, but I told him the gentleman was out and asked if he would wish to speak with you. He said he would, and I took him up to your office." Percy lowered his voice and added, "It's Viscount Leyland."

  "What?" Mara glanced at the stairs. "Nathaniel's brother?"

  Percy nodded. "I know he's a competitor, but Mr. Chase took his train with him, so I thought it would be all right to let the viscount wait upstairs."

  Mara frowned, feeling uneasy. She remembered the ruthless determination she'd seen in Nathaniel's eyes that day in Harrod's when he'd talked about competing with his brother. The viscount must be an odious man.

  But when Mara entered the office, she found that handsomeness and charm must be Chase family traits, for Nathaniel’s brother possessed both in abundance. He was standing by her desk, looking out of the window, when she walked in, and he turned at the sound of her footsteps.

  His resemblance to Nathaniel was clear in other ways as well. He was nearly as tall and nearly as handsome, with the same sky-blue eyes and tawny hair. But there were also definite differences. His hair was trimmed to the fashionable short length. His boots were polished. His cravat was properly tied and fastened with a jeweled stickpin. In fact, the viscount dressed with all the luxurious neatness of a vain and wealthy man who had a valet.

  She walked toward him, feeling like a butterfly on a pin beneath his assessing gaze. "Lord Leyland," she said.

  "You must be Mrs. Elliot." His gaze perused her slowly, appreciatively.

  She glanced down, realizing she still had the bottle of milk in her hand. She stepped closer to her desk and set down the bottle, feeling uncomfortable and flustered. Nathaniel’s brother wasn't at all the sort of man she would have expected.

  "A cat?" he inquired, still smiling.

  "Umm...yes. My secretary informs me that you're here to see your brother. Mr. Chase is out, I'm afraid. He won't return for some time."

  "I'd like to wait for him, if you don't mind. I haven't seen him in ten years, so I'm sure you can understand I'm eager to renew ties, now that I've learned of his return to England."

  "Certainly." She gestured to the chair opposite her desk, not pointing out that Nathaniel obviously had a different view of the matter. "Please sit down."

  He moved to the chair but did not take it. Instead

  he waited, good manners dictating that she should sit first.

  She circled her desk and sat down. Then he followed suit.

  "I heard that Nathaniel had invested in a new business and now had a partner," he said, settling back in his chair. "I must confess, I didn't expect her to be beautiful. Tell me about yourself, Mrs. Elliot."

  His words made her even more uncomfortable. She lowered her gaze to the desk, unable to think of anything to say.

  Suddenly she frowned. She kept her papers in meticulous order, and she knew perfectly well that she had placed the bank proposal in the center of her desk so that she could work on it when she returned. Now, it was just a bit to the left, offending her sense of symmetry. She would never have left it like that. Someone had picked it up, read it, and put it back.

  Waves of anger swept through her, and she discarded any notions of making polite small talk with Viscount Leyland. Her first conclusion had been correct. An odious man. No wonder Nathaniel disliked him so.

  She looked at him, frantically wondering what she'd written in the proposal about the trains. "My lord, I really believe that there is only one thing I need to tell you." She rose to her feet, and her smile vanished. "Leave my office."

  He didn't move. He simply stared at her like a cat toying with a mouse, as if he knew perfectly well what she had realized and didn't care. He smiled. "My dear lady, I'm Viscount Leyland. I leave when I please."

  Mara went rigid at the arrogant words. "Not in this factory, sir," she said through clenched teeth. "I've thirty-eight Cockney workmen downstairs who don't give a fig who you are, Lord Leyland. Leave at once, or I shall have those men escort you out."

  He shrugged, but his smile remained. "Don't bother, Mrs. Elliot. I think I can find my own wa
y."

  "See that you do, sir."

  He rose. "Good luck making your dynamos or whatever it is that you manufacture here. I wish you all the best. I certainly hope Nathaniel has better luck with you as a partner than he did on his own. Poor fellow."

  Mara had the feeling she was about to be snared, but she took the bait just the same. "What do you mean?"

  Lord Leyland's brows rose in surprise. "He didn't tell you? It really was the most unfortunate thing." He shook his head and sighed. "He invested all he had starting his own toy company in America. It failed, of course."

  She couldn't keep the surprise out of her expression, and the viscount perceived it at once. He gave her a pitying smile. "My dear, Nathaniel is rather...odd, as I'm sure you already know. He tends to take very big risks, and they don't usually pay off, I'm sorry to say. His boyish eagerness often obscures his judgment."

  She began to shake, and she quickly thrust her hands in the pockets of her skirt, balling them into fists. With all the discipline she could muster, Mara wiped all expression from her face. "I appreciate the information," she said, relieved that her voice was steady. "Good day, sir."

  He departed. Mara sank back down in her chair, listening to his footsteps on the stairs fade away as his words about Nathaniel echoed through her mind. His own toy company in America...failed, of course.

  She thought of all the times Nathaniel had asked for her trust. All the times he had stressed the importance of partnership and discussion. But somehow, in all their discussions, he'd forgotten to mention that he'd had a toy company before, one that had failed She'd been right all along. Trust and partnership were just words. They didn't mean anything.

  ***

  Nathaniel knew something was wrong the moment he returned. When he walked into the office, Mara was sitting at her desk, but she wasn't working. She wasn't scribbling in one of her ledgers, or adding up numbers on her abacus, or calculating profit and loss. She didn't even glance at him when he entered the room, and she didn't say a word. It was as if she hadn't even heard him come in. There was a bottle of milk on the desk and Algernon was sitting on the floor, staring up at it and meowing, but she didn't seem to hear that either. Her face was pale and her expression weary, reminding him of the first time he'd seen her, looking like the tragic Mariana of Tennyson's poem.

  "Mara?" He set down the train set on the table by his desk and walked over to her, not liking the way she sat so still, staring straight ahead. "What's wrong?"

  She finally looked at him. "Why didn't you tell me?"

  "Tell you what?" He frowned at the vague question as he faced her across the desk.

  "You had a toy company in America," she said, her voice a flat monotone. "It failed."

  He sucked in a sharp breath, then let it out slowly. "How did you find out about that?"

  "It's true, then."

  "Yes." He saw the disappointment and the doubts in her eyes, and it hurt. It cut into him like a knife, laying open all the doubts he had about himself and his abilities, exposing all the wounds he'd hoped time would heal. He turned away. "It's true."

  "Why didn't you tell me about it?"

  He raked a hand through his hair. "What would have been the point?" he asked over one shoulder. "It's in the past, it's over. I don't like to talk about it."

  "You could have at least told me."

  "Could I have?" He turned around sharply to face her again. "I've spent the past six weeks trying to gain your cooperation and your support. What was I supposed to do? Do you really think I'd tell you all about my previous failures? That would really inspire your trust, now, wouldn't it?"

  "It certainly doesn't inspire my trust when I hear about your failures from a third party!" Mara burst out, reacting to his sarcasm with a spark of her own anger.

  "What third party?" he asked, bracing his hands on the edge of her desk as he looked down at her.

  "Viscount Leyland paid us a little visit today."

  "Adrian?" Nathaniel straightened with an abrupt movement. He hadn't expected that. Not yet. He'd hoped to have at least another month before his brother discovered where he was and what he was doing. He needed that competitive edge. A combination of dismay and frustration and past hurts fused into a cold feeling of dread. "He was here?"

  "Yes. He said he wanted to see you, renew family ties."

  He made a choked, humorless sound at the irony of it. "Family ties? And you believed that rot?"

  "I didn't let him in!" She waved a hand toward the door. "I was fetching milk for Algernon. He arrived while I was gone, and Percy told him he could wait in our office. When I came in, he was already up here. I told him you were out, but he asked if he could wait for you. What was I supposed to do—say no?"

  "And my failed business just happened to come up during your conversation. I see."

  "He told me about it, yes." Mara's hands came together, twisted round each other in agitation. "You should have told me."

  "My past is my own business," he shot back, feeling defensive. "It has nothing to do with you or with what we're doing now."

  "No?" She glared at him across the desk. "I thought it had something to do with that trust you keep talking about. Couldn't you have trusted me?" Before he could answer, she went on, "I had the right to know."

  "Why? So that you could weigh the evidence, condemn me, and execute me before I'd even had a chance to prove myself?"

  "I wouldn't have done that."

  "Oh, yes, you would. You've been doing it ever since we met. You're doing it now. Criticizing, judging, drawing conclusions."

  "That's not true," she protested.

  "Isn't it? I can just imagine what would have gone through your mind if I'd told you. His business failed? Well, then, off with his head." He ran one finger across his throat.

  She winced at the ruthless gesture. "How did it happen?"

  "What difference does it make?"

  She swallowed hard. "People tend to make the same mistakes over and over. I don't want to see what happened before happen again."

  "And you think it will?" He saw her answer in her eyes. "Go ahead and judge me. I took some risks, I made some mistakes, my business failed. But then, you wouldn't understand that, would you? You sit inside your suit of armor, finding fault and feeling superior, watching the rest of us muddle through life, secure in the knowledge that you never make mistakes." He sighed

  wearily. "No, you never fail, Mara. You never fail because you never try."

  She jerked her head back as if he'd slapped her. Shaken, she watched him turn away and disappear into his laboratory. Then she heard his footsteps on the stairs and knew he was headed for the roof.

  Was that really how he saw her? Critical and judgmental, superior and fault-finding? She bit down on her trembling lip, feeling hurt. If she had a suit of armor, it wasn't helping her now.

  A month ago, she wouldn't have cared what he thought. No, she'd have dismissed his words as the idiotic notions of a crazy man.

  A plaintive meow caught her attention, and Mara glanced down. Algernon was sitting by her chair, and she realized she still hadn't fed him. She went into the laboratory and took down his bowl from the shelf above the sink. After filling it with milk, she set it on the floor beside her desk and watched as the kitten pounced on his late lunch.

  "We're quite a pair, aren't we?" she murmured. "Hissing alley cats, both of us."

  She didn't want to be a hissing alley cat. She sat down and rested her elbows on the desk and her chin on her clasped hands. Last night, she hadn't been like that. She closed her eyes, remembering how it had felt to trust and to yield. It had felt magical and marvelous and right. And very frightening.

  Algernon finished his milk and walked over to her. He rubbed his head against her leg as if demanding attention. Startled, she looked down at him. He'd never done that before.

  Tentatively, she bent down and reached out her hand, moving slowly, until it touched the kitten's neck. Immediately, Algernon lifted his head, pushing
into her palm, and he began to purr.

  They remained there for a long time, and Mara realized that one could only earn trust if one reached out for it. She decided it was time to try.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Nathaniel sat on the roof, staring between the stone columns of the parapet, watching the sunset. He knew he should probably go in and accomplish some work, but he didn't move.

  Adrian knew where he was. He hadn't expected his brother to discover his whereabouts so quickly, and it wouldn't take the other man long to learn what he was doing. If Adrian managed to copy the train before Nathaniel had the chance to establish himself, he knew he'd never be able to compete with Chase.

  Given half a chance, his brother would steal his invention and claim it as his own. Nathaniel knew he couldn't give his brother that chance, but he couldn't succeed without Mara's help. They needed each other.

  Six weeks. It had taken him six weeks to earn her trust, but Adrian had destroyed that trust in a matter of seconds with a few well-chosen words. The trust he'd gained from her was fragile indeed if it disintegrated so easily.

  No, he couldn't lay the blame on his brother. He should have told Mara the truth. He had lashed out at her in anger when he was the one at fault.

  He heard the door open and the tap of her boot heels on the slate. He stared straight ahead, waiting, as she walked over and sat down beside him.

  "I'm sorry," he said without looking at her. "I should have told you."

  "It doesn't matter."

  "Yes, it does. I—"

  "Nathaniel," she interrupted, "it doesn't matter. We all have failures in our past." She paused, then added softly, "Even me."

  He slanted a sideways glance at her, but she wasn't looking at him. She was staring at the sunset. "I wonder what failures are in your past," he mused, only realizing when she glanced at him that he had spoken aloud.

  "Many." She plucked at her skirt, and added softly, "I wasn't a very good wife, for one."