by Laura Landon
She smiled.
Ah, hell.
“Yes, I find that impossible.”
“Then you’re a fool.”
“Perhaps. But I also consider myself a good judge of character. And for all your faults, you aren’t a liar.”
“What has that got to do with anything?”
She swished one side of her skirts in front of her and stepped through the stall opening, then with as much finesse as if she attended a ball, gracefully sat on a crate that had been turned over in the corner of the stall. She clasped her small hands in her lap and looked up at him. “Everything.”
“Do you know how quickly your reputation could be ruined?”
“We’re not in London, Mr. Delaney. We’re in the country. And the only way my reputation could be ruined would be if someone found us in a compromising situation.”
“You don’t think that will happen?”
“Of course not.”
Gray stepped closer to her and leaned against the railings of the stall. “What makes you so sure?”
“Because you said so.”
Gray laughed. “What did I say?”
“That you would never shower your attentions on an unwilling partner. And I,” she said with a small, adorable harrumph to emphasize her declaration, “am not, nor ever will be, a willing partner.”
Gray held back his laughter – barely. “You’re right. That would keep you safe from my attentions except for the two minor errors you made.”
“And what are those?”
He stepped in front of her and leaned forward. She in turn leaned back into the corner when he braced his hands on the railing on either side of her head. Then, he lowered his body until he was eye level to her. “First of all I have never kissed you so it’s impossible for you to say with any degree of certainty that you would not be a willing partner.
“And secondly,” he said, leaning closer so his lips were so close to hers he felt her soft, rapid breaths against his mouth. “I didn’t say I would never shower my attentions on an unwilling partner. I said that I’d never met a woman who wasn’t a willing partner. Either before…or after I kissed her.”
Gray watched her eyes open wide and thought he might die. Ah, hell, he wanted her.
With a great show of self-control, he pushed away from the railing and stepped back. “Why are you here?”
“I…uh…I…” She took a ragged breath and swallowed again.
The gesture was almost his undoing.
“I came to hear what you found out.”
He’d put as much distance between them as he could, but the stall was too narrow and the mare who’d been so docile before was evidently tired of sharing the crowded space with two other people. The horse swung her hind quarters around and just missed stepping on Gray’s boot. “Come on. Let’s get out of here before we get trampled.”
“Where are we going?”
“We have four acres. Surely we can find some place where we can talk.”
“My office is still relatively warm. We can go there.”
Gray extended his hand to see her up, then grabbed the lantern from the beam before he looped her fingers through his arm. The feel of her hand beneath his palm sent wave after wave of heat soaring through him. She tried to keep an appropriate distance between them but it was impossible. Every time her body touched his he almost shivered.
This was his payment for drinking just enough to let his imagination take hold. He lengthened his steps as they crossed the brewery yard and entered the building where the offices were located. The sooner they got there the sooner they’d get this over.
And the sooner he could jump in the icy cold Rushbourne River on his way home.
Gray kept his pace steady, but the closer they came to her office, the more hesitant she became. As if each step made her realize she might not be safe with him.
Well, it was too late now.
He opened the door to the brewery office where Henry Tibbles kept the books, then led her up the narrow stairs to the second level where the two private Bradford offices were located.
“Is this your father’s office?” he asked pointing to the first office they passed.
“Yes.”
He didn’t want to talk to her there so he escorted her to the next room and opened the door. The lantern was still lit, which was good because it gave off at least a little light. The fire in the grate had burned down and was nearly out but the room hadn’t cooled off too much. Gray dropped his hand from the small of her back and hunched down to bring the flames back to life, then stood.
“So you were foolish enough to venture from your bed at three o’clock in the morning just to find out what I learned tonight?”
She nodded. “Did you go to the King’s Crown?”
“I did.”
He walked to one of the two large wing chairs flanking the fire and sat. He knew how anxious she was to hear what had happened and delighted in taking his frustratingly sweet time getting to it. She deserved it for the physical discomfort her nearness caused him.
For some reason he couldn’t explain he didn’t want her to see a serious side to his nature. He didn’t want her to think he was any different than the irresponsible, lackadaisical wastrel the world thought him to be.
It would keep her at a distance so she wouldn’t be as great a threat as he considered her. He relaxed into his chair and enjoyed her growing frustration. When she anchored her fists on her hips and stepped in front of him he knew he’d pushed her nearly to the brink.
“Well!”
“Oh, you want to know more?”
“Yes, I want to know more! Did you meet with Mr. Briars?”
He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “Has anyone ever told you if you frown too much those little lines will stay in your forehead?”
He almost laughed out loud when she grabbed handfuls of her cloak and sank down into the chair angled toward his with an unladylike plop.
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” she said through clenched teeth as she stared into the blazing flames.
“I have to admit that I am. But only because you’re always so serious.”
“Which is totally opposite to your approach to everything,” she said, darting an angry glance in his direction. “Do you even know how to take anything seriously?”
“Oh, I know how. I’ve just never found that it does any good.” He cocked his head in her direction and smiled. He couldn’t help himself. “You have to learn to enjoy life, Maggie. There’s enough to fret over without adding to the list.”
She dropped her head back against the chair cushion and breathed a deep sigh. “Do you know how much you remind me of my father?”
Gray wasn’t sure he appreciated the comparison. “Do I?”
“Yes. Father often teased my mother about that very same thing. He’d always laughed at her because it was in her nature to look at every task as a problem, and in her nature to get to the heart of every problem and anticipate every possibility so that nothing could take her by surprise.”
“And your father?”
“He refused to believe there was anything that a sense of humor and a drink or two couldn’t fix.”
“Worrying won’t help this at all.”
She bolted forward. “Just how do you think I should react when there’s a possibility that what I’m doing could destroy my sisters’ futures?”
“Oh, my. That is a weighty problem, my sweet. I can see where you might want to fret a mite.”
“Don’t call me that. I’m not your sweet.”
“Are you telling me you don’t want to be?”
“Stop it!” she said, bounding to her feet.
“Oh, very well. I should have realized that a person of your nature can’t adjust to a little light humor at the turn of the screw. And going without sleep has more than likely put you out of sorts.”
Gray rose from his chair and added another small piece of wood to the fire. When he turned, h
e looked at her and smiled. “You wouldn’t happen to have a bottle of that fine Bradford ale by chance, would you?”
“Of course. A drink is always the answer to everything, isn’t it?”
Even if the room had been pitch dark it wouldn’t have hidden the effect her words had on him. “Careful, my sweet. It’s not wise to show your claws.”
Her cheeks turned a bright scarlet and Gray knew she was aware she’d overstepped her bounds. If he were in a magnanimous mood he’d mark her biting remark up to the fact that it was after three in the morning and he had pushed her rather hard. Then she looked at him with her big, dark eyes shimmering and Gray knew he could forgive her anything.
“I apologize,” she whispered. “That was uncalled for. It’s just that—”
She stopped on a heavy sigh and walked to the wooden cupboard behind her desk. Gray watched her fill one glass nearly to the top with Bradford’s excellent ale, and another with just a swallow in it. She turned and when she reached him she held the full glass out to him.
Gray lifted his arm, but instead of taking the glass, he wrapped his fingers around hers and held steady. For several long seconds their gazes locked, as if neither of them wanted to be the first to break the hold. The room grew warmer, the heat that passed between them turned to a raging fire, and Gray knew it would only be a moment more before he burst into flames. “Briars is interested in selling.”
Her eyes popped open and her mouth dropped. “What?”
“He wants to sell.”
“Are you sure?”
Gray nodded. “As sure as I can be without having anything in writing. But like any wise man he asked for a little time, no doubt to talk my offer over with his wife.”
“How much did you offer him?”
“Nothing, yet. I just listened to him tell me how hard it was to own an inn, and tried to keep up with him while he drank tankard after tankard of very inferior ale.”
“And he offered to sell you the inn?” she asked, pulling her hand away from his.
Gray’s hand felt strangely cold without her skin touching his and he took a swallow of the liquor in his glass although he barely tasted it. “Not exactly. He told me that his daughter had married well and had a cottage waiting for him and his wife where they could live out their lives in comfort. I asked him why he hadn’t moved and he said he couldn’t until he found a buyer for his inn.”
He watched as Maggie’s face turned a warm pink and he fought the urge to brush his fingers down her rose-tipped cheeks. “I told him Bradford Brewery might be interested in buying the King’s Crown.”
“What did he say?”
Gray took a larger swallow of the liquor in his glass, this time hoping it would dull his senses and soften her reaction to what he had to tell her.
“What did he say?” She repeated her question and this time her voice sounded more anxious.
Gray emptied his glass in one swallow. “He asked who’d given me the authority to speak for Bradford Brewery. He said everyone knows your father’s been gone for months already and there’s no one in charge but you.”
“And of course it’s impossible to take any offer a woman makes seriously.”
Gray saw Maggie’s temper rise and refrained from telling her Briars said a great deal more than that.
“So how did you convince him to consider your offer?”
“I told him that you weren’t making the offer. I was.”
“He took an offer from a common brewery worker seriously? I can’t believe it.”
Gray cleared his throat. “Well, he doesn’t think I’m a common brewery worker— exactly.”
“Then what – exactly – does he think you are?”
“Exactly who I am,” Gray said with more confidence than he felt at that moment. “The Earl of Camden’s second son.”
“And that made your offer more credible? Didn’t he want to know what connection you had to the brewery that enabled you to make such an offer?”
“Well…yes he did,” Gray hedged, wishing at that moment that she weren’t so astute when it came to business matters. “That seemed to be important to him.”
Gray didn’t wait for her to offer to refill his glass but walked to the cupboard and poured another inch into his glass.
“I’m sure it was. So what did you tell him?” she asked, foolishly stepping over to the cupboard.
Gray turned around and she was there, close enough to notice that the frown on her forehead lowered her dark brows nearer her beautiful dark eyes, and that her pretty mouth seemed deliciously kissable when it puckered in frustration. For a moment he couldn’t think, he couldn’t do anything but stare into her face and wonder what it would be like to kiss her.
“What did you tell him?” she repeated, taking the glass from his hand and setting it on the edge of the cupboard.
“That we were getting married.”
Chapter Seven
Maggie made several attempts to speak but no words came out. When she finally managed to talk, all she uttered was, “What did you just say?”
“I told Geordie Briars that we were engaged to be married.”
“Why?”
Maggie waited for him to answer but instead he took a step closer and stared down at her with a hungry smile on his face. The anger that started to build inside her was quickly replaced by an emotion she couldn’t explain. A rush of overly warm liquid flowed through her veins, warming her from the inside out.
“It seemed the wisest course to take,” he said slowly, his gaze moving from her eyes to her lips, “considering what I was trying to accomplish.”
“Wise?” She struggled to give the impression that she had the upper hand in their conversation, when she wasn’t sure she had control of anything, including her knees that wanted to buckle. “There was nothing wise in telling Mr. Briars that we were betrothed.”
“Wasn’t there?” He backed her into the corner of the room. “How far do you think I would have gotten if I’d have kept my identity a secret and let him believe I was nothing more than one of your employees?”
Maggie wasn’t sure about the answer to that, or if there was one she couldn’t find it because he stood so close to her she couldn’t think.
“I’m sure with your experience you could have thought of something to convince him I’d sent you in my stead.”
“I can be a very convincing fellow, my sweet.” He braced one of his hands on the wall beside her head. “But I usually have more success charming women into what I want them to do than men.”
“I don’t doubt that,” she said, gloating as if she’d scored a hit with her caustic remark. “But what if Mr. Briars tells someone that you and I are…” Maggie swallowed hard. “…betrothed, and it becomes common knowledge?”
Grayson Delaney lifted one of his thick, dark brows and leaned closer so his face was mere inches from hers. “I imagine we’ll have to get married.”
“Don’t even tease about something like that.”
Maggie pushed at his chest and he stumbled backward. She took the opportunity to escape.
“Would marriage to me be so distasteful?” The corners of his mouth turned upward to form the most beguiling smile she’d ever seen. “I’ve been considered to be an above average catch by more than one marriage-minded mama.”
“Those were obviously the ones pushed past the point of desperation to find a match for their aging spinster daughters.”
“You wouldn’t consider me a good match?”
“I would consider you the worst possible of matches, if I were interested in making a match.”
“Which you’re not,” he said with a hint of doubt in his voice.
“Which I’m absolutely, unequivocally not! And I especially wouldn’t look in your direction even if I were.”
“Oh, you do have a low impression of me, don’t you?”
“You have no idea.” Maggie walked to the other side of the room and let her mother’s big oak desk separate them. “Now, please
explain exactly what transpired between you and Mr. Briars.”
He propped one shoulder against the wall where she’d escaped from him and crossed his arms over his chest. “As I told you, we shared a few glasses of the inn’s very inferior ale—”
“A few dozen, you mean,” Maggie interrupted, unable to keep her thoughts to herself.
“Hardly that many, Maggie, my dear. But perhaps it was a few more than one or two.”
Maggie rolled her eyes which elicited a smile from the man across the room.
“Anyway, I explained as tactfully as I could my reason for coming to see him. Mr. Briars was clearly interested from the beginning, and when I explained that Bradford Brewery might want to buy his fine establishment, he became even more interested. He understandably wanted to know what position I held to be able to make such an inquiry. At that point, I realized I had to make my status at the brewery as lofty as possible. And what loftier a position than the future son-in-law of the present owner?”
“And he believed you?”
“As you mentioned before,” he answered with a wink, “I can be very persuasive with the right motivation.”
Maggie wanted to argue but couldn’t. “Did Mr. Briars give you any indication as to what price he might ask for the King’s Crown?”
Delaney merely smiled at that. “Before we could discuss any monetary issues, he made a point of informing me that his inn was the finest in the county, visited by gentry and nobility from far and wide. I think he was going to indicate an amount he’d be willing to part with his establishment, but I stopped him.”
“Why?” Maggie stepped around the desk. “Why did you stop him?”
“Because whatever price he stated would be a bargaining point from his advantage—not mine. I’d rather be the one to make the first offer and have to raise it to meet his expectations, than anger him by forcing him to accept far less than he’d asked as a starting price.”
Maggie saw the advantage in such a strategy but was amazed that Grayson Delaney had thought of it. “And how will you determine what to offer him? The only way we have of knowing what profits to expect from the King’s Crown is to see the account books for the last few years.”