by Deb Marlowe
He still hadn’t spoken a word. She sent another nervous glance his way and he stepped closer. ‘Hardwick,’ he began. His voice had gone rough as gravel. He had half a mind to order her back to her room and into her regular, daunting uniform.
‘Lord Marland.’ She inclined her head.
‘I gather that I am now meant to compliment you on your changed appearance?’
Her hand rose and hovered uncertainly for a moment over her bodice. He recognised the movement and suffered a small-minded sense of victory.
But Hardwick raised her chin and lowered her hand. It was just as well, for there were no buttons, only miles of skin and a sophisticated gown of the most gorgeous changeable silk. Beautiful blue shot with green, the dress flowed over her like the ocean it was meant to represent.
And then she smiled at him. ‘Of course you are not obligated, my lord, but should you choose to offer a compliment, I will be glad to accept it.’
He snorted. ‘You don’t need me to tell you that you look beautiful this evening, as I’m sure both your looking glass and my sister have already done so.’
She tilted her head. ‘I am sure that it should not be so, but the fact remains that a compliment from a gentleman always means more. So I will thank you—even for that half-hearted attempt.’
Glowering, he took a drink. ‘I am reminded of the adage about a leopard never really changing her spots.’ He lifted his glass. ‘And find myself hoping it is true.’
She frowned. ‘I’m not changing my spots, my lord. Following your analogy, I would say that I am merely shifting my pelt about to showcase a new side.’
‘Turning yourself inside out is more like it,’ he grumbled.
Hardwick laughed. ‘Nothing so dramatic, I promise.’
His sister had noticed his ire and moved to intercept. ‘Do forgive us for the delay,’ she announced to the group at large. ‘Shall we all go in to dinner?’ She took Braedon’s arm and left Hardwick to be escorted by the vicar.
But before Mr Goodmond led her away, Hardwick stepped close and sparkled up at him. ‘You may yet get a glimpse of my insides, Lord Marland, but not before you display a bit of your own.’
Frowning, Braedon led the company in. His agitation didn’t fade as they took their seats. He’d known something was in the wind, but he’d done his best to ignore it. He shook his head. Hardwick already had so many fine and useful qualities—now she displayed beauty and wit as well? Any other woman and he’d be intrigued. But this was Hardwick! Didn’t she see? Changing herself forced other things to change, too. He suppressed a snort. Show his insides? She should know him well enough to realise he’d avoid such a thing at all costs.
He sighed. Surely this was a temporary aberration, provoked by Mairi, no doubt. He would wait and things were sure to go back to normal.
But finding his balance proved impossible. The distance lens through which he normally viewed life had flipped completely—and focused itself firmly on his assistant. He barely ate, could scarcely concentrate on Thom’s sporadic attempts at conversation. He could only stare at the magnified brilliance of Hardwick.
She looked so soft. The close-viewing lens roamed over her, highlighting glowing skin, every bit as lustrous as the pearls enhancing her gown, cataloging the plush and creamy bosom so gratifyingly displayed. Her eyes sparkled brilliantly blue. Where were her damned spectacles?
Her laughter drifted down the table and Braedon stifled a flare of outrage. How could this be? Surely it was not jealousy burning in his gut—over Hardwick?
She glanced his way again, just the lightest, fleeting brush of their gazes. She coloured and looked away.
No. He wasn’t jealous. The notion was too ridiculous to be entertained. And yet he couldn’t help but wonder—from where had come that glow, lighting her face from within? Why had he never seen her smile so, before now? He couldn’t look away.
He wasn’t alone. Thom stared unabashedly. The vicar kept shooting her small glances of bemusement. Even Mrs Goodmond frowned repeatedly in Hardwick’s direction. As the next course came out, the vicar’s wife laid down her utensils and cleared her throat.
‘Miss Hardwick, I wondered if you intend to engage a chaperon to stay here at Denning along with you.’ She gave a nod towards Mairi. ‘Lady Ashton lends you countenance, of course, but I’m sure her stay is only temporary.’
Hardwick frowned. ‘I hadn’t thought to, Mrs Goodmond.’ She set down her own silverware and met the woman’s eye directly. ‘In truth, I hadn’t even considered such a thing. When I first came to Denning, my father was here as well. After his death, I was so distraught, and then so busy, that it never entered my mind that I should need a chaperon.’
‘Well, it entered mine,’ the lady returned somewhat waspishly. ‘But Lord Marland has been so busily engaged in restoring his estate and you seemed so occupied with the new wing, and so I thought… There was talk, of course, but, well, I let the matter drop.’ She leaned back in her chair and bestowed a sternly disapproving look, first upon her husband, then upon her victim. ‘And now I am picking it back up.’
Hardwick stiffened. ‘I’ve only changed my dress, Mrs Goodmond. Not my character.’
The lady sniffed. ‘Appearances matter, Miss Hardwick. And now that your appearance has changed…a chaperon is in order. I only hope it is not too late.’
Braedon had heard enough. ‘I respect your position, of course,’ he said with a nod to the vicar. ‘But Hardwick is a member of my staff and I don’t appreciate interference in how I run my household.’
‘Now, everyone take a breath,’ Mairi interrupted as Mrs Goodmond puffed up, ready for a fight. ‘I am sure that my brother will do all that is right and proper, ma’am. He usually does.’ She smiled. ‘Now, he tells me that you manage several charitable projects in the area. Will you tell me about your work?’
Braedon ducked his head. It had been a long time since he’d had to reach for the numbness that had protected him so long ago, but he could use a good dose of it now. How heartily he wished this night over. Tomorrow he would have a talk with Hardwick, clear the air and insist that they return to the normal, comfortable state of things.
* * *
Chloe bit her lip and stared at her plate. This scenario had not played out as she’d hoped. Lord Marland appeared only annoyed at her transformation, not intrigued. Why was he so resistant?
She caught him tossing her a quick, scowling glance and thought perhaps she could guess why. She’d been so caught up in the swirl of her new feelings that she’d forgot that only her inner landscape was in upheaval—and had been even before the countess had arrived. Everything inside Chloe was shifting as fear receded and curiosity and confidence began to grow. She was changing, nearly by the minute. Lord Marland was not—and neither was his view of her.
She sucked in a breath and hoped that she had not made a colossal mistake.
Her head came up as she heard her name.
‘—and I understand now the high praise you included in your letters, Braedon,’ the countess said. ‘And I find myself in complete agreement. Why, I’ve only been here a few days and Miss Hardwick has helped me with a particularly sticky problem.’
The marquess mumbled something incoherent.
‘You’ll recall the matter we discussed,’ his sister said brightly. She turned to Mrs Goodmond. ‘I’m happy to say that the solution will lead to a large project of my own. You see, my husband’s birthday approaches.’ The countess caught Chloe’s eye. ‘Growing up, he’s mentioned that such occasions were never marked. But this year I intend that it should be.’
Understanding dawned. The secret, the regret that she had mentioned as a way back to intimacy with the earl. She nodded.
‘I’d like to make it a grand event. An occasion suited to his particular tastes. A celebration of every masculine delight.’
Chloe straightened, lightning-struck by the obvious notion. She caught Lord Marland’s eye, but he quickly glanced away. No, she thought, staring hard at him. She had not made a mistake. She hadn’t been wrong to pursue this position when she’d had such a great need of it, and she wasn’t wrong to heed her changing needs now. But perhaps she had tried the wrong tack. Perhaps, now that she had delivered the marquess such a shock, she should let him taste her absence.
‘Oh, but you’ve given me a lovely idea, Lady Ashton!’ she said. ‘I’m due some time away from my position, as you pointed out earlier. So why do I not come to London to help you?’
The countess grasped her hand and gasped in delight. The Goodmonds exchanged a glance. The marquess, however, gave a snort of derision that echoed around the room.
‘Oh, would you?’ Lady Ashton cried. ‘It would be just the thing! You are a model of organisation and efficiency—with your help I’m sure I could not fail to please my husband.’
Lord Marland eyed his sister with obvious irritation. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Mairead.’ He turned to Chloe with the same hostility. She fought back a shiver as he raked a critical eye over her. ‘I know I asked you to find some way to keep busy, but I never meant for you to turn Hardwick into a pet project.’
Chloe stiffened. Now she was becoming agitated.
‘You are the one being ridiculous, Braedon,’ Lady Ashton responded. ‘Miss Hardwick is a person, not a project. A young woman with hopes, dreams and feelings.’
‘And responsibilities. I need her here. The collection—’
‘Will be fine in your capable hands,’ Chloe said smoothly. ‘The wing is in the last stages of construction. Most of the collection is ready, or waiting on the completion of our custom-built display cases. Surely I could be spared for a few weeks?’
‘Famous!’ the countess exclaimed, with a clap of her hands. ‘I’m so relieved!’ She squeezed Chloe’s hand again. ‘I promise that it won’t be all work and no play. We shall have plenty of time to shop and meet new people, to go to the theatre and the parks. It will be a grand time all around. What do you think?’
Chloe’s heart leapt. Underneath the table, her free hand gripped her napkin until her knuckles were surely whitened. It sounded terrifying—and divine.
‘Now that is the outside of enough,’ Lord Marland scoffed. ‘You mean to take Hardwick to Town and thrust her amongst the ton?’
His mockery made Chloe blanch.
‘It would be nothing but an unmitigated disaster.’
Lady Ashton clenched her jaw. ‘I think that you underestimate Miss Hardwick.’
‘No, I believe that you overestimate the fashionable set. Hardwick is no empty-headed society chit. What does she care for fashion and furbelows?’ He gestured in her direction. ‘Hardwick can estimate mortar to the last brick. She deals in stone blocks and steel blades, not crowds and gowns and gossip.’
Chloe stilled. The marquess surely didn’t intend to be cruel.
‘I know your tricks, in any case, Mairead.’ Lord Marland’s voice had gone heavy with warning. ‘You won’t leave it at a party and be done with it. You’ll turn this jaunt into a husband-hunting expedition—and what will that gain Hardwick? She’s not that sort of woman. She’ll be left with naught but dashed hopes and broken dreams.’
Jagged and intense, the pain ripped through her. His disregard was so casual and immediate. So easily he summed her up and dismissed her.
She could scarcely believe how much it hurt. But worse was her suddenly bleak vision of their future. The marquess had made his stance clear. He was content, insistent even, on carrying on in the same manner. Yet what else could she expect? He did not see her—but how could he? He saw only what she had shown him. What she had become—for him.
Suddenly the truth was blindingly clear. She could not stay. Could not pretend that nothing had changed inside her. The pain she felt now was nothing to what such a course would lead to. Before long she would be writhing beneath an unbearable weight of unrequited caring and burgeoning resentment.
Hardwick had no future. Not with the marquess. Not even without him.
Yet, she was more than Hardwick, was she not?
She would never find out, if she stayed.
And just like that, Chloe decided. It was going to hurt. It was most decidedly not going to be safe. But she was going to go.
She stood. ‘Upon further reflection, I’ve changed my mind. Lord Marland, I hereby tender my resignation.’
Over his sputtered protests, she turned to his sister. ‘Lady Ashton, I would be pleased to accompany you, to assist you with your project.’
And to take the chance to discover just who Miss Chloe Hardwick truly was.
Chapter Four
‘A post from London, my lord.’ Billings hovered in the doorway to the workroom. ‘The messenger said it was urgent.’
Braedon winced as he looked up from the rack and ruin of Hardwick’s desk. The constant pressure of his grinding jaw had given him a headache. ‘Does he wait for an answer?’
‘No, sir.’
Impatient, he beckoned the man forwards. Billings, unable to hide his distaste, picked his way past stacked crates and piles of books and papers strewn on the floor. Braedon sighed. Hardwick had not been gone a month, but her well-ordered system and intricately organised process was disintegrating about his ears.
‘The completion of the wing is not progressing quite as smoothly since Hardwick left us, is it?’ Billings handed over the thick vellum and stared at the shambles of the desk. ‘Shall I send down a maid to assist you, my lord?’
‘No, no,’ Braedon refused irritably. ‘I shall set it all to rights, eventually.’ He was tired of hearing Hardwick’s name, weary of having to excise her from his thoughts. It was ridiculous to fixate on her now that she had gone. She’d been right under his nose for months and he’d barely allowed her to register on his mind. And why?
Perhaps because he had known better.
Yes, occasionally he had looked at her—like a man looks at a woman. But he had never really seen—never allowed himself to see. Because he had never wanted to view her as a person, and he could ill afford to frighten her away. He had needed her, damn it. Needed her to smooth the construction on his blasted wing. To put the last, elegant touches on his collection. To be his sounding board and the one person who shared his enthusiasms. He had needed her—and he had not allowed himself to think too deeply about the why of the thing.
He paused, fingers poised to tear open the letter, and frowned up at Billings. ‘Do we not have another candidate for Hardwick’s replacement coming to interview today?’
‘We do, sir. Shall I place him in the library when he arrives?’
‘It would be best. I don’t wish to scare another off before we can even begin.’ The irritation simmering beneath his skin threatened to boil up again. ‘Does this one have any sort of credentials?’
‘A background in mining, I believe.’
This time Braedon cursed out loud. Mining, land management, insurers. None of the men applying for Hardwick’s position knew the first damned thing about how to manage a collection like his. They had no knowledge, no reverence, no art in their souls—and he’d yet to find one of them who possessed Hardwick’s skills at managing men. He banged a fist on the desk, sending papers sliding in every direction. Damn it all to hell and back! He’d had the perfect assistant and now she was off in Town, organising parties.
‘Never mind all that!’ Brian Keller, his architect and builder, burst i
nto the room. He pointed an accusing finger at the correspondence in Braedon’s hand. ‘There’s no time for it. I have urgent need of you.’
Braedon frowned and brandished the letter. ‘You don’t even know what it is.’ Neither did he.
‘I don’t care. The stuccatore has quarrelled with one of the carpenters. I’ve tried to calm him, but he refuses to finish the decorative reliefs over the niches. You must come and be properly intimidating or this wing will never be done!’
Happy for an excuse to push away from the desk, Braedon started around it. But something pulled him to an abrupt halt. He frowned at Keller. ‘Is that how Hardwick would have handled it?’
‘Lord, no.’ Keller frowned back.
He waited.
Keller cast helpless hands into the air. ‘I don’t know how she did it. She would have listened to them complain, just as I have, but somehow, in five minutes she’d have taken them from the brink of mayhem to laughing and clapping each other on the back, vowing to buy each other a pint at the end of the day.’
Braedon blinked. ‘How the hell am I supposed to do that?’
‘I don’t know!’ Keller looked him over. ‘You’re the Marauding Marquess, for God’s sake! You’ve sniffed out enemy supply dumps and strategic secrets all over the Continent. Sniff out a solution for us now. Or at least use that air of arrogant command.’
The door was thrown open. It hit the wall with a crash and rebounded as two men pushed their way through, their voices raised in argument. The
stuccatore, his hands waving, cursed wildly in Italian. The carpenter shouted his protest that he could not even understand what it was he was accused of. Keller waded in and even Billings raised his voice as he tried to restore order.
Braedon stared at the ascending chaos and silently cursed Hardwick. Arrogant command? He’d rather snatch up one of the multitude of weapons lying about and scare the devil out of the lot of them. Struggling for control, he sank back down to perch on the desk. He had not stooped to using a weapon to intimidate since his brother was alive and living at Denning, nor felt such impending rage.