Deliciously Wicked (7 page)

He said nothing, did not answer her at all, merely looked up briefly, smiled, then went back to work.

Oh dear. Could he be the Jack of Hearts? Certainly not. How would he get into the social functions? Had he not said that he hadn't been in London that long? The Jack of Hearts had been making his grand appearances for more than six months now.

Meg looked down at the box she was working on. He was teasing her; he had to be. If he were the Jack of
Hearts, surely he wouldn't just come right out with it. Would he? She looked back up at him.

He chuckled. “Get back to work, Meg,” he said.

She smiled, but was still uncertain what that comment had meant. It seemed that he was always trying to throw her off kilter in some form or fashion. Be it his words or his kiss.

Despite his refined speech and mysterious previous life in London, Gareth was no more than exactly what he appeared to be, she assured herself. A hardworking, struggling factory worker. Completely unsuitable. Despite his tempting kisses.

Reluctantly she went back to her box. It was coming along nicely. They'd put together several through the course of the evening.

“Have you and your fellow sleuths discovered anything that would lead you to the thief of the original chocolate boxes?” he asked.

So he was interested. “No, we haven't. But we've only just begun. Why? Did you want to join us? Do a bit of sleuthing of your own?” she asked.

“No. As tempting as that might be,” he said with a smile, “it is not my responsibility, but rather Munden's. He should have to prove my guilt, but we both know he's not working to do that. Nor do I believe he's intelligent enough to do so.”

“I still have a difficult time understanding that you have no desire to prove your innocence.”

“There's no reason why you could understand it. In your world wrongs get righted and the innocent are deemed such. But life isn't always like that. People don't always get their happily ever after. I learned a long time
ago that trying to force someone to believe one thing about you when they believe another is a futile effort. People will believe what they want of you. Nothing you can do can alter that.”

“I don't believe that,” she admitted. And she knew firsthand that people didn't always get their happily ever after.

“I've been accused of far worse, Meg. Try not to turn over in your sleep too much on my account.”

Accused of what? She wanted to ask, but dared not. Perhaps there was more to him than it appeared. It appeared that the missing boxes weren't the only mystery to solve. She was going to have her hands full.

 

He could resist the temptation. Gareth sighed heavily as he closed his door. He'd been alone with her all evening and not laid a single hand on her. It didn't mean he hadn't wanted to. She'd brought her maid to protect her reputation, but the woman had slept the entire time. So he had ample opportunity to take as much advantage of Meg's virtue as he would have liked.

He undressed quickly and folded his clothes. The Ladies' Amateur Sleuth Society. The very thought of it brought a smile to his lips. He didn't believe they would be able to uncover the identity of the real thief, but he had to admire her resourcefulness and dedication.

The boarding rooms sat on the Piddington property, right between the factory and Meg's house. The hill blocked the view to Piddington Hall, but he remembered what it had looked like that night he'd walked her home. Stately, large, well manicured, and inviting somehow. There was something about it that reminded
him of his own childhood home. But that was a lifetime ago.

He'd given her far too much information about his family tonight. It was unlikely that she would discover the truth; even so, there was no reason to divulge that much information. The more he told her, the more he'd trust her, and that was a dangerous game to play.

Women like Meg deserved to be wooed and cherished; he couldn't do either. If he wanted to dally with a woman, he could find someone else. But Meg was the marrying sort, and since he wasn't intending on marrying, he needed to stay away from her. His mind understood that perfectly, blast it; he didn't even want to marry her, regardless of ability to do so. But his body didn't understand. He wanted her despite who she was.

G
areth had no sooner placed his coat in his locker than Munden appeared behind him.

“What do you have hiding in that locker?” he sneered.

Gareth turned slowly to face him. He leveled his eyes at the portly man, but said nothing.

“I need to search your belongings. Your locker and your rooms,” Munden said.

Gareth didn't move, but he felt his hackles rise. “I don't believe I'll allow you to do that.”

Munden's eyebrows rose and he fidgeted the cigar with his tongue until it was on the other side of his mouth. “You won't be allowing?” He gave Gareth a nasty grin. “I don't think you have the option. This here is Mr. Piddington's property.” He motioned to the lockers behind Gareth.

Gareth stepped to the side. “Be my guest then, but you will not get into my rooms.”

“You gonna stop me?”

“This order comes from your filthy head and no one else's. Until I hear an order from an official or Mr. Piddington himself, my rooms are off limits.” He took a step forward and reveled in the fact that he stood a good head over Munden. “I'll be at my machine if you need me.”

Munden didn't cower, but he also didn't question him further. Gareth made his way out of the storeroom and over to his grinding machine. He knew eyes were watching him, so he kept his own glance straight ahead.

He had nothing to hide. There was nothing in his rooms that would indicate he'd taken those boxes. Regardless of that, Munden for some reason had something against Gareth, and it was unlikely he would let the accusations go.

 

Gareth was already working on the boxes when Meg arrived. Mr. Munden had caught her as she'd entered the factory, and she was nearly ready to plead with her father to rid the factory of the foul man. There was something about him that unsettled her nerves, but she had no legitimate reasons to want to dismiss him.

She found Gareth sitting at the table positioning beveled mirrors on a velvet-lined box.

“Good evening,” she said as she walked into the room.

He did not look up. “Hello,” he said.

She removed her cloak and took a seat across from
him. The discussion she'd had with Munden had been about Gareth. She wanted to mention it, but thought better of it. If they discussed something else for a while, he'd be more inclined to confide in her.

“I brought in some chocolates,” he said, pointing to the small metal tray at the center of the table. “These didn't mold right, so they won't go to the store.”

“Thank you. I actually am rather hungry.” She reached forward and picked up one of the misshapen pieces. It was thoughtful of him to think of her in such a manner. “Aren't you going to have some?” She bit into the dark, rich chocolate.

“I prefer drinking chocolate,” he said.

“You know, I do as well. With a bit of warm milk, it's absolutely divine.” She took another bite. “But I must admit, this is rather tasty.”

She gathered her supplies and set about selecting the box she'd work on first. “May I ask you a question?” she said.

He shrugged.

“That night we got locked in the storeroom. What were you doing here? At first I thought it might be customary for employees to work after hours, and that perhaps I was just unaware of that. But as it turns out, it's quite rare and generally only happens under special circumstances.”

Earlier today when she'd questioned the workers in the packing block, she'd inquired about just such a scenario. Granted, Gareth worked in a different area of the factory, but most of the same rules applied. “I'm only curious,” she added in case he thought she was being accusatory.

“I was helping a friend,” he said.

She narrowed her eyes. Until now, she'd assumed he didn't have any friends here. She'd never seen him speaking to anyone other than her and Munden.

“Jamie,” he said. “He works at the station next to mine, and that day he'd come in and told me that his wife was birthing their child. I told him to leave, that I would do his lot that day. Doing both took me longer and so I was here after hours,” he said. He never looked up while he spoke, just kept his focus on the box in his hands.

She didn't know what to say, but she suspected if she said much it would make them incredibly uncomfortable. It wouldn't matter to him that she was proud and touched by his kindness. And it should matter to her. She went back to her work, and they sat in silence for several minutes.

“I do believe we might finish tonight,” she said as she set a completed box to her right.

He looked around the table. “You're probably right. And it won't be soon enough for me. I much prefer the cocoa powder on my hands than the glue,” he said.

She grabbed a new box. It was one of the larger boxes that resembled a chest of drawers. “You never told me why you chose to work at a confectionery,” she said. She knew she was asking a lot of questions, but she couldn't help it. That was who she was. He had just as much right to decline answering as she did in asking. So she'd continue to toss questions out there and see which ones he'd answer.

He glanced up at her and hesitated, and she wondered if she'd struck a nerve. But then he responded. “I've done many different types of work. Some factory, some not. But when I arrived in London, I heard good
things about Piddington's. About the location of the factory and the living quarters and recreational areas.” He set his completed box aside and grabbed for another. “I'd never done chocolates, so I thought it might be interesting.”

“And is it?”

“I suppose. It smells good. Which is different from most factories. And the living accommodations are nice.”

“You still have to pay rent,” she added.

“Yes, but I can walk to work and the grounds are lovely. I've never worked anywhere before that had a recreation area for the employees.” Then he laughed. “Mrs. Silsby cooks good meals too.”

Her father had worked hard and bucked convention to provide a working environment that was safe and healthy for his employees. “It's nice to know that my father provides well for his employees. It is as it should be.”

“Well, it is not standard by any means,” he said.

“The other places you've worked, they've had poor conditions?”

“Most of them. Every once in a while you'll run into a fair foreman, but they're rare.” He looked about the room. “But Piddington's is vastly different. I don't mind this. The work is good and the pay is good. The reading room is my favorite. I've never had access to so many books before.”

She smiled. “I love to read as well. The reading room was my mother's idea so many years ago. She was the real book lover in our family. She loved stories and wanted access given to everyone. It was one of those ideas you have when you're dreaming of possibilities.
I don't think she ever imagined it would be a reality, and it's such a shame she didn't live to see it fulfilled. As soon as we moved the factory out here and we had so much room, Papa added the reading room.”

She paused long enough to watch him stretch. With his arms over his head, the fabric of his shirt stretched taut, revealing a hint of his sinewy chest. “What did you want to do? I mean, when you were a child?”

Gareth leveled his eyes on hers, and didn't speak for several minutes. “When I was much younger, and my father was still alive, I wanted to box like he did.”

“Box? As in a boxing ring? Fighting?”

“Yes. That wasn't really his profession. More of a favorite pastime. But it seemed very exciting to me as a boy. But then we left for Ireland.”

“Did you ever box?” she asked.

“No, I've never even tried it.”

“So your family moved to Ireland?”

“My mother and us kids,” he said.

“But your father did not?” she asked.

“No. We left him here. Shortly after that, he died in a boxing match.” He sounded more angry than sad, and she had to wonder if he still carried around the scars of a twelve-year-old boy.

Her stomach lurched. “Oh, how dreadful, Gareth. I'm so very sorry.” She wanted to go to him. Pull him close and hold him, but she knew he would not accept the gesture. She could offer no comfort though. She had barely been able to swallow her own loss.

He shook his head. “It was a long time ago. The wounds had long since healed.”

But she wasn't so certain she believed that. There was something there between him and his father. Anger
or guilt or something she couldn't quite put her finger on. Something unsettled that left Gareth restless and that had ultimately brought him back to London to resolve it. Whether or not he realized that himself.

“So at some point, you must have realized that boxing was not for you. Did you want to do anything else? Even something you felt was out of your reach?”

“No, after that, I knew I only had to find something that paid a decent wage. Something honest,” he added. “What about you? You're so full of questions tonight. What were your childhood dreams?”

It was hard to remember who she was before her mother died. She knew she was different. Simpler and full of dreams and big ideas. “I wanted many different things. But I think for most of my childhood, I wanted to grow up and be like my mother. Be a wife and have a little girl whom I doted on.”

“And now? Do you still want those things?”

“No,” she said quickly. She would be unable to explain to him why she couldn't have those things. Why she'd had to give up those dreams. She wasn't certain anyone would understand her reasons. “Now I want different things.”

“Such as?”

“This factory. I want to be a true heir to it. I want my father to leave it in my hands and know it will be well cared for.”

“And that is what will happen?”

She closed her eyes a brief moment. How she wished that would happen. “No. As it stands now, when he dies, this will cease being a private business and will become a company. Owned by many, none of whom toil here. None of whom love this place.”

“But you love it?”

“In my own way. I love my father. And he loves it. I want to run this factory for him.”

“Isn't all of this rather unorthodox for a woman? Especially one of your breeding? I would have suspected a lady such as yourself would have married years ago.”

“It is odd, I suppose. Women work in factories, but to have one in charge of the entire outfit? That will be unique. But I'm determined.” She ignored his comment about marriage.

“What does your father have to say about this?”

“Every time I've approached him with it in the past, he's switched the subject. I'm not certain if he doesn't believe I'm capable or if he simply doesn't want to burden me with it. Perhaps both. But I'm determined to prove to him that I'll gladly take the burden. That I want to. I don't want him to lose this company. Even in death. Why, do you find it odd?”

He shrugged. “Different. But you're different from any woman I've ever met. If anyone can administer this factory, you can.”

The words “thank you” were right in her throat, but she was unable to utter them. He was quite accomplished at pretending he was this uncaring oaf who didn't like people. But she'd seen sparks of a gentle heart on more than one occasion. There was definitely more than met the eye when it came to Gareth Mandeville.

“I spoke with Mr. Munden when I arrived,” she said. Perhaps now was the time to broach this subject.

He did not look up.

“Gareth, why would you not allow him to search your rooms if you know it will prove your innocence?”

That pulled his glance up to hers. “Do you honestly think that giving him permission to do so will prove anything to him? No.” He didn't give her time to answer. “All it will do is feed his need to have power over me. And when he finds nothing, he'll create some excuse about how I sold them, or I'm storing them elsewhere. I've worked with men like Munden before. He will not give up—this is only the beginning with him.”

He was so matter-of-fact. As if it were completely natural to have someone not only assume the worst of you, but, in a sense, pursue you. It wasn't natural and it wasn't right. “Why is he after you?” she asked.

“How the hell should I know?”

The dark stubble on his chin and upper lip gave him a dangerous look, yet Meg felt no fear. He was angry, and rightly so. It was unfair for him to be accused of something while someone else got away with it.

“The Ladies' Amateur Sleuth Society hasn't found anything yet, but we have a plan. I started speaking with the other workers today to see if anyone heard or saw anything about that night.”

“I didn't see you come in today,” he said.

“Oh, not here. I started with the packaging and molding rooms. Women talk more than men, so any gossip would circulate among them first.”

His eyebrows raised slightly. “And?”

She sighed. “Nothing.” But many of the women had known who he was. Apparently Meg wasn't the only one to find him handsome. A fact she found rather annoying regardless of how unimportant it should have been to her.

He shrugged. “It's not your responsibility,” he said.

“It is my responsibility because the theft occurred
here. I cannot allow a thief to run amok and do nothing about it. Amelia and Willow are going to ask around at some pawnbrokers. We figure if we were to steal something, that's probably where we would try to sell it.”

“That's clever,” he said.

Her heart seemed to flip in her chest. Perhaps he didn't think her an utter fool. “My friend's husband is an inspector for hire and he has friends at the Scotland Yard, so if we need professional assistance, we can ask them.”

“I don't think that's necessary. The authorities haven't even been notified. Besides, I thought you knew how to do this sort of investigating. Being the amateur sleuth that you are.”