by Deb Marlowe
Now she was no longer the only one spellbound. The entire hall full of men was held rapt. Next to her, the marquess had ceased to breathe.
She glanced askance at him again. A warrior in thrall. So much energy, purpose and power, focused with such singular intent. He was the most striking man in the room and she was mad for him.
It was truth—and it called forth a great, shivering gutful of fear. How had she let this happen? She’d known better, even all the way back at Denning. And yet she’d allowed him to sneak in on her. She’d gone and fallen hard and deep and irrevocably in love with a man who could not—or possibly would not—allow himself to love her back.
The crowd was applauding, climbing to their feet to show their appreciation as the lecture ended, but she found that she could not rise.
This was the beginning of the end. A matter of days and Lady Ashton’s ball would be over. Perhaps a few days past that, she predicted, and someone was going to gain possession of that spear.
‘Now that was nearly everything I could have wished for,’ the marquess said, leaning down towards her. ‘Nearly. I have several questions I’d like to put to Conover before he leaves.’
Still, she had not risen.
‘Hardwick?’ He frowned at her. ‘Are you ready?’
She bit back a slightly hysterical laugh. Oh, Lord, yes, she was ready. But she doubted that he ever would be.
‘Let’s go,’ he said, impatient. ‘I’m going to have to fight my way through to speak to the earl.’
Signor Pisano leaned heavily on his walking stick as he stood. ‘My feet hurt,’ he complained. ‘I’m not fighting anyone to get anywhere. I’m going to find a corner with a seat in it.’
But the crowd was large and excited. Progress was slow as the audience flowed out of the hall, toward the stairs and the reception rooms. The signor’s steps grew slower, his legs stiffer. When they finally filed out of the main hall, they found a wide space at one side, between the doors and the landing of the stairs, set up with comfortable chairs and a sideboard. The signor’s face lit up.
‘Ah, here we are. I’ll sit here and rest before I tackle those stairs.’
Chloe took his arm and avoided the marquess’s eye. ‘I’ll sit with him.’
‘No, no,’ the signor protested. ‘I’m not the only old man in this crowd. There will be others.’ He grinned. ‘We shall have a fine time picking that programme apart.’
She could feel Lord Marland’s speculative gaze upon her. ‘No,’ he said slowly. ‘Hardwick should stay with one of us. I would appreciate it if you would keep an eye on her.’
She cast him a hard look and moved off with the
signor. Gentlemen were already gathering in the little antechamber, and, as promised, they launched into an exhaustive rehash of the speakers, their topics and various members of the audience.
Chloe could not focus enough to follow. She couldn’t even bring herself to regret the chance to hear more of Skanda and his spear from the knowledgeable Earl of Conover. She was entirely caught up in the irony of her situation. Hadn’t she left Denning to avoid just such a scenario—where she felt more for the marquess than he did for her? Granted, some things had changed. He saw her now. Knew more about her than anyone, in fact. But still, the message he’d sent was painfully clear. And the realisation was painful; she’d run all this way just to end up in the place that frightened her most.
How incredibly lowering. Her spirits had sunk, so much so that she hadn’t noticed as the hour grew later and the group thinner. She was startled when the signor tapped her with his stick, to discover that nearly everyone had gone and even the sounds of raucous discussion from downstairs had faded.
‘I’m for home, my dear,’ Signor Pisano announced. ‘But first I shall step into the gentlemen’s retiring room.’
‘Oh!’ Chloe stood. ‘I’ll just go find the marquess.’
‘No, no. He doesn’t want you wandering about on your own. I shall be just down there, do you see?’ He gestured towards a passage across the wide aisle, at the other side of the landing. ‘Wait here and we’ll find him together.’
The signor moved off, leaving her alone, save for one gentleman asleep in the corner. His head was tilted back, resting against the wall. A gentle snore rumbled from his open mouth. She took her seat again.
The stranger snorted suddenly and came awake, sputtering. A stout, nearly round man, he had a bald head, a bulbous nose and a pair of brilliant blue eyes. He wiped his mouth and grinned at her, exposing a set of crooked teeth. Sitting up straight, he caught sight of the signor’s retreating figure.
‘Know Pisano, do you?’ he asked.
‘Yes, very well.’ His grin was infectious; she couldn’t help but return it. ‘Since I was a little girl.’
‘Me, too. A long time, that is, not since I was a girl.’ He let loose a hard laugh at his own joke. He looked her over carefully. ‘You’re the girl that works for Lord Marland, ain’t you?’
She hesitated, but nodded.
‘How did you like the lecture, then?’
She smiled. ‘Very well, indeed. So many wonderful legends! I was particularly struck by the story of Sun Wu Kong, the Monkey King. So clever to have a staff that can change from the size of a needle all the way up to a mighty pillar!’
‘Useful, too,’ the stranger agreed. ‘But not as useful as Freyja’s Cloak, I’d wager. Would be nice to be able to change to a falcon and fly away.’
They discussed all the presented weapons for a few minutes before he eyed her cagily. ‘How about that bit on Skanda’s Spear, eh? Conover had them drooling, he did. I have to say, I enjoyed the audience as much as the information.’
‘It was fascinating. I especially enjoyed hearing all of the background information on Skanda.’ Chloe pursed her lips. ‘Who would have thought a Hindu war god would ride a peacock?’
The odd little man laughed. ‘Maybe it’s a distraction as he rides into battle? Ah, but how should one such as I know? For all that I have the body of a god—a Buddha, that is!’ He rubbed his substantial belly and laughed again.
She laughed with him, but he sobered quickly and then frowned. ‘I’ve heard of your Lord Marland’s collection. I’ll wager he’s more than a bit interested in getting his hands on that Spear.’
‘It would be in good hands, if he did,’ Hardwick said stoutly. ‘The marquess is extremely passionate about all of his pieces.’ She tried to keep her expression neutral. ‘Are you hoping to obtain the weapon, too?’
‘Lord, no!’ he scoffed. ‘I’ve no interest in the damned thing.’ He dismissed the topic with a wave of his hand. ‘So, it does sound as if you enjoy working for Marland.’
‘I…I did. Though I’ve recently left my position.’ She couldn’t force anything further past the lump in her throat.
‘Ah, I see.’ He frowned. ‘Well, I’ve heard that he’s a cold and solitary man, with no love even for his own family. No doubt you are better off away from him.’
‘The marquess’s only family is his sister and I can assure you that he loves her very much,’ Chloe said sternly. ‘No doubt you are better off not listening to idle gossip.’
‘Perhaps I should not,’ he agreed with a smile. He pushed heavily to his feet. ‘Well, I’m off. I’d heard there was to be champagne at the reception. I hope there is some left.’ He bowed over her hand. ‘Good evening, my dear. I’m happy to have met you.’
She nodded a goodbye and watched him head downstairs. Bemused, she realised suddenly that she had not learned his name. Alone in the small antechamber now, she waited.
Around her the building grew quieter. Porters had put out the lights in the main lecture hall. The reception downstairs must surely be over, although she suspected many of the attendees would only move their discussions to their clubs. She waited, rooted to the chair by the heavy w
eight of her thoughts. Minutes passed. What could be keeping the signor? She had just decided to rise and move in the direction of the retiring room when she heard a soft scrape behind her.
Her hackles rose and she stood. It had come from the direction of the main room. Surely it was a servant, come to put the place to rights? She drifted toward the entrance, but there was nothing to see in the darkened room. And why was there no further noise? No quiet talk as the porters went about their business? Growing nervous, she strained her ears. Nothing. Perhaps she had only imagined it.
There came the soft, unmistakable sound of a heavy footstep, quite near.
Spooked, she retreated, stepping backwards. She struck a chair leg and stumbled. Spinning about, she launched herself towards the stairs—and fell into a pair of sturdy arms.
‘Oof,’ a gentleman said. ‘Miss Hardwick? Are you quite all right?’
She tried to pull away, but found herself held tight. She stared wildly up—into the pleasant blue gaze of the Earl of Conover.
‘Yes. Good heavens.’ She struggled for composure. ‘Thank you, my lord. I was frightened, I thought I heard someone…’ She gestured over her shoulder into the main hall.
He smiled down at her and, setting her steadily on her feet, let her go. ‘Yes, the event is nearly over, it would seem. The servants are likely clearing up.’ He looked into her face. ‘Gracious, you really were frightened.’ His expression grew serious. ‘This matter with the Spear has put everyone in the antiquities community on edge, has it not?’
‘Yes, of course. That must be it.’ She couldn’t resist another glance behind her.
He took her hand and placed it on his arm. ‘You’re trembling! Come, I’ll take you downstairs.’
‘Thank you, but I am waiting for a friend.’ She pulled her hand away. ‘Lord Marland was looking for you, however. He was hoping for a word with you.’
‘As I was hoping for a word with you.’ A slight grin spread over his face as he sent an appraising glance travelling all about her form. ‘I admit, it is most interesting—and intriguing—to find a woman involved in a business like this.’ He watched her closely. ‘Tell me, if you wouldn’t mind—was there something specific about the Spear of Skanda that drew you here tonight?’
Chloe managed a chuckle. ‘Only Lord Marland’s emphatic desire to make the thing the centrepiece of his collection.’
‘Ah, yes. I had heard that you have managed his collection magnificently.’
She flushed a bit. ‘Thank you.’ She grinned up at him. ‘It’s all true, of course. Until now, that is. I’m afraid I’ve failed the marquess, regarding this particular weapon. The only certain facts I’ve heard at all have come tonight, from you.’
He gave her a mock frown. ‘And is that a note of doubt I detect?’ He dropped his tone to a near-whisper, requiring her to lean closer. ‘I assure you, Miss Hardwick, that I told only the truth tonight.’ He paused. ‘Though, perhaps not all of the truth.’ His gaze swept down her again, as if he were considering something. ‘Your reputation is such, I felt sure that you might have uncovered some further information regarding the piece. There are certain facts that I’m sure you would find interesting.’
In her eagerness she shifted nearer. ‘I’m sure I would, should you care to share.’
‘I think perhaps I do care,’ the earl mused. He shocked her then by taking her hand in his. ‘For example, had you heard that, throughout the ages, the Spear has been owned by a singularly large number of women?’
‘Truly?’ Chloe looked up at him, her eyes wide. ‘Unusual, wouldn’t you think? Seeing as it is a weapon of war?’
Intent, he stepped closer, still holding her gaze. ‘Unusual, yes,’ he said low, ‘but understandable, when you consider—’
‘Hardwick?’ From the passage on the other side of the stairs, her name echoed. ‘Hardwick!’ The door to the retiring room opened and the marquess peered out. Chloe and the earl both turned in his direction.
‘There you are.’ He stepped out and crossed over to them, a black look sketching over his face. ‘And Conover. What are the two of you up to?’
The earl dropped her hand, and only then did Chloe realise how close they had been standing. Too close for true propriety, she suspected, but she felt certain that Conover had been on the verge of disclosing something important.
‘Up to?’ the earl echoed smoothly. ‘Why, nothing but what you might expect.’ His smile was for her. ‘More antiquities talk. You are very fortunate in your lovely young assistant, Marland.’
‘You do not have to tell me so, Conover,’ the marquess snapped. ‘And I know enough to understand that neither her youth nor her beauty have anything to do with it.’
His tone echoed harshly and Chloe noted that he did not correct the earl regarding her status. But then, she hadn’t either. ‘Where is the signor?’ she asked. ‘And how did you get in there? I’ve been here with an eye on the passage all along.’
‘There’s another exit,’ he explained tightly, still keeping an eye on Conover. ‘The signor went out that one and got confused. I found him wandering about downstairs, quite put out and looking for you.’
‘Oh, the poor dear! Where is he now?’
‘The evening tired him out,’ the marquess answered. ‘I didn’t like his colour, so I summoned the carriage.’
‘And I should do the same,’ the earl said. He bowed over Chloe’s hand. ‘Miss Hardwick, it has been a very great pleasure. I hope that we might continue our talk again, soon.’ He eyed the marquess. ‘Perhaps I might call on you?’
She smiled. ‘I would certainly enjoy hearing more, my lord. Good evening.’
With a nod to Lord Marland, he took his leave, whistling cheerfully as he headed down the stairs. Chloe looked to the marquess, excited to tell him the little she’d learned, but was surprised at the glare he sent in her direction.
‘The wily bastard,’ he said in a low voice. ‘I vow, he was avoiding me deliberately downstairs. And then to find him so cosily ensconced up here with you!’
She recoiled at the accusation in his tone. And then she began to grow angry herself. ‘Yes,’ she said coolly. ‘I do believe he sought me out deliberately.’
‘For what reason?’ he demanded. ‘So he could hold your hand and look deeply into your eyes?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ She shrugged. ‘Perhaps he sought me out because he enjoyed our earlier discussion. I rather thought he meant to tell me something important.’
‘Oh, I don’t doubt that for a moment,’ the marquess gritted out. The sarcasm in his tone infuriated her. ‘Perhaps the address of the house where he conducts his affaires?’
Chloe gasped.
‘I suppose he could have been trying to annoy me.’ He folded his arms, looking as belligerent as she’d ever seen him. ‘But, no, I dare say my first instinct was right. He just wanted a chance to get under your skirts.’
‘How dare you?’ She whirled away from him. Holding tight to the rail, she rushed down the steps.
He was right behind her. When she reached the bottom, he gripped her arm.
She pulled away. ‘The signor is waiting,’ she said icily. With her head held high, she sailed across the reception area toward the doors. Only a few stragglers were left down here. The earl was nowhere to be seen, but the portly, bald gentleman from upstairs sat at a deserted bar. He raised a glass in her direction. She
nodded in return.
Neither she nor Lord Marland spoke while a porter fetched her wrap. Chin elevated, she accepted the marquess’s help into it, then stepped on to the pavement and paused, confused. ‘I do not see your carriage.’
‘I told you, the signor did not look well. I sent him home.’ He indicated another vehicle. ‘I procured us a hack.’
Chloe climbed in and sat down, making herself as small as possible i
n the tiny space. The marquess took the other seat. The carriage jerked to a start and they rode in icy silence for several minutes.
Eventually, Lord Marland sighed. ‘I am sorry, Hardwick.’
Her chin went up again. ‘As well you should be. The earl behaved as a perfect gentleman. Our discussion was purely professional.’
He wasn’t looking at her, but staring at the darkness outside the window. ‘I don’t even know why I said such a thing.’
‘Nor do I,’ she said sharply, refusing to relent. ‘You have made it perfectly clear that you have no interest in me as a woman. Yet the first time you take a notion that someone else might, you grow as cranky as a dog with a bone.’
He made no response. Bleakly, she realised it was because he could not refute the truth. Shocking, really, how much it hurt.
* * *
It had been a quick ride across Mayfair. She’d hardly had time to catch her breath before the carriage rolled to a stop. His hands were gentle as he helped her descend, but there was still a sense of raw emotion in the air between them.
The house was dark. Most of the household was likely in bed—she had been working them hard. And it was too early to expect the countess back from her social revels. It was an awkward, in-between time, she supposed. It felt fitting, somehow.
The marquess sent the hackney off, then fumbled with a key with surprising awkwardness. Chloe watched his shaking hand and decided to give way, just a little. Looking up, she sighed. ‘I miss the stars,’ she said, unthinking. ‘The night sky in London is just a darker version of the daytime haze.’
The door swung open. ‘There are stars aplenty in your hair, tonight.’ The low timbre of his voice echoed in the dark and vibrated deep in the pit of her belly. Uncertain, she turned and raised a shaking hand to her coiffure.
He stared, and heat began to rise inside, growing sweeter and deeper the longer his gaze roved over her. After a moment, he took her other hand and led her inside. One lone candle burned in a marble niche, but there was no one posted at the door.