More Than Willing (18 page)

“What happened that night?”

He should have known better.

He pointed to the portrait in front of him. “That was my mother’s great-great-grandmother.”

“You aren’t going to answer me, are you?”

“I agreed to give you a tour of the manor, but now you’ll play by my rules.” Gray gave her a seductive grin, then draped his arm over her shoulders.

He meant the movement to throw her off balance. Unfortunately, the warmth seeping through his veins unsettled him more than it seemed to affect her.

She slowly shifted her gaze to his hand. “Is this your tactic to distract me?”

“Is it working?”

“No.”

Gray smiled. But he didn’t remove his arm. He knew her words were a lie. Her rosy red cheeks told him so.

He looked back toward the portrait. “Rumor has it Mother’s great-great-grandmother tried to run away to a convent rather than stay married to her husband.”

“Was he that impossible to tolerate?”

“That’s him at the end of the hall. What do you think?”

She stepped out of his arm and walked away from him. When she reached the portrait, she cocked her head in an evaluative pose, then placed her forefinger against her puckered lips and diligently studied the painting.

“Well?” he asked, smiling at the frown on her face.

“He doesn’t look that ferocious to me.”

“He doesn’t?”

“No.” She walked back to his great
-great-grandmother’s portrait. “I think she was at fault. In fact, I’m sure of it.”

Gray couldn’t help but laugh. “That’s what Mother and I decided too. Mother said this portrait reminded her of the picture of a witch she’d seen in a storybook and thought her ancestor must have been a horror to live wit
h. That’s why Mother hung Great-great-grandfather at the other end of the hall. She said the poor man may not have been able to escape his wife while he was alive, but he deserved to get as far away from her as he could after he was dead.”

Maggie chuckled and Gray’s heart soared. She was the most endearing female he’d ever met. The realization hit him like a bolt of lightning. If there’d ever been any doubt of how much he cared for her, it was no longer there.

Somewhere between the time when he’d first kissed her and last night when she’d given him her body, he knew how impossible it would be to live his life without her.

He suddenly realized he had to convince her to marry him before she discovered he held the deed to her brewery. Once she discovered her father had lost it, she’d
be convinced he wanted to marry her for the same reason her father had married her mother.

And if by chance he’d gotten her pregnant, she’d feel forced into marrying him. She’d never believe it was love that made him ask her to be his wife. Or that he wanted to marry her because he couldn’t imagine living his life without her.

An icy shiver slid down his spine. If she thought she’d been deceived like that he was certain she’d go someplace where he’d never find her.

A fear unlike any he’d ever experience
d hit him like a blow to the gut. He couldn’t let anything like that happen. What purpose would there be in running the brewery if she weren’t at his side?

He wanted her. He wanted to marry her before she found out he owned Bradford Brewery. Before she knew if she was pregnant.

He had to convince her that the brewery had nothing to do with the reason he wanted her. But more than anything, he had to convince her that he was not like her father. That he had no intention of going to London to squander the money they made.

Gray nearly laughed out loud. When had he come to that realization? He’d never imagined a life away from London. He’d never thought he could be content living anyplace
except in London. But all of a sudden he knew he could.

He would be more than content living in the country.

As long as it wasn’t anywhere near Mayfair.

And as long as Maggie was with him.

He walked up close behind her. If he wanted to convince her he loved her, he had to start now. He placed his hands on her shoulders and made slow, lazy circles with his thumbs.

“Who’s that?” she said pointing at another portrait.

The movement was intended to shrug off his touch. He didn’t let it. “I don’t know.”

She breathed a sigh of exasperation. “You might if you looked where I’m pointing.”

“I can’t.

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want to look at anyone but you.”

“Don’t, Gray,” she whispered when he leaned down and kissed the side of her neck. She turned in his arms and took a step away from him.

“I want you, Maggie.”

She shook her head and stepped back until the wa
ll stopped her from going any farther. “That won’t happen again.”

“That’s not what I meant.” He dropped his head back and laughed. He was making a terrible mess of this. “Well, it is, but I didn’t mean right now. I meant
I want you with me. Always. I—”

“Stop,” she said, not soft enough to be called a whisper yet not loud enough to be called a command. Her word came out more like a plea, an entreaty.

“Marry me, Maggie.”

Her mouth opened and she tried to speak but no words came out. She tried again
. “Why?” This wasn’t the reply he expected. Or wanted.

“Because I want you.”

“For how long?”

“Forever.”

She stepped far enough away from him that he couldn’t take her in his arms, then held up her hand to stop him from trying. “I’m not foolish enough to believe you mean that, Gray. I heard my father make that same promise to my mother more times than I care to remember.”

“Your father was unfaithful to your mother?”

“Of course my father was unfaithful,” she said on a laugh. “Except he wasn’t unfaithful to Mother with another woman. He left her for another life. A life filled with laughter and parties and drinking and gambling. A carefree life that included no cares or responsibilities. A life he could walk into or out of whenever he wanted, depending on his luck at cards or his fortune with a toss of the dice.”

“I am
not your father,” Gray said through clenched teeth. “Why is it so impossible for you to see me for who I really am?”

“I
do see you. I wish more than anything that I didn’t. It’s you who is blind to who you really are. It’s you!”

Gray was angrier than he’d ever been in his life. But it wasn’t an anger borne from rage, but from desperation. A desperation that stemmed from his inability to prove himself to her.

Why was it so impossible for her to see that he wasn’t like her father? Why couldn’t she see that he would never abandon her like her father had? That he’d changed and wasn’t the rogue he’d been before he met her?

He didn’t want to be so angry with her but he couldn’t help it.

“I’d like to return to Father’s study. I noticed several bottles of excellent brandy going to waste. As you’ve already pointed out, a man with my lack of character can’t be expected to fight the temptation they present.”

He’d hurt her. He could tell he had by the fixed mask she put firmly in place. Gray recognized the stubborn lift of her chin and the inflexible rise of her shoulders. Her back was ramrod straight and she faced him with the same willful determination he was used to seeing from her.

“You haven’t finished showing me your house.”

“I don’t intend to.”

He turned his back on her and walked a few steps away from her before he stopped. “I trust you can find your way back to your room,” he said with a stiff bow. “If you get lost just call out for one of the guardians my father employs to make sure Mayfair remains a shrine in memory of his wife.”

“This is
your house, Gray. The servants are here to take care of your home.”

He shook his head. “It will never be my home. Never!”

And he walked away from her without a backwards glance.

The snow had stopped sometime during the night and when she awoke Jena arrived with a breakfast tray. She informed her that Master Delaney said to tell her that they would be leaving within the hour.

Maggie drank the hot chocolate while Jena laid out her clothes, then readied herself for the long, uncomfortable trip home.

She dreaded being confined with Gray in a small carriage with nothing to do except stare across the seat at him the entire time. She knew even if she were brave enough to look in his direction she’d only find the glare of his piercing blue eyes trying to avoid her.

She couldn’t imagine watching the frozen landscape the entire time it took to reach Bradford Brewery.

Instead, she borrowed a novel from Gray’s library before they left, and buried her nose in it the minute she stepped into the carriage. She wasn’t sure which book she’d selected. That hadn’t seemed important. All that mattered was that she had something on which she could concentrate so she could pretend his anger didn’t bother her.

Unfortunately, every once in a while she forgot to turn the page and was sure he noticed.

“Do you intend for us to travel the whole way to Bradford without speaking?”

His interruption surprised her. “After yesterday I thought you would prefer it.”

“I should. But I find I cannot stay angry with you for long.”

“I’m not sure why you were angry with me to begin with.”

“Aren’t you?”

“No.”

He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. His hands were together yet when he flexed his fingers they reached the fringe of her cloak. He let the silk sift over his hands like he had on their way here two days ago.

“I don’t know how to prove myself to you, Maggie. I’ve told you I want you but words aren’t enough. I’ve asked you to marry me but you’ve refused. You want something more and I don’t know what it is.”

For a long moment they sat in silence as the horses plodded through the snow. Maggie searched for an answer to give him but there was none – not one he would understand.

“I assume you want to know why I don’t want to have anything to do with Mayfair. You might as well know
what happened here since you can’t possibly think less of me than you already do.”

“I don’t
think ill of you, Gray. I only—”

He shook his head enough to stop her words.

A few seconds went by before he spoke. “Mother died the summer of my fourteenth year. She and Father and Adrian and I had come to Mayfair as we did each year. We always enjoyed our months in the country and stayed until Father had to return to Parliament. But that summer Father was called back early for a special meeting of an important committee he chaired. Mother didn’t want to give up any of her time here so when Father had to leave, she decided to stay.

“Adrian was at an age where Father was training him as the future Earl of Camden, so when he decided to take my brother with him and leave me at Mayfair, I thought it would be great fun. Do you know what Father’s last words were to me before he embarked for London?”

Maggie didn’t give Gray an answer, but she knew he didn’t expect one. In fact, she doubted he even remembered she was in the same carriage. He had detached himself from his tale more completely than anyone she’d ever seen.

She looked into his face—
his eyes glazed with a faraway look, his features expressionless, as if his high cheekbones and the rugged angle of his jaw were chiseled from stone.

“He said, ‘Take good care of your mother, Son.’”

A very slight change lifted the corners of his mouth but it wasn’t a smile she saw on his face. If anything, it was a cynical expression filled with self-loathing.

“And I took very good care of her.” He laughed. “I let her die.”

His whole body stiffened as if the shock of what he’d said out loud surprised him. Maggie knew without him saying so that this was probably the first time he’d ever uttered those words.

“Was it intentional?”

He jerked his head in her direction. “Of course not.”

“Then you didn’t let her die. She died and you weren’t able to save her.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I know you are no more capable of letting your mother die without trying to save her than you were of letting our brewery horses die without risking your life to save them.”

“Ah, how high your opinion is of me.”

“With good reason. I’ve seen your back. I watched you rush into a burning building to save animals.”

“My noble attempt.”

“Don’t be so self deprecating.”

He looked at her, then dropped his gaze to the carriage floor. “The fire broke out in Mother’s dressing room, whether from a candle left lit by her maid or a scented candle Mother had a fondness for burning, no one knows. Boswick woke me and I ran to Mother’s room to get her out of the house. We raced down the back stairway and I had her nearly through the kitchen and into safety when one of the servants cried out that Maudie hadn’t come down yet.”

His voice sounded hoarse
. His words came out in short, ragged clips.

“I told Mother to go out into the garden and I raced back in to find Maudie. She’d fallen on the stairs and had broken her leg. I helped her the rest of the way down but when we reached the fresh air, Mother was no where to be found.”

He swiped his hand down his face. Beads of perspiration glistened on his forehead. She wanted to move to his side and hold him.

“I ran back for her but the fire had worsened. I was almost to the top of the stairs when the chandelier came down and blocked my way.”

“Is that how you got burned?”

“I was pinned beneath it.”

He took in several heavy gasps of air as if a part of him still remembered the pain, the horror.

“Boswick had seen me go back and came after me.”

Maggie swallowed past the lump in her throat. “Why did your mother go back in?”

He swiped his hand over his face. “She went back for a family portrait she’d forced Father and Adrian and me to sit for. The artist had just finished it that summer. She died with it in her arms.”

Maggie’s heart ached for him. She hurt for the family the Countess of Camden had left behind. And she hurt for Gray and the years of guilt he’d lived with.

“You didn’t know she wouldn’t stay where she was safe.”

“I should have made sure she did!”

“You were only fourteen!”

“Old enough to be given the responsibility of caring for my mother.”

“Has your father made you feel such horrible guilt? Is he the one who instilled this sense of failure?”

He laughed. “If only he had. My father lost the love of his life yet has lived under the pretense of being happy all these years. He’s never once held me to blame.”

“Because you’re not!”

“I am! I was the one who was supposed to take care of her. And I failed!”

Maggie looked at the torture written on his face and her heart ached for him. “It’s not your father who blames you for your mother’s death. It’s you.”

Gray laughed. “Those are the same words my father said to me before I left.”

“But you don’t believe him?”

“How can I? He wasn’t there that night. He didn’t hear her screams.”

Maggie’s heart
stabbed in her breast. “Have you ever wondered how different your life would be if you believed him?”

His eyes narrowed and his expression turned as combative as she’d ever seen.

“Have you ever wondered how different our lives would be if you believed me when I told you I didn’t want to marry you to get the brewery?”

His words knocked the wind from her. “The two aren’t comparable.
”

“Aren’t they? I think they are, Maggie,
my love. I think the two situations are identical.”

He leaned back against the cushions and closed his eyes as if their conversation were at an end.

Maggie swallowed hard, then answered a whisper of truth. “Perhaps you’re right, Gray. Words aren’t enough.”

He didn’t return an answer.

It was as if he finally realized how hopeless his quest to marry her was.

****

They arrived home to a flurry of excitement. The door to Bradford House flew open even before the carriage came to a complete stop and Felicity and Charlotte and Aunt Hester filed down the four steps leading from the portico.

“Maggie! Maggie!” Charlotte cried, racing toward them with her cloak loose around her shoulders. “You’re home. We were so worried about you.”

Maggie waited until Gray opened the door and let down the step, then took his proffered hand and stepped out of the carriage. She
stared into his eyes, but he wasn’t looking at her. He hadn’t looked at her since they’d ended their conversation several miles ago.

“Hello, Lottie.” Maggie gave her sister a quick hug, then pulled her cloak together beneath her chin and fastened it.

“Aunt Hester thought you might wait one more day before coming home, but when I got up and the snow had stopped, I knew you wouldn’t wait.”

“I’m glad you’re home,” Aunt Hester said when she and Felicity reached them. “You had a time of it, didn’t you?”

Maggie prayed that if her cheeks turned red everyone would attribute her blush to the cold. “Yes, quite a time.”

Maggie gave her aunt and sister a hug. When she looked up Henry Tibbles was behind them. The dark expression on his face frightened her.

“Is everything all right, Aunt Hester?”

“Yes, my dear. But we’ve exciting news to tell you, don’t we, girls?”

“Oh, Maggie,” Felicity said, coming as close to losing her composure as Maggie had ever seen her. “You’ll never guess. Never.”

“No,” Maggie said, happy to see her sisters so excited. “Probably not if you don’t give me a clue.”

“Aunt Hester received a message yesterday from Cousin Jonathan. He said we must come immediately. The Duchess of Sherwood is planning a ball Wednesday next to welcome everyone who has returned from the country. He said we must go because it will be the perfect affair to make our appearances.”

Maggie turned her attention to Aunt Hester. “When are you planning to leave?”

“Tomorrow, if these two lollygaggers can be ready.”

“We will be,” Maggie’s sisters added in excited voices. “We already have two trunks packed. But your maid hasn’t finished your first,” Lottie teased.

“Don’t you worry about Loretta. She can pack rings around the two of you.”

“Will you be wanting the carriage then tomorrow?” Cleary asked from behind them.

“Yes, Cleary. At noon.”

“Did you hear, Lottie,” Felicity said. “We have to be ready by noon!”

Maggie smiled as her sisters ran back into the house. When she looked back, she caught Henry Tibbles’s black expression. “Is there a problem, Henry?”

“Yes, Miss Bradford. Your aunt asked to see me about sending a draft to take care of traveling expenses and when I checked the ledgers—”

Maggie clutched her reticule. Even though The Spotted Goose would have been an excellent investment, she breathed a sigh of relief that Olin Wattich hadn’t agreed to sell his inn. ”Yes. You probably noticed there was a substantial amount absent.”

“I did. Was there something that needed to be taken care of?”

“Yes, there was an investment I wanted to look into.”

“And you took
Mr. Delaney to advise you?”

At the mention of his name, Gray stepped forward. She didn’t need to turn to see that he’d closed the distance between them. She just knew it. She felt his nearness as she always did.

“Do you have an objection to Miss Bradford consulting me?”

Henry Tibbles
’s gaze turned darker. “I’m just confused as to why Miss Bradford would seek the advice of a near stranger when considering an important issue.”

“Mr. Delaney ain’t no stranger,” Cleary said from atop the carriage. “He’s been here for months. Besides,
his father is the Earl of Camden. Mr. Delaney owns Mayfair Manor.”

“What did you say?” Henry Tibbles said in a voice that
sounded strained.

“I said Mr. Delaney here is the Earl of Camden’s son and master of Mayfair Manor. That’s where we stayed during the storm.”

“The Earl of Camden?” Henry said, his voice even weaker.

Gray hesitated as if he considered denying his parentage. “I am. But I would appreciate it if neither of you revealed that.”

“But why wouldn’t you—”

“As a favor, Cleary?” Gray said.

Cleary shook his head. “If you want, Mr. Delaney. I can hold my tongue when I need to.”

“Thank you, Cleary.” Gray locked his gaze with Tibbles’s. “Mr. Tibbles?”

“Oh, you can count on me not to say anything,” he said on a hostile laugh. “I’d like nothing better than to pretend you’d never come here.”

Before she could decipher the look on Henry Tibbles’s face, he turned and walked across the street toward the brewery. Cleary, too, made himself busy by leading the horses to the stable.