Unbuttoning Miss Hardwick

by Deb Marlowe

  ‘We are a pair of damned fools,’ he growled.

  She nodded—and tugged on his shoulders, urging him back. Instead he wrapped thick, strong arms around her and lifted her as if she were nothing more than a rag doll. Feeling warm and incredibly safe, she burrowed into his embrace.

  Until he set her down and pressed her hard against the fading warmth of the brick wall.

  Yes. A hundred times, yes. Only him. No one else held the power to lure her from safety into the far more hazardous territory of desire. He leaned down to her again and she parted her lips to the insistent pressure of his. Thrust for thrust, she met his tongue and gave back the same searing passion that he poured into her.

  Her shawl had disappeared, lost somewhere on the cobbled stones. She had no need of it, in any case. The solid wall behind her gave up its heat, but it was as nothing compared to the inferno left in the wake of the marquess’s hands. Huge and powerful, calloused from swordplay, they encompassed her waist. Heat raged from every point of contact. The flames soared even higher as one hand crept upwards, blazing a trail along her ribs. Ever so slowly his fingers teased, breaching the swell of her breast, circling with tantalising slowness—before abruptly cupping her entirely.

  Delicacy was abandoned. She tore her mouth away and groaned deeply. Breath exploded from her as he rubbed a palm across the engorged peak of her nipple. Her back arched, pressing her into the caress, asking for more. He answered with a quick, hard pass of his thumb and then he pinched her right through all the thin layers of intervening fabric.

  Her legs nearly gave way beneath her. With gratitude she pressed her shoulders against the brick behind her and asked again.

  ‘More,’ she whispered. ‘Again.’

  He opened his mouth, but the small sound of a delicately clearing throat did not come from him.

  He froze. She stiffened.

  ‘Sorry, guv, but I figgered it’d be better to interrupt sooner, ’stead o’ later.’

  Chloe couldn’t see. The marquess had moved instinctively to shield her. One instant they were locked in an embrace, the next he had spun about to face the threat, one large hand reached back to hold her safe. He was pressed so close that she felt the rumble of his chest as he spoke.

  ‘I’m hard pressed to think why you would interrupt us at all,’ he said harshly. ‘Especially as we do not know each other.’ His arm moved away from her. She stepped a bit to the side and caught her first glimpse of the new arrival.

  Not a boy, nor yet a man, he stood, feet braced wide, in the narrow entrance to the alley. As she watched, he crossed his arms and allowed a cheeky smile to spread across his face. ‘Was paid ter do it,’ he said casually. ‘Leastaways, I was paid ter follow ye and report back where the pair o’ ye landed when ye left the old man’s shop.’ He lifted a shoulder. ‘Thought I’d give ye the chance ter make me a better offer.’

  ‘Who hired you for such a foolish errand?’

  The young man shrugged. ‘Don’t know. Some gentry cove. Don’t rightly care who he is, long as his coin is good.’

  ‘Surely you can come up with a more thorough description.’ The marquess sounded distinctly annoyed.

  Chloe took another step and emerged fully from behind him. ‘Just tell us how you are to deliver your information.’

  The young man’s grin stretched into a smile. ‘I’m to meet the cove at Somerset House.’

  She exchanged a glance with Lord Marland. ‘Definitely Laxton,’ she said.

  ‘He keeps offices there?’

  She nodded.

  The marquess’s expression shifted from annoyed into calculating. ‘Repeat this,’ he demanded abruptly of the boy. He rattled off an address.

  Clearly sensing an opportunity, the young man stood taller and gave him back the same words.

  ‘Again.’

  He repeated the information.

  ‘I’ll triple the scoundrel’s original offer, should you agree to give him that address—and nothing else.’

  ‘Done!’

  The marquess tossed him a purse. ‘That should meet the price.’

  ‘Aye.’ The young man hefted it once, then tucked it away. He nodded. ‘I’d work with ye again, guv. In a heartbeat.’

  ‘You’ll regret it, should I ever again catch you working against me,’ Lord Marland answered with dark promise.

  The scamp’s eyes darkened. The pair of them squared off across the small cobbled yard for a long moment. Then with a quick nod of acknowledgement, the young rogue turned and sauntered away.

  Her shawl lay in a heap by the bench. Chloe stepped over to fetch it. She refused to look directly at the marquess—or the wall she had just been pressed so ecstatically against. ‘Whose address was that?’ she asked as she pulled the soft material across her shoulders.

  ‘A certain cabinet minister’s,’ the marquess answered. ‘He was recently married.’

  She sighed. ‘You do think of everything.’ The sun had gone from the small space, and so had the fleeting passion. ‘We had best return to your sister.’

  * * *

  Braedon had come within inches of being captured by the enemy once, in a raid on a French pay wagon that had helped to cement his nickname. He had indeed been caught with a nobleman’s wife in Prussia and had once come very close to being tripped up by an extremely savvy Russian spy during the talks in Vienna. Though each situation had held its own perils, he’d kept a cool head, held alarm at bay and prevailed with the utter implacability that he had learned at his father’s knee.

  He fervently wished he could say the same about today. How lowering to be brought to the brink of panic by a slip of a girl in a pink dress.

  Yet Hardwick had done it. She’d broken him. Tempted him past a line that he never should have allowed either of them to approach. It was the boundary that only now he realised he had feared all along—the line in that sand that had made him ignore the thousands of little ways she had always called to him. The one that had made him, like Ulysses, stuff his ears with pitch to ignore the siren’s call.

  But he’d heard the call today—and he’d answered. Now they were over the line and had left it behind them in the distance. And he had no idea where to go from here.

  He eyed her cautiously as they made their way towards the north side of the Cavendish Square. He might be lost, but she looked entirely unaffected by their encounter. She walked quite normally at his side—and Braedon didn’t know whether to be insulted or relieved. Finally they made it far enough to glimpse Ashton House past the trees in the garden…and Hardwick began to trot ahead.

  ‘Lady Ashton,’ she called. ‘What is it?’

  He looked up to find Mairi perched on the steps of her town house, directing a steady stream of servants carrying furniture out to an open wagon. He hurried on Hardwick’s heels.

  ‘No, no! I want the wagon full before you place the tarpaulin over it,’ Mairi was scolding a footman. ‘We should be able to send it all in one trip. Oh!’ she exclaimed as Hardwick grasped her arm. ‘There you are—the two of you! I expected you back long before this.’ She spoke cheerfully enough, but Braedon caught the signs of tension at the corners of her mouth and in the tight grip she kept on Hardwick.

  ‘But what has happened?’ Hardwick asked.

  ‘Damp!’ Mairi exclaimed with drama. ‘Damp has happened, with all the resulting disastrous results! You recall the bubbling wallpaper in the back parlour? Well, the answer became painfully clear this morning. There’s a spot on the roof that must have been leaking for months, and every inch of paper is backed with a carpet of mould.’

  ‘Oh, good heavens,’ gasped Hardwick.

  ‘And the smell! We began pulling paper and it’s horrible. It’s spreading, too. The timber is starting to rot and it’s already reaching into the other rooms along the west wall. We have to clear t
he entire side of the house and replace a large section of the wall.’ She bit her trembling lip. ‘There can be no question of holding the ball here, now.’ She squeezed Hardwick’s arm. ‘In fact, there’s some debate on whether we should be allowed to stay at all.’

  ‘Oh, no!’ Hardwick gripped her with her other hand, too. ‘And after all of your lovely ideas and hard work.’ Braedon watched her brow lower and her face take on a familiar, mulish expression—and he knew that Mairi had gained herself a champion. ‘But you are not to worry,’ Hardwick assured his sister. ‘I refuse to let all of our effort go to waste. A place to stay shouldn’t be hard to find and as for the ball—well, there must be assembly rooms we could rent. I’ll start today—’

  ‘Just a moment, dear,’ Mairi said with a pat of her hand. ‘I said we could not hold the ball here, but you are correct. There are alternatives.’

  His sister was staring at him, now, with an unmistakably expectant gleam in her eye.

  ‘What?’ he asked, defensively. ‘I’m sorry to hear the bad news, my dear. But I don’t know the first thing about mould.’

  ‘Nor would I expect you to.’ She tilted her head and cocked an eyebrow at him. ‘But I would expect you to offer to house me and mine in my time of need.’

  Braedon fought back a surge of anxiety. Matters with Hardwick were unsettled at best. He’d failed to coax her back to her old persona, and surely the last thing he needed was to suffer her new one running tame in his household. ‘Well, I suppose you can stay with me,’ he said reluctantly, unable to see a way out. ‘It won’t be comfortable, I warn you. The place has been closed up for a score of years and is dusty and deserted as a tomb.’

  She arched a brow. ‘I should also expect you to allow me to host my party in the perfectly charming and free-of-mould ballroom in Marland House.’ She smiled. ‘You have the lovely long gallery, too. Indeed, I don’t know why I didn’t think to have the thing there in the first place.’

  ‘Now, hold on a moment. You are forging too far ahead.’ He frowned. ‘I can count the staff of the place on one hand. They have no experience in pulling something like this off.’ He concealed his anxiety behind a sharp tone. ‘Come now, Mairi. You know Father had no interest in the place. There hasn’t been so much as a card party there in a score of years.’

  ‘Those are just excuses, Braedon.’

  ‘It’s logic, my dear. Dobbs is old and set in his ways. I doubt he could manage the frenzy and confusion of putting together an event of this scale. Nor am I confident in his ability to see the thing done to your satisfaction.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ Mairi’s voice had taken on a definite edge of hysteria. ‘Chloe and I shall handle everything. I’ll bring along all of my servants. Why, I’m sure I shan’t even be around to be in your hair. Chloe can see to the cleaning and preparation of your place while I am here during the day, overseeing the reconstruction.’ She sent an apologetic glance in Hardwick’s direction. ‘I can do the orders and purchasing from here, too, and just have everything delivered to you at Marland House.’

  She shot him a trembling smile. ‘So you see, Braedon, you will hardly be inconvenienced a whit.

  Neither you nor Dobbs will have to do a thing except dress appropriately and show up the night of the ball.’ She drew a deep breath. ‘Please, Braedon. My marriage is at stake.’

  He cursed long and hard under his breath. He sneaked a peek at Hardwick and had to hold back a snort. Of course she would be of no help. Her face set, she stared steadfastly at the pavement. But he could sense that she was waiting. As were the passing servants. Suddenly it seemed as if all of Mayfair hung, breath bated, for his answer.

  ‘Oh, very well,’ he ground out.

  ‘Thank you, dear!’ Mairi cried. She reached out and hugged him tight. Hardwick let out a long, pent-up breath. Even the damned servants were smiling.

  ‘Oh, this will work out wonderfully well!’ Mairi let him go and reached out to Hardwick instead. ‘But there will have to be changes! Braedon’s dining room has twice the seating as ours. We shall have to go to round tables. And the invitations!’ she gasped. ‘Oh, I know you’ve only just been to the stationers, but, darling, won’t you go back and notify them of the new address?’

  He sighed and nodded his acquiescence.

  ‘You are an angel. But you will have to go quickly, before he closes up for the day.’ Mairi had already mentally dismissed him. She turned to go back to the house and beckoned Hardwick after her. ‘Oh! But I’ve forgotten!’ she said, pausing. ‘Your friend, Sir Thomas Cobbe, is looking for you! He stopped by earlier.’

  ‘Thom? Looking for me—here?’

  ‘Yes. I thought it must be urgent, for him to come searching here. Perhaps he left a message for you at Marland House.’

  ‘I’ll head home, then.’ He flung up a hand to stall his sister’s protest. ‘After stopping at the stationers. Again.’ He tried to catch Hardwick’s eye, to say farewell or even gauge some sort of reaction from her after the extremities of the day, but she only gave him a quick nod before passing through the doorway.

  Hmmph. Well. He stared after her a moment before shaking himself awake. She was right, of course. Correct in every way—to act as if nothing had changed. Because nothing had. They were at an impasse. There was no need to stand here like some lovesick swain. He clambered down the stairs and stalked his way back toward the Strand.

  It wasn’t until after the stationers, when he was halfway home again, that he remembered the boy.

  * * *

  Braedon found him—Rob, he’d said his name was—in the nursery at the top of the house. Even in the dim light, the place looked musty and unused. The boy knelt at the window, his breath fogging the panes as he watched the twilight blanketing the city.

  He shifted back, his arm moving, and Braedon caught sight of the carved dog in his hand. He ran it back and forth along the windowsill and up the frame. Casting about the nursery, Braedon noticed a table along the wall. Upon it, the feeble light picked up the bright colours of the set of new tin soldiers, laid out in neat lines.

  For the briefest of instants, Braedon reconsidered what he’d come to do. But the boy turned and the sight of that profile against the flaming colour of the sky convinced him. He recalled his own shocked reaction at his first glimpse of the child and thought of how much worse it would likely be for Mairi—and he strode into the room.

  ‘Dobbs said that you didn’t enjoy the soldiers?’ he asked as he crossed to the small table.

  Showing no alarm, Rob glanced over his shoulder. ‘I don’t know what to do with them.’ The dog continued to frolic before the window.

  Braedon breathed deeply. Mairi had never dealt well with Connor. Far more volatile than he and more easily roused to a temper, she had made an ideal target for their brother’s cruelty. He’d done all that he could to shelter her, but there was no absolute protection against Connor’s sort of malice. He’d been spiteful, hateful—and infinitely patient. Mairi had always been a little highly strung, but much of her instability could be laid at Connor’s door.

  He couldn’t predict her reaction to Connor’s son. The resemblance was chilling. She could be slightly upset to discover the boy’s existence, or she could plunge into an overwrought spiral of dark emotions.

  He sensed that his sister was at a crossroads now. If she healed this rift with Ashton, if they spoke freely at last about their obvious affection for each other, Braedon could see Mairi settling down to a calmer, happier life. Braedon wanted that for her—and would not allow anything to get in the way of it.

  ‘Rob, would you come over here for a moment? I have something I would like to discuss with you.’

  The boy climbed down from the window seat. Braedon took one of the small chairs at the table and slowly he approached and took the other.

  ‘Do you want your dog back?’ the boy as
ked

  stoically.

  He noticed that he held it clutched tightly in his hand. ‘No. Of course not. Your father gave it to you. It is yours to keep.’

  The child noticeably relaxed. Braedon picked up a tiny infantryman and tested his finger against the small, shining bayonet. He set him down again, aimed him carefully at an opposing Frenchman, and mimicked the sound of gunfire. The toy obligingly fell down at the flick of his finger, but the boy didn’t rise to the bait.

  ‘Why don’t you cut your hair?’ the child asked abruptly.

  He blinked. ‘Because I don’t wish to.’

  The boy fingered his own short hair and waited.

  Braedon forged ahead. ‘You like dogs, do you?’

  Ah. An involuntary smile—the first sign of enthusiasm—or any emotion—he’d seen. ‘Oh, yes.’

  ‘Do you know how to care for them?’

  Rob nodded. ‘We had them at the inn. One at the kitchen spit and another in the stable, to help guard the horses. I fed them every day. I kept them brushed.’ He paused a moment before sticking his chin out in stubborn fashion. ‘My da liked dogs. He hunted with them.’

  ‘That he did,’ Braedon said with an easiness that nearly choked him. ‘Nearly every day, in fact.’ He waited a beat and then continued. ‘I wanted you to know that I’ve written to several very nice places in the country. I told them about you. I’m certain we can find a comfortable home for you soon, but it is going to take a fortnight or so, at the least. You’ll stay here in the meantime.’

  The boy’s face remained blank. Carefully so. Braedon suspected that he was suppressing some strong emotion.

  ‘There is one problem,’ he continued. ‘The number of people in the house is about to double.’ He lowered his voice confidingly. ‘Worse, there is to be a ball held here, in this house, very soon. It will mean a dreadful lot of work. There will be a hustle and bustle as preparations are made.’

  Still no reaction. It was new and unsettling, seeing calm on that familiar face. He kept waiting for the child to explode into violent action.