Unbuttoning Miss Hardwick

by Deb Marlowe

  ‘Aye,’ he agreed. He left and Chloe took a handful of tacks from a maid and went back to attaching fabric to the wainscoting. The footman had left the door open, but it took a few minutes for a series of distant, rhythmic thuds to penetrate her concentration. Once she noticed the noise, however, her head came up. Her heart rate ratcheted and a slow smile spread over her face.

  ‘Trudy, there are only a few lengths left,’ she said to the maid. ‘Can you finish here?’ Within moments she was gone from the room and heading for the stairs.

  The long gallery at Marland House stretched for one entire length of the house. On the floor above it, at either end, corridors ended at a widened, open space, spanned by a railing. It made for a useful spot, to observe the goings on in the long room below, or even to converse with those gathered there.

  It was to one of these areas that Chloe headed—the one situated furthest from the marquess’s makeshift training area. Grinning, she sank down into a corner. Braedon trained below, alone. She was a good distance away, but the chances of being discovered here were small, and the view…

  She shivered. He wore her favourite pair of worn boots and had clearly been at practice for a while. His coat and waistcoat lay over a bench. His linen was soaked with sweat and clung to every muscular hill and valley of his back.

  Spellbound, she stared. He moved with deadly, proficient grace, yet she could only view his body as a work of art. It still held the same level of fascination for her—for all that she’d spent last night with her hands all over it.

  She stopped that train of thought—because she was flushing, but also because, just as the last time she had spied on the marquess, she was interrupted. She jumped a little and glanced down as a cold, wet nose pushed into the palm of her hand.

  ‘Well, good morning to you,’ she whispered to the spaniel pup. She ruffled his ears and glanced up at the sound of rapid footsteps. The boy came skidding around a corner. She smiled a greeting, but he looked horrified and began a comic attempt to backpedal away from her.

  Chloe raised a finger to her lips and pointed down towards the marquess.

  He stopped and raised a brow at her. Curiosity obviously got the better of him, for he tiptoed to the railing and peeked over. He looked back at her. Noted the dog in her lap and frowned. ‘Black hair,’ he whispered.

  Chloe had no idea what he meant.

  ‘Are you upset to see me?’ he asked quietly.

  Puzzled, she shook her head.

  His shoulders slumped in relief. ‘Good. I thought it must be the other one.’

  She merely shrugged and indicated a spot next to her, with a good view of the marquess below. He sat, and for a few minutes they merely held their silence and watched Lord Marland’s inadvertent show.

  When a short time had passed, Chloe leaned forwards and spoke low in the boy’s ear. ‘What’s your dog’s name?’

  His sharp little face softened. ‘It’s Fitzwilliam,’ he whispered. ‘I saw a gentleman with that name once. It’s dignified, don’t you think?’

  She nodded agreement. ‘Though it is a big name for such a little pup.’

  ‘Oh, it’s fine. I call him Fitz most of the time. Except when he’s in trouble. The way me mam called me Robert, ’stead o’ Rob, when I used to empty the whole jar of jam on to my toast.’ Obviously struck, he brightened and reached into a pocket. ‘Hungry?’ he asked. He came up with a grubby fist full of licorice.

  Her heart softened. She grinned her thanks, took a piece and bit off a mouthful.

  Companionably they chewed and watched the marquess at his work, sharing an occasional comment at a particularly impressive stroke.

  ‘He must go through quite a few training forms,’ she whispered at one point, indicating the ragged figure of wood and cloth.

  ‘Must.’ Rob frowned. ‘He’s nicer than I thought.’ He glanced over his shoulder at her. ‘He’s helping me to train Fitz.’

  ‘The marquess?’ she asked in surprise. ‘How nice.’

  ‘He means to find us a place in the country.’

  Chloe nodded.

  ‘Fitz listens real good!’ he burst out suddenly. ‘I do, too.’ He looked suddenly guilty. ‘I try, anyway. I kept out of the way, like I was asked. And it wasn’t easy,

  either! There are people everywhere now and a bunch of them have brown hair. I did pretty good, though.’

  ‘I’m sure you did,’ she soothed.

  ‘And I’m not complicated,’ he said, his shoulders drooping. ‘At least, I’m trying not to be.’

  The little pup, sensitive to the emotion in his friend’s voice, rose up in her lap and gave a short bark of encouragement.

  They froze.

  ‘Who’s up there?’ Lord Marland’s voice echoed up from below.

  In a flash the boy disappeared down the corridor. With a small, startled yelp, the pup leapt from her lap and went chasing after him.

  Chloe couldn’t stop grinning. Climbing to her knees, she peeked over the railing. ‘It’s just me.’

  The marquess wiped sweat from his brow. ‘What are you doing up there?’

  There was no suppressing the wicked twist of her mouth. ‘Enjoying the view.’

  She jumped when he threw his sword aside with a clatter. ‘I’ll be right up. I’ve a mind to enjoy the moment.’

  He disappeared from view, but Chloe laughed out loud when he came bounding up the stairs two at a time. He rushed towards her, much in the same manner that Rob had rushed away, and swept her up and off her feet.

  Eagerly, their lips met. Chloe clutched him tightly, her hands running over his slick back. Without breaking their kiss, he effortlessly carried her to the closest bedchamber, edged the door open with his foot and stepped inside.

  He broke away and let her slide down the mountainous front of him. ‘If you are of a mind to shirk

  duties, I can think of a much pleasanter pastime.’ It was a small guest chamber that they had invaded, done up in a soothing blue and fitted with a small bed. He nodded towards it and bent down to nuzzle the curve of her neck.

  She sighed. ‘How you tempt me.’ Her head rolled back and a shiver ran through her. ‘But the ball is tomorrow! There are at least a hundred things that need to be done today, not the least of which is moving your equipment out of the gallery.’

  His hand crept up from her waist and she leaned into the caress. ‘I’ll help,’ he murmured. ‘Afterwards.’

  Summoning all of her willpower, she pulled away. ‘Your sister is here!’ she chided. ‘Lord Ashton is due to arrive any minute and she is driving her maid insane, trying to make ready for him.’

  His head came up. ‘Ashton is cutting it close. Thank God he is arriving in time, although if—’ A strange expression spread over his face. He drew his hand away from her waist and held it up. As he flexed it into a fist and back open, she noticed that his fingers stuck to his palm. He brought it close to his face and sniffed. And then he stared at her in exasperation. ‘I might have known,’ he said with a sigh.

  Perplexed, she glanced down, only to notice a sticky stained spot on her old gown. Licorice. ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘Yes. I made the acquaintance of your tenant boy.’

  He looked back over his shoulder, as if he could see through the closed door and down to the gallery below. Shaking his head, he sighed again and sat down on the edge of the bed. ‘Swordplay has long been how I find peace,’ he said. ‘It has always been my best defence—but it doesn’t do a damned bit of good against you.’

  She perched herself on his lap. Taking his face in her hands, she kissed him. ‘Braedon, I promise you—there is no need to defend against me.’

  He made a sound that tore at her heart, a laugh that somehow seemed to originate in despair. Pulling her tight, he buried his face in her hair. ‘You don’t understand.’

  Chlo
e closed her eyes. ‘Then help me to understand. Who was it that you had to defend against? Was it only your brother?’ Her heart broke for the boy who had found an old rusted sword and somehow turned it into salvation. ‘Your father?’ she asked quietly.

  He snorted and his breath heated the tender spot behind her ear. She wanted him to find every one of the secret places on her body and make them his.

  ‘No,’ he finally answered. ‘There was nothing to truly fear from my father. He might have mocked me and expressed his disappointment almost daily, but he largely left me alone.’

  ‘Disappointment?’ She pulled back and gave him a teasing grin. ‘In a great, strapping son like you?’

  He didn’t smile in return. ‘I’m nothing next to my father or brother. Truly, they were both big as houses—nearly a direct throwback to Viking ancestors, my mother used to say.’

  ‘Vikings, eh?’ She looked him over speculatively. Vikings definitely wore boots, did they not?

  His desolate expression pulled her back. ‘They both had the appetites to go along with the accusation,’ he continued. ‘For the hunt, for the outdoors. Any kind of sport, really. For food and wine and women.’

  He stopped. Briefly, she considered what that might have meant to his mother. He didn’t continue, but remembering his previous story, she could hear the words that he didn’t say.

  ‘And they had nothing but contempt for any man who didn’t enjoy their pleasures with the same gusto,’ he said quietly. ‘Contempt that could make itself known in any number of ways—especially after they were deep in their cups.’

  ‘And your brother—Connor had darker appetites?’ she asked softly.

  A shutter fell over his expression. He answered with a slow nod. ‘I could never match his height—or his maliciousness—but eventually he knew enough to be frightened when I had a blade in my hand.’

  He’d had enough of dismal memories and she had no wish to push him. She smiled at him instead. ‘Well, your hands are full of me now. And I’m not frightened.’

  ‘I know.’ His bleak expression had not changed. ‘And that makes you twice as dangerous as Connor.’

  Her eyes filled as she leaned in to claim his mouth with her own. Deeply she kissed him, and without reservation she opened her heart and her soul. With lips and hands and silent caresses she gifted him with all the tender feelings and sweet reassurances she could summon.

  He responded, of course, but she could feel desperation in his hold on her.

  ‘Look what just happened,’ she said softly, allowing laughter to leak into her words. ‘You just shared something of yourself—and the world did not end. Nor did I fall hopelessly at your feet.’

  ‘Why do you bother, then?’ he asked hoarsely.

  She stroked a hand in his hair. ‘Because I want you to know that it is possible.’

  She took pity on him then, and kissed him. ‘Perhaps I could shirk my duties just a little longer,’ she whispered against his mouth. ‘But only if you promise to keep your boots on.’

  He smiled and, laying her back on the bed, kissed her again. Chloe stretched out beneath him, her happiness tainted, turned bittersweet by the resignation still lurking in his eyes.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Marland House had been transformed. Braedon, back from an early ride, followed a huge floral display into the entry hall on the morning of Mairi’s ball and marvelled at the difference a couple of weeks—and Chloe—had wrought.

  No longer a dusty tribute to desertion and neglect, the house glistened with gleaming marble and shining wood. Enticing smells drifted from the kitchens at the back of the house. Pounding and the call of orders echoed from the direction of the ballroom and nearly every room on the first floors were being recruited into service. Servants hustled everywhere, busy, but calm and efficient.

  Braedon laid a hand on the banister where a garland twined around the railing. Damned symbolic, that climbing vine of multiple greens and white. The night he’d ascended these stairs and wished for numbness felt a long way away. And he’d got the opposite of it, in any case. Life and energy throbbed through the house, and he didn’t just mean the bustling preparation for the ball.

  Ashton had arrived yesterday, and the joy and forgiveness with which he and Mairi had reunited had been touching to see. Rob seemed content in the nursery and the bond between him and the pup appeared to be thriving. And then there was Hardwick.

  Chloe.

  ‘Lord Marland!’ Even Dobbs looked sprightly, although the reason for it was revealed with his words. ‘The post has come early today!’ He waved a full salver. ‘You have a stack of answers from your bailiffs and stewards.’ He lowered his voice as he grew closer. ‘Surely one of them will have a place for the boy.’

  Braedon took up the pile of letters and wondered at the butler’s continuing animosity towards the child. Did Dobbs know something that he did not? The boy seemed well behaved. Calm. Not at all like Braedon’s brother, to put it bluntly. Perhaps it was only an attitude that spilled over on to the boy from his father. Connor had certainly made the servants’ lives as difficult as he’d made everyone else’s.

  ‘I’ll look them over in the bookroom.’ Taking the stack of letters, he climbed the stairs, his thoughts arrowing straight back to Chloe. Good Lord, but she had him flying higher than he had ever allowed himself to go before. When she was near, it was as if she lifted his burdens, leaving him lighter and more carefree. But he could not fail to heed a nagging voice inside of him, recommending caution. Because he knew this…this exultation would be fleeting. It always was. The highs in his life were invariably followed hard by the worst of the lows.

  He’d tried to keep to an even keel with her. But he’d failed miserably—and now it was too late. All he could do now was to hold on and try to stay aloft as long as possible. The end would come soon enough. The pain would be hellish, no doubt, but he would embrace it without complaint. It was no more than he deserved, after selfishly accepting what she so sweetly offered.

  He’d already felt the first shuddering drop, in fact, after the exquisite session in that bedchamber yesterday. He felt himself harden just thinking about it. She’d been relaxed and happy. Playful. And he had drunk her in through every pore. He’d laid himself open and she had touched him with love and comfort until he swore their souls had touched.

  Such ecstasy was never meant to last.

  He closed the bookroom door on the noise echoing through the rest of the house and sat down to go through the post. One after another the men in charge of his estates assured him that they knew of no situation for the boy straight off, but each assured him they would look into the matter.

  Braedon was surprised to find an easing of the tension around his chest. And then he was annoyed. He had no intention of growing too fond of the boy. He opened the last letter, from Orchard Park, his smallest estate. He read the contents, then let his hand drift to his lap. The caretaker couple at Orchard were childless. They would be thrilled to take the boy in and treat him as their own. With his approval they would groom him to take on the responsibilities of the estate.

  The tightness in his chest returned. Letter in hand, he rang for Dobbs and went to the window. He stared down at the traffic without seeing it until the butler arrived.

  ‘My sister, Dobbs. Where is she at present?’

  ‘Lord and Lady Ashton have returned to their home for the morning, sir. I believe the earl wished to assess the damage there.’

  Braedon swallowed. ‘Miss Hardwick, then. Have her attend me here, if you would.’

  Dobbs cleared his throat. ‘I fear Miss Hardwick is not here either, sir.’

  He frowned, surprised. ‘The ball is this evening and it needed both of them to show Ashton some mouldy timber?’

  ‘Miss Hardwick did not accompany them. She received a gentlemen caller a while
ago. I believe she agreed to go out with him—for a drive in the park.’

  Braedon blinked. ‘A gentleman caller?’

  Though he obviously disapproved, Dobbs only nodded.

  The letter crumpled in his fist. ‘Who the hell was it?’

  ‘The Earl of Conover, sir. I admitted him myself, though the hour was unseemly early.’

  The drop, though expected, still sickened him. His gut clenched mightily and then fell far and fast and deep, though his feet never moved.

  ‘Conover?’ He recalled the marked attention the earl had paid her at the lecture. The sight of them standing close in animated discussion. Her voice echoed in his head, speaking of marriage and children—every woman’s dream, she’d called it. He saw her blush once more, in his mind’s eye, at Signor Pisano’s mention of babies.

  She’d sat in the passageway downstairs, buried her nose in that pup’s fur and said everyone needed someone to care for—and someone who could give love back.

  He nearly vomited on Dobbs’s shoes.

  ‘Sir? Lord Marland? Are you well?’ The butler’s face had paled. ‘Shall I fetch you a drink?’

  ‘Yes. No. Of course, I am fine.’ He dismissed Dobbs’s concern with a wave of his hand. ‘The boy, then,’ he said, gripping the letter tight. ‘Where is the boy?’

  ‘The last I saw, he and his…pet were heading through the kitchens to the garden.’

  Blindly, Braedon left the room. His feet moved. His body followed. And yet he felt strangely detached. An overreaction. That’s all this was. He told himself so again. She went for a drive in the park. It was nothing. Then why did he feel as if his guts were being torn from him inch by painful inch?