by Laura Landon
A man in the center front pointed to a spot to her right. Maggie leaned forward on the railing but couldn’t see what drew their attention.
“They’re watching an experiment.”
She spun around. Chester Murdock, the brewery foreman, stood behind her. “What kind of experiment?”
“The men who work in the hop boil have installed a second air escape on the south side of the roof for better ventilation,” Chester said, indicating the area where the tall, broad-shouldered man in the center of the group pointed.
“Where’s Carney?” Maggie searched the area for the master brewer. Not one thing changed with the brewing process that he didn’t approve first.
“Oh, don’t worry. He’s watching. I think he’s giving the lad a little breathing room in case his idea doesn’t work.”
Maggie tried to tear her focus away from the man who seemed to be in charge, but couldn’t. Even with his back to her, she was impressed by his stature.
He stood nearly a head taller than any of the other workers and when he lifted his arm to point to the roof, his dark chambray shirt stretched across the broad expanse of his shoulders and back. Maggie experienced a strange stirring in the pit of her stomach.
She’d seen imposing men before. Her Seasons in London had introduced her to any number of men with physiques that were more than average.
She’d also seen more than her share of men who possessed an abundance of muscles. Working in the brewery was hard, strenuous labor and every brewer quickly developed the muscles necessary to run the heavy machines and roll casks of ale onto the wagons for delivery.
Impressive specimens of masculinity she’d seen before. She just never reacted to one like she reacted to this one. Heat spiraled from her cheeks to low in her belly.
“Who is he?”
“His name’s Gray Delaney. He showed up almost three months ago needing a job.”
A faint warning rushed through her. Gray Delaney. There was something vaguely familiar about his name. But try as she might, she couldn’t place him. “Did he come with papers?”
“No, but he said he’d had experience with horses so I sent him to Fletcher.”
Her gaze didn’t leave the dark-haired man in the center of the workers.
Gray Delaney.
Why should that name sound familiar?
“How did he get from the stables to the hop-boil?”
“Fletcher came to me one day about a month after he’d started and said he thought Delaney might be better suited somewhere else.”
“Couldn’t he handle the work?”
Chester Murdock smiled. “He handled the work just fine. Fletcher hated to lose him, said he was a natural-born when it came to working with the horses. Fletcher just thought mucking out the stables was a waste of Delaney’s talents.”
“What talents are those?” Maggie arched her brows as if she weren’t overly curious to hear every tidbit about the stranger.
“Intelligence. A natural aptitude for looking at something and seeing a better way to do it. An ingrained sense of leadership that very few of the working class have.”
“So you sent him to work with Carney?”
Murdock nodded. “Carney started him in the crushing mill, then he advanced to the mash room. He worked as a mashman until the day he warned Carney that the water going into the mash-tuns was too hot.”
Maggie shot Chester Murdock a quick look. “Was it?”
“Yes. Somehow the burners had been turned wide open.”
“That could have ruined a whole batch of wort.”
“I know. Carney ordered the process halted before the water mixed with the malt and the wort clotted.”
A strange uneasiness washed over her at their near miss of what would have been an expensive catastrophe. “Was it an accident?”
“Your guess is as good as mine. We both know there have been some strange things going on here lately.”
Maggie filed this latest development in the back of her mind where she could think about it later and lowered her gaze to the ground. She was more intrigued with Gray Delaney by the minute and studied his every move.
He was clearly in charge of the small group of men as they listened with rapt attention when he spoke. With a loud, forceful voice he issued an order and two men ran back into the area known as the hop-boil. A minute later they emerged from a side door on the second level then climbed a ladder that led to the roof.
“Does Carney have him in the hop-boil now?”
“He put him in charge a few weeks ago.” Chester Murdock hesitated. “Carney’s teaching him which varieties of hops get added to the wort for the various ales.”
Maggie’s jaw dropped and she spun to face the overseer. “Carney’s trusting someone else to add the hops?”
“Carney said someone else needs to know what to do in case he can’t do it.”
“Yes, but…”
“Carney said Delaney’s smart as a whip and has a natural instinct for brewing.” Chester Murdock finished her thought for her.
A larger crowd had gathered to watch the two men remove the trap door on the south side above the hop-boil. A third man climbed up to the second-story room to see if removing the door improved the ventilation.
She felt the anticipation as everyone waited to hear his verdict.
Only an occasional whinny of the horses in the stable and the unceasing whirl and grinding of the machines broke the silence while the men in the brewery yard stared up to the second level. Even Carney had come out from inside the bottling room where he’d been observing everything, to discover the outcome. Maggie couldn’t tear her gaze away from the tall, dark-haired stranger. A man who seemed unnaturally relaxed for someone who’d placed a great deal of his reputation on an idea that was nothing more than an experiment.
Gray Delaney. Why did that name seem familiar?
He hadn’t turned enough to see his face clearly, yet she knew he’d be handsome. Even though his hair was unfashionably long and tied back at the nape of his neck with a brown leather cord, she thought how natural wearing it in such a fashion seemed. He was by all accounts a common brewery worker, yet she could imagine him in any number of different settings.
Her senses jangled in anticipation as she waited with the same rapture as the rest of the men. She didn’t expect him to fail because somewhere deep inside her a voice whispered that he wouldn’t.
Time crawled at an inchworm’s pace. Finally, the worker who’d been inside the hot hop-boil area rushed outside and lifted his hands into the air.
“It worked! There’s a draft moving the hot air up through the second trap in the roof!”
A loud cheer went up, but Gray Delaney stopped the ovation with a raised hand.
“What about the fires beneath the coppers? Has the draft affected them?”
The man on the balcony above smiled. “No. They’re burning steady.”
A moment’s hesitation. Another loud cheer went up, and this time it was followed by words of praise as everyone congratulated Mr. Delaney with a hearty slap on the back.
Maggie stood rooted to her spot while the cheers grew louder. Then, as if the man standing down below her knew she watched him, he slowly turned and lifted his head.
Her breath caught and she gripped the wooden railing to hold herself steady.
Gray Delaney.
His thick, dark hair was longer than she remembered it being, his skin a deeper bronze and his shoulders broader, as if the last three months had honed him to a sinewy perfection. But that was all that had changed.
The intense blue eyes staring up at her were the same she remembered, and they still danced with the mocking irreverence she’d noticed the one time she’d spoken to him more than five years ago. The slow, lazy lift of the corners of his mouth held the same come-hither expression that had captivated more than one innocent young lass who hadn’t the good sense to avoid a rake as dangerous as Gray Delaney was reported to be. But those were the only similarities.
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He had a hardness in his expression she couldn’t explain, an unyielding determination she didn’t want to understand. And with it, she felt a wave of apprehension.
“Is everything all right, Miss Bradford?” Chester Murdock asked from beside her.
Maggie released a breath she didn’t realize she’d held and unclamped her white-knuckled grip from around the smooth wooden railing. Her gaze remained locked with Gray Delaney’s for a few more disquieting seconds. “Yes. Everything’s fine.”
She swallowed hard, then shook her head to clear it. “I’m going to my father’s office. Give me five minutes, then send Mr. Delaney in.”
Maggie didn’t wait for Chester’s reply, but spun away and walked toward her father’s office on legs that were unsteady beneath her. She’d always been positive that the best way to solve any problem was to face it head on.
Until now.
Chapter Three
Gray knew from the start that the chances of him working at the brewery without being discovered were probably nonexistent. Several times over the past three months Maggie Bradford had entered the area where he worked, but he’d managed to avoid being seen by her. And as the days, then weeks, then months went by, he foolishly thought that just maybe he’d be fortunate enough to learn everything he needed to know before he came face to face with the only person at Bradford Brewery who could recognize him.
Until today.
He had no idea how he knew she was there or when he realized she watched him. Maybe when the hairs at the nape of his neck pricked in warning. Maybe when his heart began to race in his chest. It didn’t matter when it happened, only that he’d been discovered and he was finally forced to decide how to play this out.
Gray weighed his options. He knew the first question out of her mouth would be why the son of the Earl of Camden was working as a common laborer in a brewery.
Gray wanted to laugh. He could hardly tell her that he’d always wanted to work ten to twelve hour days mucking out stables, or spend from sunup to sundown emptying heavy bags of barley into hop bins. Or endure hour after agonizing hour fighting the stifling heat that came from beneath the coopers as they boiled the wort, and expect her to believe him. She wasn’t a fool. He’d realized that fact less than thirty seconds after he’d talked to her at the Rudland ball five years ago. She was one of those intelligent females who scared the hell out of any confirmed rake – and Gray was a more confirmed rake than nearly every other man who claimed a ranking in that category.
No, he couldn’t tell her such a blatant lie and expect her to believe him. And he sure as hell couldn’t tell her the truth. Not yet. He doubted she knew her father had lost the brewery gambling and he could hardly chance her finding out until he knew the brewing process from start to finish. If the brewery was his only means of support, he didn’t want to take the chance that she’d walk out on him and take the brewery workers with her.
Wouldn’t the world have a laugh if he failed at running a brewery? He’d be damned if he’d crawl back to his father to beg for another chance. Especially when he was certain his father wouldn’t give him one. Why should he? He’d done nothing to deserve it.
Gray reached for the handle that opened the door leading to the long hallway that separated Baron Bradley’s office from the rest of the brewery and threw open the door. He might as well get this over with.
Without giving himself time to change his mind, he walked down the hallway and rapped on the door. He waited for her command, then entered and looked across the room. His breath caught and he swallowed. Bloody hell, when had she turned into such a vision?
Gray managed to close the door behind him with a solid thud as if he had perfect control of the situation, but he didn’t step across the room to where Maggie Bradford waited for him. He couldn’t just yet. He wanted to absorb every detail that combined to create a female that bordered on near perfection.
Oh, he’d caught glimpses of her when she’d toured the brewery every day but he’d been too intent on escaping her notice to risk getting a good look at her. And he’d seen her from a distance when she stood on the balcony looking down on him just a few minutes ago, but the sun had glared behind her, keeping him from seeing her clearly. Now, there was nothing stopping him from taking in her every feature.
Gray guessed that if he walked across the room and pulled her next to him the top of her head would come to just beneath his chin. And her hair was much darker than the flaxen blondes that usually stirred his blood. Her thick, curled tresses were a rich auburn that glimmered with strands of gold that made him want to pull the pins from her severe style and watch her hair cascade across her shoulders and down her back.
But it wasn’t her hair, her height, or the narrow waist and generous bosom that captivated him. Nor was it her small upturned nose or heart-shaped face. He could have evaluated her physical attributes with an attitude of indifference if only he hadn’t looked into her eyes.
Her ebony eyes were alive with understanding. They glimmered with the same intelligence he remembered from before, but now there was a maturity there that seemed irresistible, a strength that seemed indefatigable.
“Won’t you come in, Mr. Delaney?” she said, her voice calm and forceful, as if she wanted to make it plain from the start that in this situation she had the advantage. And yet, somewhere in the great depths of her fathomless gaze, her stalwart expression seemed to waver just the slightest, as if she were as leery of him as he was of her.
“Thank you.”
Gray graced her with a respectful nod then walked across the room.
“Please, be seated.”
“After you,” he said, waiting for her to sit.
She gave him a look that said she wasn’t impressed by his pointed display of manners but sat in the chair behind her father’s desk as if accustomed to being there. As soon as she settled, she made a motion for him to sit in the leather wing-chair opposite her.
He sat.
“May I offer you a cup of tea?”
“Tea? In a brewery?” he teased with a lackadaisical grin. “That’s next to sacrilege, isn’t it?”
“We brew ale to sell, Mr. Delaney. We don’t consume it twenty-four hours a day.”
“You don’t?” Gray tried to look shocked. “But that’s why I came. I was told that there would be an unlimited supply of ale for all the brewery workers. You’ve shattered my illusion.”
“I doubt that you’re here because of the ale.”
He shrugged. “I’m sure you’re familiar with my reputation. What other reason could there be for me to work in a brewery?”
“I don’t know. Why don’t you tell me?”
Gray leaned back against the soft brown leather of the chair and stretched his long legs out in front of him. He knew it was a blatant show of bad manners but couldn’t stop himself. “Would you believe that being a mashman has been a lifelong ambition of mine?”
“No,” she answered with enough ice to freeze the Thames.
“How about I lost the desire to gamble away my fortune and decided to turn to the simple life of a common laborer in a country brewery?”
“I’d believe that even less.”
He narrowed his brows as if thinking up another excuse. “Would you believe I was on my way to one of my family’s many country estates and took a wrong turn? I amazingly found myself here and thought this would be a perfect place to wile away a few months.”
Her face flushed in anger and he felt inordinately proud of himself.
“I’ll believe nothing but the truth, Mr. Delaney. Why don’t you concentrate on that?”
She replaced the small round paper weight she held in her hand with a decided thud that made Gray want to laugh.
“Does your father know you’re here?”
Gray thought he might have been hit by a bolt of lightning. He unclasped his fingers from around the arms of the chair. “My father?”
“Yes.”
“What, pray tell, does my father
have to do with this conversation?”
She shrugged then leaned back in her chair as if suddenly aware that she’d broached an uncomfortable point. “Evidently more than you prefer to admit. Does he know you’re here?”
Gray tried to keep his features expressionless as he leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. When he spoke, his voice came out in a hushed whisper. “Don’t you know, Miss Bradford, there’s nothing that my father doesn’t know. He has knowledge of everything that goes on in all of England.”
“How daunting it must be for you as his son.”
He laughed but his laughter held none of the flippancy he tried to portray. “Be assured, Miss Delaney, my father and I have a perfect understanding. We both hold each other with a special regard that no other father and son have.”
She stared into his face, as if studying the expression he wore as a mask, then she stood behind her father’s desk. “Why are you working here?”
He smiled again and opened his mouth to speak. She held up her hand to stop his trumped-up answer before he said it.
“Please, don’t insult my intelligence with another lie. The truth, Mr. Delaney.”
“And if I refuse?”
She lifted her shoulders in a noncommittal shrug. “I’ll have no choice but to dismiss you.”
She’d surprised him. He wasn’t prepared for her to answer him with such a threat. “On what grounds?”
“I wasn’t aware I needed a reason. I am in charge of Bradford Brewery. The ultimate decision to dismiss an employee is mine.”
“You are in charge? I’m sorry, but I thought—”
He stopped so abruptly she looked caught off guard. “You thought what?”
Gray searched for the right words to say. “I, uh. I thought your father was in charge of Bradford Brewery.”
“He…is. But I am in charge while he is away.”
“And where is your father, Miss Bradford? I’ve worked here three months and haven’t seen him once in all that time.”
“My father’s away on business, as if that’s any of your concern.” She stepped around the corner of the desk and took two determined strides toward him. “Now, for the last time. Why are you working here?”