by Laura Landon
Maggie’s gaze darted to the innocent expression on her aunt’s face but knew beneath that façade, there lurked a sublime point. “I don’t know what you mean,” she said, pretending a naïveté that was totally unlike her.
“He’s not at all like your father, you know.” Her aunt set the cup and saucer on the table and planted her body as if she were preparing to give a lecture. “Grayson might appear as carefree as your father seemed, but beneath all that joviality there is an intelligence he’s made a good effort to hide.”
“Why would he want to conceal his intelligence?”
“My guess would be that his lackadaisical attitude makes it easier to avoid responsibility as well as bury the dark demons the lad has to battle.”
She turned to face her aunt. “What demons?”
“Do you know anything of his youth?”
She shook her head.
“His mother died in a fire at their country estate, Mayfair Manor. If I remember correctly, Grayson was the only one of the family with her.”
Maggie recalled the fire in the stable and Gray’s reaction afterward. She remembered how the color had drained from his face and the sight of him braced against the tree to keep upright. She imagined his fear of the raging flames and the courage it took for him to go inside a burning building to rescue the trapped horses.
“I’m not sure what happened,” her aunt continued, “but the boy changed after that. He became impossible to handle and was sent down from every school in which his father enrolled him.”
“How do you know this?”
“Like I told you, Camden and your uncle were close friends. The earl came to see me when Grayson was sent down from his third or fourth school. He was at a loss as to what to do, and to make matters worse, Grayson was suffering from horrible nightmares. No one at any of the schools knew how to handle him.”
“What did you tell him?”
Aunt Hester’s gaze changed, as if she recalled her conversation with Gray’s father all over again. “I asked him what the boy had told him from the night of the fire.”
“What did he say?”
“He told me Grayson had yet to talk about it.”
A painful weight pressed against Maggie’s chest. “Do you think he saw his mother die?”
Aunt Hester shrugged her delicate shoulders and released a heavy sigh. “I don’t know. It wasn’t long after that I heard young Delaney had sailed on a year-long voyage to the Indies and the Far East.”
“How old was he?” Maggie asked in surprise.
“He couldn’t have been more than sixteen at the time. But when he came back, it was far too late for his father to change him. Although I don’t think Camden ever stopped trying.”
“What do you think happened the night of the fire?” Maggie wondered more than ever what had occurred to shape Grayson Delaney into the man he’d become.
“I have no idea other than—” Her aunt stopped.
“Other than, what?” Maggie realized it was imperative her aunt finish her sentence.
“Other than I think the answer is buried at Mayfair Manor.”
Maggie wanted to ask more, but a rap on the door stopped her. A sleepy-eyed butler opened the door to admit the doctor.
“How is he?” Maggie asked when the doctor entered the room.
“Very lucky. The bullet did little damage and Mr. Delaney should feel few aftereffects other than some stiffness and minor discomfort. It is important, however, that he rest for a couple of days. There’s always the risk of fever.”
“Of course.” Maggie breathed a sigh of relief.
“I gave him a bit of laudanum to help him over the worst of it so he should sleep the rest of the night. I’d keep a watch on him though, just in case.”
“Of course. Someone will stay with him.”
“Very good. I’ll be back later this afternoon or toward evening to check on him.”
The doctor turned to leave.
“Would you care for a glass of wine before you go, or a cup of tea?”
“Thank you, no. I must be on my way. Mrs. Chittendon is past due to have her babe. I anticipate that one of the older lads will be knocking on my door before the night’s over, so I don’t want to be gone for long.”
“Of course. Cook made up a basket with some biscuits and something warm to drink,” she said, handing the doctor the small parcel a very rumpled maid held out for her. “And here’s something for your trouble.”
She placed a coin on the top of the basket that the doctor gratefully tucked away in his pocket.
“Thank you, Miss Bradford. Just watch him for a few days to make sure fever doesn’t set in. He should recover in no time.”
Maggie watched until the doctor’s carriage pulled away from the curb, then closed the door and walked back inside. Her aunt stood in the middle of the foyer waiting for her. “Go to bed now, Aunt Hester.” She took her aunt by the arm and led her up the stairs.
“I’d tell you to do the same, but I don’t think it would do any good.”
Maggie couldn’t meet her aunt’s gaze. “You heard what the doctor said. We need to make sure Mr. Delaney doesn’t develop a fever.”
“Call if you need help.”
“I will.” She gave her aunt a loving kiss on the cheek. “Jeremy will be with me.”
“Very well. I’ll go to bed then. It’s been a long day.”
“That it has. Rest well,” she said. “The worst is over now.”
Her aunt turned slowly to close her door, then stopped. “Is it? We don’t know who shot Grayson Delaney or why. Until we do, I think this is only beginning.”
Maggie stared at the closed door for several seconds before she walked toward the guest room where Grayson Delaney was resting.
Her aunt was right to warn her. She should go to her own room and go to bed, but she knew she’d never sleep. Not now. Not with him just down the hall.
She opened the door. Jeremy sat in a chair in the corner and jolted upright as if he’d been dozing.
“You can go to bed now, Jeremy.”
“The doctor said someone was to sit with Mr. Delaney all night.”
“I’ll stay. It’ll only be a few hours until everyone is up and I’ll have one of the footmen sit with him then.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. And tell Mr. Carmody that I said to let you sleep in tomorrow.”
“Thank you, Miss Bradford,” Jeremy said with a broad smile on his face. “G’night, then.”
“Good night, Jeremy. And thank you.”
“You’re welcome, Miss.”
Maggie waited until Jeremy left then walked across the room. A fire still glowed in the fireplace, keeping the room nice and warm while giving off enough light to let her see. Maggie thought of lighting another candle but there was something about watching Mr. Delaney’s strong, chiseled features shift and change in the dancing firelight that kept her from adding more light.
He was remarkably handsome she noticed not for the first time, and the familiar churning inside her chest nudged her heart in a most disturbing way. His torso was only half covered, but even without touching him she could almost feel beneath her fingertips the hardness of the corded muscles across his shoulders and on his arms. Her cheeks burned as if she’d been caught doing something terrible, when all she’d done was watch him sleep. Oh, why did he have to affect her like he did?
She didn’t care what excuses Aunt Hester made for why he was the way he was, it didn’t change the end product. He was still an exact replica of her father—except that her father would never have been successful in purchasing the King’s Crown. Her father would have drank away the evening with Geordie Briars and come home with less money than he’d gone with and nothing to show for his effort. Grayson Delaney had come away with a tied property to add to Bradford Brewery.
She watched his chest as he took one labored breath after another. A round circle of blood stained the large, white bandage the doctor had wrapped around his mi
ddle and across his shoulder. As long as the wound didn’t bleed profusely he was in no danger, but she vowed to observe closely to make sure the spot didn’t get worse. He was healthy and strong. He’d be all right.
Maggie pulled up a chair and sat by his bedside. Just being close to him was a euphoric agony she wasn’t sure she could endure. Just watching him sleep filled her with a hollow fullness that made her ache with a longing she’d never felt before. Just sitting here—
She pulled herself out of her musings when his head tossed to the side and he uttered a low moan.
“Mr. Delaney,” she whispered, placing her hand on his uninjured shoulder in an effort to hold him down. “Don’t move. You’ll hurt yourself.”
“Mother! Come back!”
“You’re dreaming, Mr. Delaney. Everything’s all right now. You’re safe.”
He ground out another agonizing moan and tried to pull away from her.
“Shh, Gray.” She leaned over to whisper in his ear. “You’re only dreaming.”
“Don’t go,” he gasped. “Please… don’t.”
“I won’t. I won’t go.”
“Come back!” He took several harsh breaths and reached for her. His fingers clenched around her forearm and pulled her toward him. Before she could escape his grasp, he wrapped his arm around her and brought her down over him. “Stay with me!”
He held her so tightly she couldn’t breathe. She struggled but he wouldn’t release her. When she tried to wriggle out of his grasp, he only pulled her closer.
“Don’t go. Don’t go. Don’t go,” he repeated over and over, each time the words coming faster and his tone more frantic.
“I won’t. I’m right here. Right. Here.” She gave up her struggle and pressed her cheek against his to whisper in his ear. “Please, release me,” she said, shifting her body to keep from touching his injured shoulder.
“No, Mother!” he ground out, squeezing her closer. “Safe… Keep you… safe.”
Maggie braced as much of her weight as she could on her elbows on either side of his body. “I’m safe, Gray. You’ve kept me safe.”
She held still for what seemed an eternity and just when she thought she might have to call for help, his eyes flew open. He stared at her with the most confused and frightened look she’d ever seen, then shook his head as if to clear it. With alarming speed he released his hold on her as if she were hot iron against his flesh.
She pushed herself to her feet and stood an adequate distance from him.
“What happened?” he asked.
“You had a nightmare.”
He paused, eyes closed again. Maggie waited for his breathing to calm and his body to relax.
He finally opened his eyes but he didn’t look at her. “Did I hurt you?” he asked quietly.
“No. You were dreaming about—”
“It doesn’t matter. It didn’t mean anything.”
He turned his face away from her and sank back into a deep slumber.
When she was certain he was asleep, she rinsed a cloth in the cool, clean water a maid had brought up and wiped the perspiration from his brow. She placed it back in the basin and sat down with a heavy sigh to keep watch in case he had another nightmare.
He didn’t move except to clutch at the covers as if he needed something—or someone to hold onto. Without understanding why she did something so foolish, she sat on the side of the bed and took his hand in hers.
A shot of warm heat raced from where their flesh met, then traveled up her arm and slivered through her chest. She knew she should release him but she didn’t. Instead, she sat at his side with his hand nestled in hers until the sun slowly lit the sky and the magical, mystical euphoria that only occurs in the dark faded with the light.
****
“What time is it?” he asked softly. He’d enjoyed watching her sleep for what seemed hours but he needed to move and for some reason the longer he was awake, the hungrier he became.
“What time is it?” he repeated again but she only shifted in her chair as if his voice was an irritation.
“What time is it!” he said louder.
“Oh!”
If he hadn’t hurt so bloody bad he’d have laughed at the way Maggie Bradford jolted in her chair.
“You startled me,” she said, clasping her hand to her chest. “I didn’t realize you were awake.”
“Fine nurse you’d make.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I wouldn’t complain if I were you. I asked for volunteers and no one stepped forward.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes, that’s so. And I don’t blame them. They knew what a terrible patient you’d probably be.”
Gray paused. “Was I that bad?”
She smiled. “No.”
“I’m sorry about the nightmare.”
“Don’t be. I can’t help but wonder though—”
“Forget it.” His tone was much harsher than he intended. He thought he was over those bloody nightmares but should have known the laudanum the doctor gave him would bring them back. And Maggie Bradford was the last person he wanted around when one came to haunt him.
“Thank you for everything you did.” He hoped his compliment would bring a little color back into her cheeks.
“I didn’t do anything. I’m just glad whoever fired at you was such a poor shot.”
“Tell my shoulder that.” Gray clenched his teeth as a new stab of pain jolted him. “It’s informing me that whoever fired at me was a bloody good shot.”
“Yes, I suppose it does seem like that.”
She rose from her chair and lifted a china pot to pour some steaming liquid into a cup.
“If that has laudanum in it… I don’t want it.”
“No laudanum.” She brought the cup toward his mouth. “Only some of Cook’s finest herbal tea. Guaranteed to heal you faster than anything the doctor could have given you.”
“I’d rather drink some of Bradford’s finest ale. Do you think—”
“Perhaps we’ll try that tomorrow.”
He had no choice but to take a swallow of the warm liquid. Even though he’d never admit it to her, it tasted wonderful. “Tell Cook thank you,” he said when he finished, “even though I’d rather have—”
“I know. Some of Bradford’s finest ale. I’ll convey your appreciation for the tea, along with your eager anticipation to taste the broth she’s spent all morning preparing.”
“Broth?” He gave her as menacing a glare as he could manage. “Oh, no you don’t. I refuse to be put on a diet of bland broth and dry toast. Either Cook finds a meat pie and some warm bread with butter and jam along with a large slice of fruit pie somewhere in her kitchen, or I’m getting out of this bed and going to the nearest inn to eat.”
He prepared himself for her argument. Instead, she smiled the most enchanting smile he’d ever seen. All of a sudden his shoulder didn’t ache at all. The catch he felt came from a place deep inside the center of his chest.
“Very well,” she said on a sigh he could tell was highly exaggerated. “If you insist, I suppose I could convince Cook to find a small meat pie somewhere in her kitchen along with a warm slice of bread or two.”
“And a fruit pie,” he added in the most stern tone of voice he was capable of.
“I don’t know about—”
“Preferably peach.”
“Peach?”
“Or a custard.”
She put the tea cup back on the bedside table and stared at him with her huge, round, dark eyes, then dropped her head back and laughed the most hearty, feminine laugh he’d ever heard. He thought he would die on the spot.
“You certainly are demanding. I can see you intend to take as much advantage of the situation as you possibly can.”
“I most certainly do. It’s not every day someone fires a bullet at me.”
He didn’t intend for his words to have such a sobering affect, but the color drained from her face with amazing speed. He wanted to reach for her, touch her, c
omfort her. But she held herself too far away from him. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to—”
“Did you see who shot you?”
He shook his head.
“Do you know why someone would?”
“I can’t think of a reason except either someone found out I was trying to purchase the King’s Crown for Bradford Brewery and didn’t want that to happen. Or, someone thinks I’m spending too much time with you and the bullet was their way of warning me to stay away.”
She waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. “I doubt anyone cares with whom I spend my time, so—”
“Do you?”
He loved the rosy tint that blossomed in her cheeks and the demure way her gaze couldn’t meet his. Hell, but she was enticing.
“Of course. The only person who might even notice is—”
“Your cousin,” he finished for her.
Her gaze darted to meet his and the look of shock on her face was almost comical.
“Surely you don’t think Cousin Lyman would shoot you just because you… you paid me a certain amount of attention?”
“Have you forgotten how determined he was to shower you with his attention, and how angry he became when I interrupted his pursuit?”
“No, but he wasn’t serious. He doesn’t really want the brewery. He’s just of the old fashioned mindset that considers all women helpless individuals who can’t manage without a man telling them every move to make. He thinks it’s his duty to take care of me because he’s next in line to inherit Father’s title and estate. In his way of thinking, marriage is the most logical answer to his problem, and to mine.”
Gray made a conscious effort to close his gaping mouth. Was she really that naïve? “Considering what Cousin Lyman has to gain by marrying you, I think it’s easy to think he might wish to get rid of anyone he sees as competition.”
“But I told him, just as I told you, that I don’t intend to marry anyone.”
“Perhaps he didn’t believe you any more than I do.”
He knew that would elicit a reaction and he nearly burst out laughing when she plopped her fists on her hips and glared at him.
“Then you’d best reevaluate what you believe. I have no intention of ever marrying.”