Deliciously Wicked (4 page)

So no one returned to work. With the unison of an army brigade, they all turned and looked up to the windows above them. The door shut behind Mr. Munden, and while no words were heard, it was quite evident who was in charge.

It gave Gareth the perfect opportunity to study Meg without any questions about his motive. Aside from the obvious gender difference, she was the very picture of his opposite.

He could practically hear the coins rubbing together as they jingled in her purse. Petite and fair with fiery red hair, while he was tall and dark from far too much sun. Every last inch of her was sparkling clean, from her button-up boots to that tiny bonnet perched on her head. He, on the other hand, was covered in cocoa powder. His fingernails looked as if he worked as a chimney sweep, rather than in a confectionery.

She held her dainty gloved hand out to Munden. They shook, and Munden nodded his big head. Gareth couldn't help but wonder if she'd just made a deal with the devil.

And then as quickly as she blew into the office, she was walking down the stairs. And looking straight at him.

“Please return to your duties, gentlemen,” she said with a smile. “There is nothing of interest occurring. Now then,” she said as she reached Gareth's side.

“What was that all about?” he asked.

She gave him a toothy grin. “I saved your job,” she said, clearly pleased with herself. Machines around him started up, and soon the familiar noise surrounded them.

He wished he could tell her that it wasn't necessary, that he could take care of himself, but the truth of the matter was he needed this job, and he'd had no idea how he was going to convince Munden to let him stay on. You couldn't really ally yourself with someone while they believed you to be a thief.

It was kind of her to stand up for him. Especially to a man such as Munden. She was plucky, he'd give her that. It had been a damn long time since someone had defended him, and part of him wanted to thank her.
So long since someone didn't make assumptions about him based on what they saw or thought they knew.

But there was a reason for her generous intervention. She'd only defended him because she knew he was innocent. That, and because Meg clearly took pleasure from being in the middle of the action. He could tell that about her from the very beginning. She enjoyed attention. And he was her newest undertaking.

So he refused to feel guilty for not thanking her, as her motives had not been genuine. So he merely nodded.

“You're quite welcome,” she said brightly.

“I could have managed fine without you, Miss Piddington,” he lied, then cranked his machine and started the grinding to put some noise between them.

“Of course,” she said.

But something told him she knew different. She knew he'd needed saving, and that irritated him to the bottom of his scuffed boots. She was irritating, with her matching clothes and her sunny outlook. She was everything he couldn't have and shouldn't even want. And yet want her he did. For that reason alone, her very presence prickled his skin with annoyance. He frowned simply to spite her.

Yet he had the sudden urge to pull her to him and kiss her senseless. More than likely that was only a reaction to prevent her from talking.

She leaned over and stilled his arms. “I realize you are working now, but I do have something we need to discuss. Might you meet me later today?”

Did he have a choice? She'd saved his hide, and he owed her at least this much. Not to mention his skin
was boiling beneath the heat of her touch. He nodded. “Where?”

“Here is fine. In my father's office. I shall return this afternoon at the conclusion of your shift. I have some other appointments right now.”

“Very well.”

“Excellent. Until then,” She tapped her umbrella on the floor once, then turned to leave.

He refused to watch her retreat. As it was, the rest of the men had been eyeing them carefully. He did not need any additional attention at the moment.

“Don't think I won't be watching you,” a voice snarled from behind him.

Munden. What a bastard.

“Making friends with Piddington's daughter won't save you forever,” the foreman said.

“I have no doubt. Now, if you don't mind,” he said, then turned his machine on, relieved finally to be able to concentrate on his work.

And concentrate on it he would, as soon as he could get the image of kissing Meg out of his mind. He should never have touched her the other night. Hell, he didn't even know why he'd done it in the first place. He wasn't generally in the habit of seducing wealthy virgins.

Which meant keeping his mind, mouth, and hands off Meg.

“Munden's got it in for you,” Jamie said from across his machine.

Gareth nodded. He didn't want to tell his friend that he would likely not be in this trouble had it not been for Jamie.

“He's a fool,” Gareth said.

“Aye. But the lass, she's a pretty one.”

Gareth didn't reply to that one.

“I know you think so too. I've seen the way you look at her. That red hair must flame up your Irish blood.” Jamie wiggled his thick eyebrows.

Gareth chuckled. “If you spent less time worrying about flaming blood, Jamie, you might not have so many children.”

“Och. Seven's not so many. As soon as Mary is healed up, we might go for number eight.” The Scot laughed heartily at his own jest. “Thank you. For the other night. She gets right cranky if I'm not there when the wee ones come.”

Gareth nodded. If he had a wife who was birthing, he'd certainly want to be there.

“So what does Munden want with you? And why is the lass involved?” Jamie asked.

“He thinks I stole something. Miss Piddington is handling things while her father is out and she saved my job,” Gareth said.

Jamie grinned broadly. “She's a good one, then, like her father.” Jamie nodded. “Good for her. Munden will get his someday. Men like him always do.”

M
eg waited in the phaeton outside the factory. Ordinarily she would walk over to the factory, but the slight mist in the air felt too damp. She didn't want to go inside until the rest of the men filed out. But more so, she wanted more time. More time to breathe deeply and gather her wits.

Something about Gareth rattled her senses, an occurrence she'd never before experienced. She generally knew precisely what to say at precisely the moment it needed to be said. Or at least she always had something to say. Most of the time everything fell into place, and it made sense. But with him, she felt the utter fool. As if her stomach were tied in knots, and her tongue equally so.

It was those skills she had—her communication with people—that she'd planned to use to impress her father. Prove to him that she was ready to take on
responsibility at the factory. But she'd bumbled it by losing her ability to verbalize coherently while Mr. Mandeville was about. There was still time to recover, though. It was only the kiss that had thrown off her mental acuity; she could reclaim it. Forge forward.

She'd made her first decision that would put her on the road to leading this factory. Earlier today she'd played the boss's daughter and retained Gareth's job. If she spoke to her father, she could secure his job indefinitely, but Meg didn't want to handle it that way. That wouldn't prove she could manage things on her own, and that she didn't always need her papa's guidance. She'd told him she would take care of things, and that was precisely what she would do.

Then there was the case of the missing chocolate boxes. There was a thief in their midst and she could not allow that. No one would steal from the factory and get away with it, not on her watch.

Aside from her own concerns, there was Gareth's part in the situation. She wanted to help him in some fashion, since this whole mess was her fault; this would put her in a better position to do so. It seemed wrong that a simple admission that they had been alone together would expose a great scandal when there really hadn't been. Granted, there had been that one tiny, passionate, breath-stealing kiss, but there was no need to make that known to anyone. It was incredibly frustrating, and frankly she couldn't abide standing by and doing nothing.

So she'd played the actress and convinced Munden she was just as concerned as he, but that dismissing someone without proof was not a viable practice.
Instead she'd offered two solutions. Now she had to convince Gareth to play along with her scheme.

Earlier when she told him she had appointments, she'd lied to Gareth. She only had to bring her father the ledger book, then she had absolutely nothing else to do. She wasn't in the habit of lying to others, but she'd wanted to give herself a bit more time. Not to mention make herself appear more authoritative than she felt.

She'd gone home and tried on no fewer than seven dresses attempting to find the perfect one. For what, she was not certain. It was not as if she were going to the park with a suitor. Besides, she'd never been one to pay much attention to her clothing, but today she'd felt as if she'd needed some additional assistance. If she were to play this role, she needed the right costume. Something that spoke clearly: confident, controlled, clever.

She looked down at her tailored brown dress. The cut was excellent for her stature. The square neckline boosted her small bosom to reveal hidden curves and a chest dusted with freckles. She'd heard once that men liked freckles. Not that it mattered one bit if Gareth liked this dress or not. She was helping him, and in turn, it seemed, she was helping herself. She smoothed the front of her dress, freely admitting she felt smart in the concoction. She especially fancied the matching boots that clicked nicely when she walked.

She was dawdling, and she knew it. It was time now. Time to go in and face Gareth Mandeville. What was she afraid of in the first place?

That he'd kiss her again?

Or that he wouldn't?

Sitting in the carriage would not decide for her. Grabbing her reticule, she made her way into the factory. She did not stop to look for Gareth. Instead she marched herself straight up the stairs and into her father's office. It had been quite a while since she'd been up in his private office, and he'd made some changes.

Behind the desk sat the first chocolate-making machine he'd purchased; it wasn't even really a machine, more of a hand-held grinder. But it was a reminder of how far the industry had come. The armoire in the corner housed his personal belongings, a box of employee files, and extra pieces of clothing in case he needed to change. Hanging up her cloak, she noticed that the bookshelf on the left looked the same as it had since the day he moved into this office, and housed mostly books from his personal library.

She straightened the two red leather chairs that sat on the visitor side of the desk. The windows overlooking the factory floor provided the office with some light, but it wasn't much, as the day was progressing to dusk. So she lit the desk lamp, then sat, glancing around for something to inspect. Something that would make her appear busy.

She'd barely located a new order form when there came a knock on the door.

She straightened in the chair, then looked down at the order form. “Come in,” she said.

Gareth entered but did not walk toward her. Instead he stayed near the door.

“Why don't you sit?” she offered.

“I'd prefer to stand.”

Well, that would never work. She'd sit here and he'd tower over her from the doorway. It would be just as
awkward for her to stand on the stairs and holler at him down at his machine.

“Then I shall stand as well.” She set the paper down, then stood. Coming around the desk, she leaned against it for effect. On more than one occasion, she'd seen her father stand precisely this way, so perhaps it would help her appear more official.

“What did you want to discuss with me?” he asked.

“Yes, well, earlier when I spoke with Mr. Munden, I had to do a bit of negotiating. I felt it would be better if he believed I was as concerned with the theft as he.” Gareth's eyebrows rose a fraction of an inch. “Not to imply I'm not concerned. There is a thief at the factory and that cannot be allowed. But I also know you're innocent. So I insisted that you retain your job until we have absolute proof…In short, I made a bargain on your behalf.”

“On my behalf?” He swaggered forward and stood behind the chairs, placing a barrier between them. “That was rather bold of you, Miss Piddington. Precisely what did you agree to, on my behalf?”

Meg released a little giggle that sounded supremely false. This was not going well. She shook her hands out, hoping to release the excess nerves that had settled in her body. It was most annoying.

“It's a tiny thing, really. Mr. Munden was quite insistent that you stole those chocolate boxes. And since you will not allow me to give you an alibi, I cannot convince him of your innocence. But proof or not, the boxes are still missing and we have an order to fill before Lady Glenworthy discovers the truth and goes elsewhere for her chocolates. So I agreed that you would put a new batch together.”

“Put those fancy boxes together?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“How the devil am I supposed to do that? I work a grinding machine. There is an entire packing block designated for this.”

“I realize that. But we've received six more similar orders and so the packing department is already behind.” She hoped her father would be pleased by her administrative decisions.

Gareth pinched the bridge of his nose. “How many boxes are we talking about?”

“Seventeen. One for each year her lovely daughter has graced the earth,” she said in a melodious voice that perfectly mimicked Lady Glenworthy's.

Gareth smiled.

“Don't concern yourself about the boxes. I've already seen to it that the supplies will be brought over. And I'll personally see to it that you're paid for the extra time. I know they are detailed work and am told they take a while to produce, so I shall help you with that as well.”

“No more help from you,” he argued. “I do not need help with the boxes.”

“There is one tiny problem with that,” she said. She used her thumb and first finger to illustrate her words. It was, in fact, a tiny problem. Gareth, however, might not see it that way.

“I'm almost afraid to ask. What would that tiny problem be?”

“You are not to be alone in the factory. So either Mr. Munden shall supervise you, or I shall. Your choice.” She crossed her arms over her chest. She knew he would not select Munden; he detested the man.

He came around the chair. “Miss Piddington, you
seem to enjoy playing the part of the factory manager while your father is gone. You're meddling in the business and fiddling with the paperwork.”

He gestured to the desk behind her and the order form she'd been pretending to read when he came in. She felt her cheeks begin to burn, partly from the truth in his accusations, partly from the heat of his gaze.

She wanted to quip a response, but her mind was blank, and she was fairly certain that her knees no longer functioned.

“Do not think to use me as some pawn in your game with Papa's factory. I don't take kindly to games.”

He now stood right in front of her. She straightened to her full height, which frankly wasn't all that much, and was rather difficult considering how wobbly her legs felt. She didn't even come to his chin. But that didn't stop her from tilting her head back and meeting his eyes.

Hazel. Luscious, rich mixture of brown and green. And they nearly stole the words right from her mouth, but she caught herself.

“Do not be so arrogant as to think I should use you for anything, Mr. Mandeville,” she said tartly. “I do not play games with my father's factory. I am merely aiding you with a sticky situation, since I am not able to give you your alibi.” His eyes were watching her lips, and she nearly forgot what she was saying. She frowned. “Consider it a favor.”

Her heart was pounding so hard in her chest, she was certain he could see it thumping through the fabric in her dress. And her hands were shaking fiercely,
which made it convenient that she was holding on to the desk behind her.

He grabbed her by the waist with one arm and pulled her to him. With one swift movement, he planted his lips to hers in a quick but passionate kiss. How was he able to keep penetrating her barriers? She thought she'd done an admirable job of feigning control and disinterest. No sooner had she melted into his lips than he abruptly let her go.

“Nor do I play games, Miss Piddington.” And with that he turned, and left her to slump against the desk with nary a thought in her head.

 

Gareth slammed his head into his hands. He really had to stop kissing her in such a fashion. He really ought to stop kissing her in any fashion at all. Teaching her a lesson was only an excuse to taste her sweet lips, and he'd be a fool not to admit that.

Touching her lips a second time had not fettered his desire. He wanted her. Her kisses were an intoxicating mixture of passion and innocence, and they left him wanting more. Which was why he needed to tighten the reins on his lust.

He would work with Meg, because he had no other options, but he would not give in to temptation to touch her in any fashion. He could play the gentleman long enough for the winds to change and this minor accusation to blow away. He laughed. The irony of that was too much to ignore.

Play the gentleman. He'd been playing the poor Irishman for so long, he wondered if he even remembered how. But surely the last vestiges of the gentleman he
truly was lingered somewhere deep inside. Somewhere very deep.

Wouldn't everyone here love to know the truth about him?

How would Meg react? Would his kisses thrill her even more if she knew he was a viscount? It mattered not. She would never know. No one would.

 

Meg was quite relieved that, as circumstances would have it, today was the weekly meeting of the Ladies' Amateur Sleuth Society. She had no doubt at all that they would be able to help her discover the identity of the true thief.

Given Gareth's reaction to her plan for him to make the replacement boxes, she'd been reluctant to tell him the rest of her scheme. That she herself would uncover the identity of the true thief.

Though, of course, like any good sleuth, she would use all the resources at her disposal. In this case, the Ladies' Amateur Sleuth Society.

So she had considerable eagerness as she entered the parlor.

“Good morning, my dear friends,” she said joyfully.

Charlotte narrowed her gaze but smiled knowingly.

“Good morning yourself,” Amelia said.

“Technically it is not morning,” Willow added. “It is nearly midafternoon.”

“Very well,” Meg said. “Good afternoon.”

“You seem quite pleased to see us,” Charlotte said.

“Indeed I am. I have a task for us. A task for the Ladies' Amateur Sleuth Society.”

Amelia raised her eyebrows. “Do you indeed?”

Meg nodded. “But we can certainly go along with business as usual and then proceed to my business when it is more appropriate.”

“Oh no, I think now is most appropriate. Do you not agree, Amelia?” Charlotte asked.

“I suppose we can break from standard protocol for an immediate case in need. What say you, Willow?”

Willow nodded. “I must admit, I'm rather intrigued at the possibility.”

“Very well,” Meg said. “Let us get seated and I shall fill you in on all the details.”

It took less than five minutes for them to take their seats and help themselves to the tea and cakes offered on the occasional table.

“Now then,” Amelia said. “Do tell us this official task you have for us. I'm most eager.”

Meg took a quick sip of her tea and allowed the warm liquid to soothe her throat before she began. “Apparently the evening Mr. Mandeville and I were locked into that storeroom, some special-ordered chocolate boxes were stolen from the factory, and now he has been falsely accused of the crime.”