Unbuttoning Miss Hardwick

by Deb Marlowe

  ‘Good God, Mairi.’ Braedon had been admiring the dining room’s fresh decor, done in variegated blues and whites that truly did bring clear oceans and sandy beaches to mind, but now he couldn’t stop staring at the large platter being carried in. ‘Are those tiny Parthenons carved of cheese?’

  ‘One for every table!’ She clapped her hands. ‘Is it not the most charming thing?’

  She rushed off to direct their placement and Braedon took the opportunity to clap Ashton on the back.

  ‘I wanted you to know how very happy she has been, planning this,’ he told his brother-in-law. ‘It may be a little much.’ He waved a hand. ‘But every last detail has thrilled her—because she was doing it for you.’ He nodded towards his sister and couldn’t help but smile. ‘She cares for you, man.’

  A grin played about Ashton’s lips as he gazed after his wife. ‘I know.’ He looked a little discomfited. ‘It’s hard to admit, but all of this is more than a little gratifying. She is right—I have felt many times that I have only been valued for my title and position. But seeing all of this…’ He stared at Mairi, his expression unabashedly tender. ‘It’s humbling—and thrilling. She listens. Look at this, Braedon!’ His sweeping arm encompassed the whole house. ‘She knows me, right down to my favourite sporting rifle. Did you see those marzipan Mantons?’

  Braedon laughed. ‘Frankly, I preferred the target-shaped pastries. They are delicious.’ He grew serious. ‘About that incident, though, Ashton. That man. I hope you know that it was nothing— She was only trying—’

  ‘I know,’ his brother-in-law interrupted. ‘I do understand, because I know her as well as she knows me.’ He lifted his arm in welcome as Mairi made her way back to them. ‘And next time I will remember that and try to keep my stubborn pride in check.’

  Braedon watched his sister’s face as she slid into her husband’s embrace. Privately, he thought the chances were good that there would not be a next time.

  ‘Mairi.’ He had to say her name twice before he caught her attention. ‘Where is Chloe?’

  ‘She’s upstairs, still getting ready for this evening. She’s been so busy—’ She stopped. Her eyes narrowed, then widened in delight. ‘Yes. Chloe will be down shortly.’

  He shot her a quelling glance and took his leave of them. But truly, it was good to see someone in the house content. He rubbed his brow and set off for his rooms. How his perceptions had changed since this morning! Rob refused to speak with him now. The boy slunk off every time Braedon drew near. Dobbs was cranky as he tried to see to last-minute preparations while at the same time arranging for the boy’s early-morning departure. And even from a distance, Hardwick had appeared distressed and distracted this afternoon.

  He wondered if it was due to something Conover had said about the Spear. Pisano had sent a note around. The rumours circulating now said that the thing was done. The nabob had handed the weapon off to its new owner and everyone was frantic to discover who it was.

  Irritating news, but Braedon had been reluctant to share it with her. Part of him did not want to acknowledge that the hunt was over. And in any case, the tidings hadn’t irritated him half so much as the sight of Chloe driving up with Conover. He’d stood at a window, shamelessly spying as the earl dropped her off. He’d seethed with frustration as the damned dandy procured her hand for the first set.

  He could still pursue the Spear and its new owner, after all. But he didn’t think he could stand in the way of Chloe finding happiness.

  He paused at the landing to the third floor, tempted to find an excuse to go to her now. It struck him hard, suddenly, the overwhelming urge to sit at her feet and lay his head in her lap. He would thank her for the incredible help she’d given his sister. He could confess his terrible remorse at the way he’d misjudged Rob. He could crack his soul open a little wider for her and tell her he didn’t want to lose her when this was all over. That, like Ashton, he was only just coming to understand the incredible honour she gave him, knowing him so well and caring for him anyway.

  He could do all of that, and more. But he didn’t.

  Because he’d already given her as much as he dared. He’d let her see things that no one else ever had. And still, he sensed, it wasn’t enough. Chloe would never be satisfied with only the surface, the most superficial part of him. But that was all he had to give.

  This time of frantic activity and overwrought emotion was drawing to an end. Rob’s stay, the ball, the quest for the Spear—the doors were closing on all of it. His comforting, empty space was uncomfortably full of people right now, but they would all be gone, soon enough. He would be back at Denning, alone with his new wing and his incredible collection.

  Just the way he liked it.

  * * *

  The gentlemen invited to the Ashtons’ ball were delighted with the unique elements of the evening. They happily polluted the smoking room and its immediate surroundings. They flocked in droves to the mock gaming hell, and one by one they derived great pleasure in harassing and teasing Lord Ashton.

  Neither were the ladies left out of the fun. Clustered in groups, they endlessly critiqued the food, the decor and the company. Behind their fans they tittered enviously at the earl’s besotted regard of his wife, even as they took mental notes for their own future soirées.

  Chloe heaved a sigh. A success all around. One she would have taken greater pleasure in, were it not for the accursed Spear hidden in her room.

  Where was Braedon? She watched for him as she moved through the house, checking that all progressed smoothly. Not since the previous evening had she seen him. He’d kept his word, after their clandestine encounter, and helped her ready the long gallery. He’d sneaked a surreptitious caress along her backside and tossed her a cocky grin as he’d left. She supposed he could merely be busy, now. Perhaps some of his antiquarian friends were in attendance and he—futilely—sought further news of the Spear. She sighed again. Or perhaps this absence was an attempt at a retreat, as he once again sought to place a distance between them.

  She wouldn’t know until she found him, and what she longed to do was to track him down and burrow into the reassuring warmth of his embrace.

  But she hadn’t yet faced him with anything but complete openness and honesty, not since she’d given up Hardwick and left Denning. And she wasn’t sure she could meet him with total candour now—not with uncertainty about that damned Spear weighing so heavily on her mind.

  Still, she thought she would check on the progress in the dessert room. The countess had mentioned that her brother appeared inordinately fond of the pastries.

  She grinned in appreciation when she arrived. Madame Hobert flitted about, putting the finishing touches on a work of genius. The sugar-paste rendition of an English hunt marched across three tables, in brilliant colour and sublime detail.

  ‘The sugar is a nice touch.’

  Chloe turned as Mrs Edmunds sidled up alongside her.

  ‘But the really brilliant move was hiring the professional croupiers for the gaming room.’ The countess’s friend raised a brow. ‘Except—how do you expect to lure the men away when it is time for the dancing?’

  Chloe laughed. ‘I’ll leave that up to you ladies.’

  ‘Mairi says that both were your ideas.’ She paused a beat. ‘She also says that you won’t be staying on with her.’

  ‘No. There’s no need, really. Lady Ashton only needed help preparing for this evening.’

  ‘Well, perhaps you are not aware, but I entertain both more regularly and more lavishly than Mairi is wont to do.’ The other woman glanced at the tables of pretty desserts. ‘I could use someone with both your taste and your skills. I would be pleased to have you as my personal secretary.’

  Chloe’s eyes widened in surprise. ‘I don’t know what to say! You honour me, Mrs Edmunds.’ The temptation was real, the tug on her old mind
set palpable, but she stiffened her spine. ‘But I mean to take some time for myself. I shall travel a little, I think, and search for a spot that speaks to me while I decide what I’d like to do next.’

  The lady blinked in disbelief. ‘You are sure? You’d be a fool to leave London now. There at least a score of ladies here who would love to snap you up.’

  ‘I thank you, but I am sure.’ Her eyes unfocused and for a moment she lost sight of the gleaming white tables and colourful desserts. ‘I’ve always dreamed of a cottage by the sea.’

  ‘Well then, go to Ramsgate, by all means. Or Brighton. There are plenty of perfectly lovely places to let in those spots. But make it a holiday, for heaven’s sake.’ She snapped open her fan. ‘And when you have had enough of solitude and ocean breezes, then come back to Town and take me up on my offer.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Chloe said with a smile. ‘Perhaps I will.’

  Mrs Edmunds saluted her with her fan and then sauntered away.

  Chloe had a quick word with the confectioner, then turned to go herself. Just past the doorway, however, she ran headlong into a masculine form. ‘Oh,’ she breathed. ‘Good evening, Sir Thomas! I hope you are enjoying the ball?’

  ‘I am,’ the sword master said. ‘I remember what Lady Ashton said, all those weeks ago at Denning. Every masculine delight.’ He glanced around. ‘You’ve certainly made good on your promise.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She stepped away. ‘I should go check on the musicians, it’s nearly time for the dancing.’

  ‘Just a moment, if you would.’ He glanced down the passageway. ‘I’m of the mind that you should perhaps have taken Mrs Edmunds up on her offer.’

  Chloe stopped. ‘I beg your pardon? Were you eavesdropping, Sir Thomas?’

  ‘No, no,’ he assured her. ‘Just waiting to have a word with you. I know Braedon came to London because he wanted you back at Denning, but you haven’t exactly lived up to your promises to him, have you?’ He ran a measuring look down the front of her. ‘I doubt he’ll have you back now.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’ Sir Thomas’s usual expression had changed. He stared at her, crafty and knowing. He looked like a stranger.

  ‘I mean Skanda’s Spear, of course.’

  Chloe froze.

  ‘Or hadn’t you heard? The word is out that it has been given over to a new owner.’

  ‘Already?’ she breathed, shocked.

  One side of his mouth curled into a smile. ‘I’ve always found bad news to travel twice as fast as good.’

  She was struck, suddenly, by his manner. It was almost as if her was enjoying her discomfort. Her eyes narrowed. ‘I didn’t know you were interested in antiquities.’

  ‘Anyone who knows Braedon knows of his interest in that particular item.’

  ‘Truly?’ She raised a doubting brow. ‘Because I’ve always found Lord Marland to be intensely private regarding his collection.’

  ‘Keeps you in his counsel and no one else, eh?’ The sword master looked calculatingly about him at the glittering crowd moving through the corridor. ‘Well, you haven’t exactly been available lately, have you?’

  Something was not right. There was a hateful note in his tone that she’d never heard before. And yet he was relaxed, patient. He was like a cat, playing with his prey. He stepped closer and peered down into her face. ‘What will you tell him now?’

  ‘Who, Lord Marland?’ she asked with studied nonchalance. ‘I’ll tell him your news, of course. What else?’ She felt not a whit of guilt for lying to him. Cats, she knew, eventually tired of playing and moved in for the kill.

  ‘What else, indeed? Perhaps I will tell him myself.’

  He said the casual words with deliberate intent and intensity. Chloe’s heart stopped. How? How could he know?

  ‘I don’t think it will matter either way—not for you,’ he mused. ‘He’s not going to be happy with you.’

  ‘Chloe!’ Lady Ashton had come around a corner and was striding towards them, beckoning her.

  ‘Oh, dear, it truly must be time for the dancing.’ Grateful for the chance, Chloe took a step away.

  Sir Thomas reached out and gripped her arm. ‘I thought, since Braedon won’t have you, you might be tired of acting as a glorified lady’s maid.’ Assessing, he looked her over. ‘You have more grit than I would have accredited you with. I might be able to find you a situation.’ He leered. ‘I promise you—you would enjoy it.’

  ‘It’s nearly time for the introduction,’ Lady Ashton called.

  ‘Just remember,’ he said.

  Pulling free, Chloe hurried away.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chloe’s uncertainty was gone. She had to find Braedon.

  Her mind raced as she moved through the congested house. Something was wrong. How could the entire antiquities community know already that the Spear had been handed off? Why was Sir Thomas acting so strangely? He’d been subtly hostile and almost aggressive. A dark sense of dread lay heavy in her stomach. Damn that Spear, and damn Sir Thomas, too. She feared telling Braedon that she had the weapon, but she knew his reaction would be far worse if he heard it from someone else. Suddenly her indecision felt nearly inconsequential next to her need to talk to him.

  ‘Have you seen Lord Marland?’ she asked his sister.

  ‘No.’ The countess’s hands fluttered nervously. ‘It’s time for the performance.’ She smiled to the left and right as she pulled Chloe along with her. ‘We need to begin moving people into the ballroom.’

  ‘I’ll tell Dobbs,’ Chloe volunteered. ‘He can send the footman to begin gathering guests and you and I can inform them as we go.’ And she could search for Braedon as she went, as well. She clasped Lady Ashton’s hand for a moment. ‘You’ll be all right. I’ll meet you in there.’

  She went in one direction and the countess another, but Chloe didn’t find Braedon until she had circled back around to usher a group of stragglers into the ballroom. He was there, though only his height allowed her to find him in the tightly packed room. She moved inside and stood on her toes to look. He stood at the end of the room, near the stage where the musicians had set up. Lord and Lady Ashton were with him—and just behind him stood Sir Thomas.

  She started to push her way through the crowd just as Lady Ashton climbed to the stage.

  Guests milled noisily about and the countess went unnoticed until the musicians blared out a single, brash note. Suddenly everyone turned to face them—making it twice as difficult for Chloe to weave her way through.

  ‘Thank you all for coming to share this special evening,’ the countess said from her vantage on the stage. ‘As you know, this night is a celebration in honour of my husband.’

  A smattering of applause broke out as Chloe ducked around a group of tittering ladies.

  ‘Tonight we are all enjoying a taste of some of Lord Ashton’s favourite things.’

  A masculine cheer rolled through the crowd.

  ‘I have cause to know that in his travels, he greatly enjoyed the Italian theatre. Though I suspect that he took the most pleasure in the gambling and the rampant flirtation, I do know that his favourite opera was Rossini’s La Sala di Seta.’ She smiled at the earl. ‘Though I could not import a Venetian theatre troupe, tonight we are fortunate to have Angelica Orson with us. Miss Orson studied under Madame Catalani herself, and will perform for us a piece from the comic opera.’

  The opera singer took her place. Lady Ashton stepped down from the stage and into her husband’s embrace just as Chloe broke through the crowd.

  Her gaze flew to Braedon. He looked magnificent in his formal wear, his shoulders twice as broad as any man’s, his hair swept back and gleaming. He glimpsed her out of the corner of his eye and his first reaction must have come from pure instinct; his features softened and his hand half-raised as if to wel
come her. Chloe breathed a sigh of relief.

  But then she saw it—the moment his head caught up with his heart. His hand dropped. The light died from his eyes and his jaw set. Deliberately he adopted the remote expression she recalled so well from their days at Denning.

  From beyond him, Sir Thomas looked on, mocking.

  Her heart dropped as she joined their group. She almost wished that Sir Thomas had discovered that she was in possession of the Spear, that Braedon grew distant because his friend had filled his head with stories of her betrayal. Staring at his blank expression, she greatly feared that he had reached this state of withdrawal all on his own.

  She heard nothing of the performance. Eventually the song trailed off, the noted singer gracefully bowed to enthusiastic applause. Lady Ashton stepped forwards again to signal the musicians to begin the first dance.

  Just behind their little group, however, a disturbance started in the nearby crowd. Chloe heard exclamations of surprise and a few trills of laughter. Gentlemen moved and ladies swept their skirts aside to make a passage.

  Rob’s solemn, erect figure marched through the opening. A crack opened in Chloe’s heart at the sight of him. In an obvious effort to dress appropriately, he had dug up a fancy morning coat from somewhere. It hung in wrinkles far past his waist, the tails dragging on the ground. He held Fitz tight in his arms and his expression was every bit as severe and remote as Braedon’s.

  With grave dignity, he marched up to the marquess. ‘Dobbs says I’m to leave at first light. I knew you would not wish to say goodbye, so I’ve come to you.’

  ‘There’s no need for that,’ Braedon answered harshly. He took an inexplicable step to the left. ‘Back to the nursery with you, now. I’ll come up in a bit.’

  Chloe started at his callous tone. She stared in surprise, but Rob refused to be dismissed.

  ‘You won’t. I know you won’t.’ He swallowed and his chin lifted in defiance. ‘I know what you think of me now.’ His voice began to rise. ‘And I don’t care. You’re not my da!’