by Deb Marlowe
‘Braedon?’ Hearing the commotion, Lady Ashton moved back from the stage. She stepped around her brother and caught sight of the defiant little boy. Her face abruptly drained of all colour. She staggered back a step.
‘Mairi?’ The earl reached out to his wife in concern.
‘Back to the nursery, Rob,’ Braedon ordered. ‘Now!’
The lad jumped at the sudden increase in volume. The pup barked in alarm. ‘No,’ the boy answered
quietly. ‘I came to give you this.’ He struggled to hold on to the spaniel with one hand while he fished in his pocket with the other.
Chloe saw the pain on Braedon’s face when the hand emerged with a small, wooden figure of a dog.
Rob held it out to the marquess. ‘I’m giving it back to you.’
Lady Ashton moaned out loud. ‘Braedon,’ she whispered. ‘Who is that? Is he—?’
The marquess rubbed a hand over his face. ‘I don’t want it back. Just go now.’
The boy’s face took on a dark, stubborn cast. ‘I won’t. I didn’t hurt that girl, no matter what you think.’
A sob escaped the countess and she stepped closer to her husband.
Rob ignored her. ‘I won’t leave with this. I don’t want it any more.’ His gaze narrowed and cast about. Suddenly he turned smartly, hoisted the dog higher and strode past avid onlookers to a fireplace a few feet down the interior wall. A fire, lit earlier to chase the chill from the room, had been banked and was nearly dead. He didn’t appear to care. He threw the little figure at the coals as hard as he could. ‘There!’ He turned to glare his anger at the marquess. ‘I don’t care!’ he shouted. ‘You can think what you like and it won’t matter to me.’
‘Oh, God—he is!’ Lady Ashford groaned. ‘Braedon! He’s…he’s Connor’s? And you knew! How could you hide such a thing from me?’ She stopped, her face contorted by a sudden torrent of tears. Harsh sobs ripped through her and she fell into her husband’s arms.
Silence descended. The guests in the surrounding crowd watched avidly. Braedon looked bleakly between his sister and the boy, sorrow and anger etched deeply in his face. Her heart welling with sympathy and shock, Chloe reached for his hand.
He gripped it tightly for a moment, his head bowed as he absorbed the turmoil that had struck so quickly.
Sucking in a long breath, he let go of her hand. He lifted his head and her heart sank like a stone.
He had cast it all away. His gaze had cleared and his face was smooth, as calm as a still lake. ‘Rob, you will return to the nursery. Now.’ Even his tone sounded flat, expressionless. ‘Ashton, take Mairi apart for a bit, let her recover in peace. Mairi, I believe I have the supper dance? I shall expect you back.’ He gestured to the musicians on stage. ‘The rest of us will begin the dancing.’ He lifted his hands to the watching crowd. ‘Everyone, please!’
The boy fled. The countess walked in the other direction, leaning heavily on her husband.
‘Braedon,’ Chloe whispered. The truth was only beginning to dawn on her. His nephew. Rob was his nephew—his dead brother’s child. An orphan, he’d told her, a tenant. But it had been a lie. Her heart clenched. The child had no one—and Braedon had been planning all along to send him away to live with strangers. No wonder the boy had been so anxious to prove himself. He’d been looking for Braedon’s approval. Hoping for his care and concern. Tonight all he’d got was harsh words and dismissal. And tomorrow? By the boy’s words—a hasty departure.
She stepped forwards. ‘Braedon?’
‘Hardwick. Perhaps you can help.’ His tone was cold, impersonal, the everyday sound of a titled noble speaking to his servant.
She stared into his face. There was nothing for her there. No hint of tenderness or affection. No sign of the secrets and kisses and passionate sighs that they had shared. In just such a manner would he have regarded any passing acquaintance. Or stranger.
Just a few days. That’s all she had asked for. It would appear that her time was up.
‘Perhaps you could start the dancing?’ he asked. He glanced over at his sparring partner. ‘Thom will oblige us, I’m sure.’
Sir Thomas’s mouth twisted and he held out a hand.
She shot him a look of disdain. Straightening her shoulders, she turned her glare on the marquess. He might present the world with a blank mask devoid of any human feeling, but she was going to leave him with no doubt as to her hurt, betrayal and disapproval.
He frowned. ‘If you don’t wish to help…’ he began evenly.
‘Oh, I wish to help,’ she snapped. ‘But I think I shall focus my efforts on those willing to accept them.’ She whirled away. Without looking back, she hurried after the boy.
* * *
Braedon wanted to go after her. He tensed every muscle, tightened every sinew in an effort to stay rooted in the ballroom, among his sister’s guests.
This had to end. Anger lived in the pounding of his heart. Frustration flowed through his veins. Far more dangerous—need burned everywhere, lighting every part of him with the yearning to chase her down and erase the disdain he’d seen in her eyes. He felt as if he could not breathe without her smile, that he needed her approval just as he needed air. That he could not live without her love.
But he could. He would—because he would have to. He would don again the safety of his armour, reclaim the vast stretch of emptiness that protected him from such strife and discord as this. He looked around. Was this not proof enough of the sheer folly of lowering his defences? He had to rebuild, and he had to begin now.
Except that he could not quite abandon Chloe to her distress.
He took a step in the direction she had fled. Only to be stopped by a hand on his arm.
‘You cannot leave as well,’ Mrs Edmunds, Mairi’s friend, gritted out through a determined smile. ‘Think of your sister for a moment. This ball is extremely important to her. One of you has to stay and begin the dancing, act the host, or everything will disintegrate.’
Braedon frowned down at her.
‘Don’t look at me in that way. Mairi will be devastated if this falls into a disaster. So smile at me, damn you, offer me your hand and strike up the band. We’ll lead the first set and your guests will follow.’ She arched a sardonic brow at him. ‘Otherwise, they will mill about a bit, call for their wraps and move on to the next social gathering, where they will gain a good bit of cachet by describing your family scandal and Mairi’s failure in glorious detail.’
His gut seethed with frustration, but he offered her his arm. Before he led her to the dance floor, he looked after Chloe one last time. Inspiration seized him suddenly and he reached for Thom. ‘Go to her, will you? Make sure she is all right?’
His friend was staring in the same direction, too—and his expression was not one of concern. He looked almost…predatory.
The strange look disappeared as Thom pivoted to meet Braedon’s gaze. ‘Yes. Don’t worry. I’ll go after her.’
‘Tell her I’ll come to her…later. As soon as I can.’
Thom clapped him on the shoulder and departed.
Braedon was distracted then, as Mrs Edmunds tugged him out to the centre of the floor. But he wasn’t so preoccupied that he didn’t notice Thom heading off in the wrong direction.
Chapter Twenty
Chloe climbed and climbed, leaving the noise and chaos of the party behind as she made her way to the top of the house. The upper floors were deserted, the servants’ rooms empty of their occupants. Quiet, too, save for a lone thumping noise coming from the end of the corridor. She followed the sound, letting it lead her to a large suite of nursery rooms.
Rob was there, alternately trying to pry the lock off a fair-sized trunk and hitting it with a fire iron. She paused inside the doorway, as with a cry of triumph, he sprang it open.
His elation died a
way as he caught sight of her. ‘Did he send you?’ Rob demanded.
Good. The boy had latched hard on to his anger. It would mask the hurt and allow him to get through these first, difficult hours. An intelligent strategy. She rather thought she would adopt it herself.
‘No.’ She walked in and perched on a bed in the corner. ‘I left, just like you.’
‘Well, that’s what I’m doing. I’m leaving—for good.’ He had begun to rummage through the trunk, removing some items, leaving others. ‘I’m not waiting for him, or going where he wishes me to. And I’m not taking nothing he gave me, either.’
‘I understand.’ She sighed. ‘I think perhaps he doesn’t intend to cause such hurt, but the end result is just the same.’
It struck her how painfully similar their situations were. She imagined Rob teetering on the same edge as she had as a girl, hoping someone would save her, realising with sinking despair that she had to find a way to protect herself. His last defiant statement illustrated the biggest difference between them, however. Braedon had given her nothing to discard.
Watching the boy, feeling the tug he exerted on her heartstrings, a far more difficult truth was driven home. Braedon wanted neither of them. He did not want, or could not accept, the emotional entanglement—the intimacy—that would come along with accepting either of them into his life.
‘I’m leaving, too,’ she announced suddenly.
‘Why are you going?’ he asked with suspicion. ‘Does he think you hurt someone, too?’
Chloe shrugged. ‘Not exactly, but close enough. I think he believes that I am going to hurt him.’
He grunted and continued his sorting. Chloe watched for a moment, thinking hard. The boy was wounded and justifiably wary. But surely, surely there was something she could do to help him. ‘Where are you going when you leave?’ she asked idly.
‘I don’t know. I’ll find a place. On my own.’
She nodded understanding. ‘As will I.’ She stood suddenly and went to the window. ‘I think I shall go to the seashore. I told Lord Marland, not so long ago, that I’ve always wanted to live there.’ She fell silent again and waited.
‘I saw it once,’ he ventured after a moment. ‘My ma took me.’
‘Didn’t you love it?’ She shot a quick grin over her shoulder before facing the dark window again. ‘I’m going to go down to the beach every single day. I’m going to walk for miles with the sun on my face and the wind in my hair. I’m going to throw rocks at the water and frolic in the waves and collect shells.’ She was going to sit and feel the spray and allow the ocean to make her feel small—because at the same time, being part of the majesty convinced her that she was never truly alone.
She glanced over at the pup curled on the bed. The idea in her head was taking firm root in her heart. ‘Too bad you can’t come with me. Fitz would love to chase the waves and the seabirds. He’d have a high time.’
Rob blinked. ‘Yes. Too bad.’
‘Unless…’ she glanced at him as if startled by the idea ‘…I suppose you could come along. I wouldn’t mind the company and it seems a shame to deny Fitz the experience.’
He frowned as he sat down heavily next to the dog.
‘Oh, I understand,’ she assured him. ‘Never mind. You have plans of your own.’
‘Well, not really. That is, I don’t have anything important to see to. I suppose we could go along with you—for Fitz’s sake.’ He ducked his head. ‘If you don’t mind, that is.’
‘Mind? I’m finding it a brilliant idea.’ She left the window and crouched before him. ‘Why should we both set out alone? Lord Marland doesn’t seem to need us. And I can tell just on our short acquaintance how fine a boy you are.’ She smiled. ‘Yes, you can come with me if you wish. I’ve plenty of money set aside and you and Fitz and I will have a grand time.’
Faint hope lit his gaze. ‘We’ll leave together, then? Tonight?’ he asked, with a quick return of anxiety.
Chloe sucked in a breath. She didn’t want to leave tonight—because a part of her was still tempted to stay and fight, to convince Braedon that the love and laughter and richness of an open heart could outweigh the pain. But the vision of his empty eyes stopped her. It wasn’t her that he’d been chasing so hard, but the Spear—and the seclusion that it symbolised.
‘Tonight.’ She sighed. ‘Get your things together and we’ll go along to my room. I’ll write a note to the countess, pack and we’ll go.’
‘Not yet, you won’t,’ a masculine voice interrupted. ‘I’m afraid I’ll have to add one more item to that list before you leave.’
‘Sir Thomas!’ The unease he’d inspired in her earlier blossomed into fear that reached out with icy tendrils. She knew enough, however, not to show any sign of it. She pulled Rob to his feet and placed a hand on his shoulder. ‘How kind of you to come and check on us. But you needn’t have bothered, we were just on our way out.’
‘Yes, so I heard.’ He leaned against the doorjamb. ‘You won’t be going anywhere, however, before you turn over Skanda’s Spear.’
She stared blankly.
The master swordsman took a threatening step into the room. ‘Don’t toy with me, Miss Hardwick. I was watching today—watching you and Conover. A very slick manoeuvre, I must admit. I nearly missed it. But I know you have the Spear.’
Reaching for her, he yanked her away from Rob. ‘I’ve already been through your room. Either you’ve hidden it well, or you’ve turned it over already.’ He reached behind his back, beneath his coat, and withdrew a flattened belt with a scabbard attached. He drew the blade, a short sword that glittered in the dim light. ‘For both of your sakes, I hope it is the former.’
‘Here, now!’ Rob stepped forwards. ‘You shouldn’t be threatening a lady!’
Chloe gasped as Sir Thomas brandished the blade in the boy’s direction. ‘Keep back and keep out of this,’ he ordered.
‘Rob,’ she said, fighting to keep her voice steady. ‘Don’t worry. It’s in my room,’ she said to Sir Thomas. ‘Leave him here and I’ll take you to it.’
‘He comes.’ He beckoned the boy with the blade.
‘No! I’ll give it to you without a fuss—but you leave him here.’ She let him see her determination and the very real threat of the mayhem she would create if he did not bend on this.
Glaring at her, he nodded.
‘Rob.’ Bending over the boy, she caught his eye and widened her own. Significantly. ‘You know the marquess hates for you to hide away, unseen.’ She raised her brows and hoped he understood that she was trying to send him a message. ‘Think of this like a game. You stay hidden here. He won’t come looking for you—he’s too busy with his guests. Then I’ll be back in a moment and we’ll be off.’
‘To the seashore?’
‘Right away.’
‘Fine, then.’ He sat on the bed and pulled the pup into his arms. ‘But hurry.’
‘I will.’ She met the mad, mercenary gleam in Sir Thomas’s eye and hoped she spoke the truth.
Chapter Twenty-One
Braedon could not shake his unease—or his urge to find Chloe and apologise for—something. Everything, perhaps.
He stayed, though, acting the host as the dancing began and answering questions with non-committal answers.
When Mairi returned, red-rimmed eyes the only sign of their difficulties, he welcomed her back by pulling her into his arms. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I should have told you. I didn’t want you upset.’
‘The upset was inevitable.’ She gave him a tremulous smile. ‘It was the timing that was atrocious. But I’m better now and Ashton has forgiven me.’
‘You’ve done nothing for which you need forgiveness.’ Braedon took her hand. ‘And you don’t need to worry further. The boy leaves in the morning for one of my estates.’
Her brow wrinkled. ‘I’m sure I didn’t mean—’
‘Mairi.’ He kissed her hand. ‘Not now, please. I have to…’ His voice trailed off. What was it that could be done, really?
His sister smiled. ‘Go to her.’ She squeezed his hand. ‘They are gone now, Braedon. Connor and Father are dead. They can’t hurt us any more, can they? We both need to remember that—and stop living in dread.’
He couldn’t stop—couldn’t change, at least. Mairi had a chance, but he knew that he was long past such a thing. Still, he couldn’t let things with Chloe end without at least an explanation. A goodbye. He left the ballroom in a hurry, his heart starting to beat fast in anticipation.
His pulse doubled again, for an entirely different reason, when he encountered Rob racing down the stairs at top speed, terror in his eyes and a fire poker in his hand.
‘Whoa there.’ He caught the boy with both hands. ‘What are you doing, Rob? Where are you going with that?’
Gesturing back up the stairs, the lad gasped for breath. ‘He’s got her. Your lady. I think she was telling me to get you. She needs help! Go!’
Braedon clutched his shoulder. ‘Who has her?’ But he knew. That look. A denial lurked on his lips even as a chill swept over his soul.
‘Your friend.’ The boy still breathed heavily. ‘The one you fight with.’
Something dark shifted inside him. Could it be happening again? Betrayal. By a friend of so many years. Someone he’d sweated, laughed and bled with.
He straightened. ‘Where are they?’
‘He was taking her to her room. To get something.’ Rob shook his head. ‘I don’t think he means to let her go.’
‘Stay here.’ Braedon moved to climb the stairs, but Rob grabbed his coat. ‘Here.’ He offered up the poker. ‘He’s got a knife.’ He shook his head. ‘No, it’s a sword, like you fight with, only shorter.’
Braedon grasped his hand for a moment. ‘Keep it. Stay here— Wait, no. Lord Ashton, the earl. The man the party is for tonight—you know him?’
