Unbuttoning Miss Hardwick

by Deb Marlowe

  ‘Servants will be moving in here.’ He paused. ‘And there will be two ladies. They will be in and out, working to make everything ready. One of them has hair as dark as night. The other’s hair is a lighter brown.’ He swallowed. ‘It would be best if they did not know that you were here.’ Leaning in, he caught the boy’s eye. ‘Especially the brown-haired one.’

  That stirred the boy to life. ‘Why?’

  Braedon breathed deep. ‘Because it will upset her to see you.’

  Rob bit his lip. ‘Because I look like my da?’

  Braedon nodded. Seeing a crestfallen expression on that face was like something out of a dream. Yet the boy could not help how he looked. ‘Rob, I think that you are old enough. I shall strike a bargain with you.’ He leaned forwards. ‘You keep hidden when the ladies are near—’

  ‘Especially the one with brown hair?’ Rob reiterated.

  ‘Especially her. You keep hidden…and I will get you a dog of your own.’

  Rob frowned. ‘You mean—a real dog?’

  ‘A real dog.’

  The boy’s eyes lit with joy, and then narrowed. ‘Mine to keep, you mean?’ He looked wary. ‘You won’t take him away. Later?’

  Braedon sighed. This would possibly complicate matters as he sought a place for the boy, but it was little enough to do for the child. ‘I’ll make sure that, wherever you go from here, you will be allowed to take the dog with you.’

  The boy beamed. ‘I should like a dog with short hair, ’stead o’ long. Brown hair is better’n black. And not too big, please.’

  ‘Shall we shake hands on the pact, then? As gentlemen?’

  Resolute, Rob stuck out a small hand. ‘I do promise, sir. That brown-haired lady won’t never know that I’m here.’

  Braedon left the nursery feeling as low as a snake. He’d been reduced to bribery—with a child. The boy shouldn’t be punished for the circumstances of his birth. Yet Braedon had to think of Mairi’s welfare first.

  God, what had happened to his simple, tidy life? The vast, safe distance that he normally kept between him and the rest of the world had suddenly become cluttered. His plans to obtain the Spear of Skanda had certainly become complicated. And Hardwick? There was no end to the difficulties there.

  He needed a long, hot soak to cleanse away the troubles of the day. But first—first he needed to lose himself in thrust and stab and parry, to forget everything in the clean swipe of a blade through air.

  He barreled down the stairs, two at a time.

  Chapter Eleven

  Chloe was feeling unsettled. Unbalanced. And the uneasy feeling was not due to her current position, perched upon a ladder, cleaning a crystal chandelier in Lord Marland’s dusty passageway.

  The din of constant, cheerful chatter sounded faintly through the wall behind her. Lady Ashton’s household had settled into Marland House as if they belonged here. The servants set to scrubbing the ballroom were going about the job with good heart. She sighed, wishing she could share in their contentment. Instead, an odd feeling of trepidation had grown over the last two days. She tried to tell herself it was only an overreaction to Laxton’s hired spy, but she’d felt strangely as if eyes were on her at times. The sensation was strongest in the streets, when she was out and about on errands, but it plagued her here in Lord Marland’s home, too. Several times she had glanced up and caught sight of a boy peering out at her. He always disappeared quickly, and no one else ever seemed to notice him.

  A servant’s child, surely. Yet still, it was oddly unsettling.

  Although, if she was going to be strictly honest with herself, then she must admit that there was also a healthy amount of pique in the swirl of her mixed emotions. Pique—because the gaze that she wished to catch was nowhere to be found.

  Chloe strongly suspected that the marquess was feeling just as disconcerted as she. She’d barely caught a glimpse of him, even though she’d spent long hours overseeing an army of servants in the massive undertaking of readying his home for the ball. He appeared to be avoiding the muss and fuss, but she rather thought that he was avoiding her. No doubt he hadn’t decided how to act with her. He’d given up his pursuit of Hardwick—and he didn’t seem to have any idea what to do with Chloe.

  She knew what she wanted him to do. She’d snatched up every chore that allowed her to sit—even atop a ladder—because her knees still intermittently failed her. Two days after a succession of scorching kisses and she still felt a puddle of unresolved lust. She directed servants, moved furniture, polished every sort of surface—and every moment she longed for his mouth over hers. She dreamed of the stroke of his hand—and the hot, pulsing feelings that they provoked in her. She wanted it all again—and she wanted it with an intensity that amazed her.

  She—the very soul of organisation—suddenly found it impossible to concentrate. She kept finding herself paused in mid-task, unsure of how long she’d been standing motionless while she tried to convince herself to take matters into her own hands. To live up to the promises that she’d made herself and approach him. To ask clearly for what she wanted.

  More than once she had rallied to the point of action—and then she’d caught a glimpse of his distracted, nearly haunted face from a distance. And then it would start. She would imagine the various heart-rending responses he might make to such a request: shock, distaste, or worse, pity—and she would know that she could never do it.

  A quiet step nearby woke her from another reverie. She picked up her cloth and began polishing again—until Lord Marland came into view below. He stepped carefully from the back of the house, as if hoping to go undetected. In his hands he lugged a large basket hinged in the middle.

  He picked up his pace without looking up. Clearly he wasn’t expecting her to be perched up here. For a brief, cowardly moment Chloe considered letting him go by.

  No. She had not come to London to be chicken-hearted. She drew a deep breath. ‘Good afternoon, my lord,’ she called. ‘Might I have a word with you?’

  He froze. Turning, he fixed on the ladder and looked up. ‘Hardwick.’ He frowned. ‘What are you doing up there?’

  ‘Fighting what looks to be a couple of decades’ worth of dust and cobwebs,’ she said cheerfully.

  He lifted a shoulder. ‘Well, I did warn the pair of you. Come down, before you harm yourself.’ With careful precision he walked the few steps to set the basket in a corner. Turning back, he reached up for her.

  A small, high-pitched noise from that direction startled her. But she forgot it in the heat and quivering excitement of his hands on her again. He gripped her tightly about the waist, she dropped her hands on his shoulders, and without effort he set her on the floor.

  Neither moved. Chloe stood, helpless, while dust drifted from above to settle in his hair and over the expanse of brown superfine across his shoulders. Her insides were drifting, falling just as aimlessly. Her heart raced even as heat bubbled up inside of her again, pooling under the touch of his hands and spreading like a molten river through the rest of her.

  Surely he felt it, too, for he pulled his hands abruptly away and stepped back. ‘I’ve been finding what I could about the Spear,’ he said quickly. ‘Signor Pisano was right—the whole antiquarian community is in an uproar. Have you been in touch with your contacts?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, swallowing back surging need. ‘I’ve had a word or exchanged notes with nearly everyone I know. Still, I’ve had no luck discovering who the mysterious nabob in possession of the Spear might be. Have you fared any better?’

  ‘Nothing concrete. The wildest rumours are threading through the city.’

  ‘Yes,’ she agreed. ‘I’ve heard the strangest reports about the artefact itself. One of my contacts heard it was fashioned of gilded wood and already rotting. Another postulates it to be taller than a man while still another swears that it is no b
igger than a hand span.’

  He snorted. ‘Laxton is putting it about that the thing was brought to English shores with the intent to assassinate the Prince Regent. He is classifying his determination to obtain it as patriotic duty.’

  Chloe rolled her eyes. ‘Since you mentioned Laxton, I stopped you because I wished to ask if you have been experiencing anything unusual?’

  He frowned. ‘Unusual in what way?’

  She described her sensation of being watched. ‘It was particularly strong in the street yesterday afternoon. I was on my way to Ashton House, to fetch some things left behind in my room. But there something was…off. It all looked normal enough, but it felt wrong, as if nothing was exactly as I had left it.’

  ‘I haven’t noticed anything.’ He grimaced. ‘All of our nerves are stretched. And you have the added burden of the preparation for Mairi’s event. It’s likely nothing.’ After a moment, he grinned. ‘Although I do recall Mrs Edmunds’s interest in your notebook. Perhaps she is trying to steal all of your best hostess secrets.’

  He’d shocked her into a laugh. ‘You may be right.’ Suddenly, she was tired of endless waiting, of skirting the edge of a precipice. Determined to jump, or at least to gain some of her answers now, she looked up at him through her lashes. ‘I have been under an unfamiliar…strain.’

  He didn’t respond. And she forgot her own opening salvo when her attention was drawn sharply elsewhere. She stared at the basket in the corner. There. It happened again.

  The basket moved.

  In the blink of an eye, so did she. She reached the corner, knelt down and peered inside.

  And her heart melted. Inside curled a delectable bit of rich chestnut and pearly white fur. The puppy coiled, shining black nose to fluffy tail. When she gasped in delight, he opened an eye, heaved a great sigh and promptly went back to sleep.

  ‘Oh, how adorable,’ she whispered. She looked up as the marquess followed her over. ‘Do you mean to give her to the boy?’

  ‘Him,’ he corrected automatically. Then he flushed just the smallest bit. ‘What boy?’

  Chloe laughed and, spreading her skirts, settled down on the floor against the wall. ‘That’s just what I was going to ask you. He’s quick—nobody else ever seems to be able to catch a glimpse of him. Who is he?’

  Lord Marland sighed and sank down beside her. ‘He’s my…tenant. An orphaned boy from one of the villages near Denning. I’m searching for a good home for him.’ He shrugged. ‘It’s foolish, I suppose. The dog. It might complicate matters as I look.’

  Perhaps it was the rumble of the marquess’s voice that woke the pup. He yawned, stood and stretched. And then he put his tiny paws on the edge of the basket and watched her expectantly.

  ‘Good day to you, you delicious little piece of fluff,’ Chloe crooned. She looked to the marquess. ‘May I?’

  He only raised a brow, which she took as assent. She lifted the warm, wriggling body into her arms and giggled as the sweet baby reached for her face and began to slather her jaw with doggy kisses. Laughing helplessly, she looked over the pup at Lord Marland—and felt her temperature begin to climb.

  He stared at her with a hot gaze that set her stomach to fluttering.

  ‘It’s not foolish,’ she whispered.

  ‘It’s a risk,’ he replied.

  The weight of his attention felt nearly palpable against her skin. It felt so intimate, sitting here, shoulder to shoulder with the faded noise of the servants echoing in the distance. Incredibly intimate, as if the sharing of whispers held the same importance as the kisses they’d exchanged days ago.

  It was she who broke first. She glanced away from the intensity of his gaze and looked down into the puppy’s big eyes. ‘Did you have a dog, then? When you were small?’ She brushed the silky ears.

  ‘Yes.’ One syllable, but it came out as rough as gravel.

  ‘I did, too, but I was very young. I don’t recall much, but I do remember the joy and the mischief and the contentment that comes with such as these.’ She smiled at him. ‘It’s very thoughtful of you to wish to share the experience with this boy. He must feel very alone.’

  He didn’t answer.

  ‘They can keep each other busy, be bosom companions. It will likely be just the thing for a displaced boy—having someone to take care of.’

  The sound he made was pained. ‘That’s likely the last thing he needs.’

  She buried her face in the puppy’s soft fur. ‘Perhaps not,’ she said softly. ‘Everyone needs that warm feeling—someone to love or something to give love back.’ She paused a moment, eyes unfocused, lost in the past. ‘Sometimes taking care of someone or something—it can be the best way to feel safe.’

  She blinked away memories to find him staring at her with a mix of concern and horror on his face.

  Chloe shivered. ‘Why do you look at me like that?’

  ‘Because you scare the hell out of me.’

  She rather liked the sound of that.

  He closed his eyes and she had the sudden thought that he was dealing with memories of his own. ‘You asked if I had a dog?’ He huffed, a sound that was too bleak to be called laughter. ‘Well, I started out with a small, carved dog. I was very young when a groom gave it to me. It was just a toy, but he had carved it himself and it was very important to me.’ He opened his eyes, but shifted position so that he focused on the ladder rather than her—as if he could not speak and look at her at the same time. ‘My brother took it.’

  Her mouth rounded. ‘I’m so sorry.’

  He exhaled. ‘Lord, but I carried on as if the thing had been real. I mourned it as if it had been so. Finally my father tired of the fracas and decided that if I felt so strongly then I was ready for the responsibility of a real pet.’ He smiled, but it quickly turned to a grimace as he eyed the animal snuggled in her arms. ‘He was a great-footed beast of a pup. Ugly as the day was long—not at all like this fine gentleman. Needless to say, I was enraptured.’

  Chloe bit her lip, suddenly afraid of where this story might be headed.

  ‘How did you put it? Bosom companions? That we were. Night and day, inside and out, that pup spent every minute with me. God’s teeth, but I had never been so content.’ He grinned. ‘Mairi grew insanely jealous, of course. Though she was barely toddling around the nursery she demanded a dog of her own.’

  She waited, lips pressed tight. Afraid to ask the question.

  ‘And Connor…Connor only voiced an objection once, when he said that animals belonged outside. Dogs belonged in the kennel, he argued, and should only be brought out to hunt. I ignored him, of course. And my father sided with me, for once.’

  They sat in silence for a while. Chloe did not press him. She only wondered if he would be able to continue and tried to steel herself for the possibility.

  ‘I’ve never spoken of it,’ he said, low.

  ‘You don’t have to—’

  ‘Just listen,’ he snapped. He sucked in a breath and nodded. ‘He was in that awkward, almost-grown stage, when they are forever tripping over their own feet. That day I was reading in the library by the fire. He lay at my feet. Connor arrived. Father had summoned us to the stables, where his prized mare was foaling. We were to be on hand to celebrate and to help, if necessary. Of course, the dog could not come, as he might upset the mare.’

  He shrugged. ‘I was glad to go. The impending birth had been the talk of the stables for months. I was caught up in the beauty of it, in my father’s excitement, in the general holiday air. I don’t know when Connor slipped out. I only know that when it was done, my father had his colt, my brother was gone and so was my dog.’

  Chloe could only make a small, questioning sound.

  He nodded. ‘I knew. Everyone knew. Connor returned late that night and never said a word about where he had been. Father, as usual,
did not press the issue, did not ask what he did not want to know for certain. I was directing the servants, searching the cellars and attics, the forests and the swamps.’ He sighed. ‘Years later I found canine bones deep in a cave in the limestone cliffs. I suppose predators might have scattered them, but some of the breaks were so clean…’

  She could not hold back a sob.

  He turned to her then, his expression hard. ‘You were right to leave Denning, Hardwick. And I have been right to stay away from you for the last days.’

  ‘I—’

  He stopped her when he gripped her arm, hard. ‘Don’t you see? Our philosophies are so far opposite as to be irreconcilable. Do you understand the revulsion I feel when you speak of caring for someone in order to feel safe? It is the antithesis of safe. It leaves you open to harm, vulnerable to attack.’

  He took her hand. ‘It makes me fear for you, Hardwick. I am afraid that in your quest for self-discovery you are going to be hurt.’ He pressed a quick kiss to her hand and climbed to his feet. He collected the pup from her arms and placed him back in the basket.

  Standing and looking down at her in that way, it suddenly felt as if he were very far away from her.

  ‘But the thing I fear the most—’ he visibly shuddered ‘—I am deathly afraid that I am going to be the one to do it.’

  He spun on his heel and fled down the dimly lit hall. Chloe watched him go, mourning as the emptiness of her arms echoed the hollowness she felt inside.

  Chapter Twelve

  For the day and a half following his talk with Hardwick, Braedon had found ways to keep relentlessly busy.

  He had spent hours sparring with Thom.

  ‘I don’t feel slighted, you know,’ his friend had said, wiping his brow as they paused during one session. ‘Because you are using me to work out your frustrations, I mean.’ He grinned. ‘Though I wouldn’t mind knowing if it’s frustration over that old spear or if it’s over your old assistant?’

  Braedon hadn’t answered. He’d just motioned Thom back into position and lunged with deadly intent.