Unbuttoning Miss Hardwick (19 page)

She stepped around him until she stood pressed against his hard chest. ‘Your sister’s ball is nearly upon us. She’ll be moving back to Ashton House soon and when she does, I’ll be leaving, too.’

He glared at her. ‘To go where?’

She shrugged. ‘To my own rooms. To my own life. But there is time left before then. I want to spend it with you. I choose you, and I choose to let go of the fear in my past and worry for the future.’ Her hands slipped to his waist. She stepped close and gazed directly into his eyes. ‘Why do we not just try living for right now?’

‘You make it sound easy.’ He groaned. ‘But my past has a stranglehold on my every breath—and I’ve never questioned the wisdom of it.’

She snorted and could not keep the bitterness from her voice. ‘Good heavens, we are so alike, it’s laughable.’

His arms tightened suddenly and pulled her in against him. Chloe’s heart thrilled and she gave a great shiver. He was warmth and might—and uncertainty. She lifted her hands and wrapped them around his neck. ‘For once in my life I want to fully embrace the moment I am in. In the present moment I could be happy,’ she whispered, ‘because you are in it, too.’ She had to blink back sudden tears. ‘This is it—one of the most important pieces that I have been missing. I know I shouldn’t ask you for it.’

He bent towards her. ‘Hardwick…’

She pushed abruptly away. ‘No!’ she said sharply.

He blinked. ‘No?’

‘No. Hardwick is in my past and yours as well. If we are going to be together, I want it to be
now.
’

He reached to pull her back.

She crossed her arms and waited.

He scrubbed a hand at his neck in confusion. ‘Hard—’

Her expression must have shone as fierce as her frustration.

‘Oh.’ His brow lifted. He growled. ‘Come here—
Chloe
.’

She went.

Chapter Fourteen

G
od, but he was the worst sort of filthy cad.

And Hardwick—no,
Chloe
—was his complete opposite. Unbelievable, how she’d changed. Grown. If you had stood this shining, sparkling girl before him several weeks ago, he never would have placed her as the same woman. She was courage and fire. She brimmed with life and every wonderful thing in it. She had always given him her best, dating back from even before he’d met her face to face. But now she had reached deep inside herself and found she had so much more to give.

And he was going to take it, he acknowledged with a groan. Because that’s who he was: a selfish, rutting bastard. He was powerless to refuse her, even though there was nothing inside of him to match her. Nothing that he could offer her in return.

She was matchless tonight, in any case. Gorgeous in that blue-black gown. The creamy tops of her breasts glowed above it. His gaze drifted over the ivory skin of her shoulders, the shining pink of her mouth. His attention was drawn, suddenly, to her shining, golden earrings.

‘My God, are those—?’ Braedon stepped closer for a better look. ‘Chloe, are those your
buttons
?’

She grinned, suddenly shy. ‘I had them made,’ she said on a whisper. ‘To remind me—never to hide again.’

He trailed his fingers lightly down over her arms. He traced teasing circles around her wrists and flattened his hands beneath hers. So small and soft, her palms rested, light as a feather on his. Slowly he began to step back, moving unerringly to the sofa behind him. Unwilling to break their contact, she followed. The lightest, simplest touch, yet heat flared at that only point of contact—their barely touching palms and the tiny flutter of her fingers atop his.

Fine words she gave him. Lovely, courageous words that set his soul afire and sent waves of desire rippling through his body. The old dread hovered over his heart, the fear of damaging the thing he wanted most. And he was going to hurt her, even though she didn’t deserve it. She had tempted him like the very devil; now he was returning the favour—and together they had edged past some vague point of no return.

The back of his knees struck the sofa. He sank down on the cushions and sighed in resignation and relief as she stepped into the circle of his embrace. She was his now. He reached for her at last.

Their lips touched and he was gentle with her. Slow. He gripped her waist, then ran his hands further, up along the supple strength of her back. In turn, she lifted her hands to his face. Her fingers traced his hairline and then followed the curve of his jaw.

‘I will never regret this,’ she whispered.

He dragged her down to him and kissed her hard. Mad, swift passion, it had been hovering, waiting in the wings for the moment he let down his guard. Wild and sweet and abandoned. He lost himself in her courage and her yearning and her tender care. A hundred kisses, a thousand he gave her, until his chest was heaving like a bellows and she was gasping for air.

Pulling back, he rested his forehead on her chin. ‘Turn around,’ he said softly.

She did. Taking his time, he began to undress her. Slowly, buttons slid loose. With a whisper of sound, ties slipped from their tangles. He made a sensuous dance of it, torturing and thrilling them both as her clothes peeled away, layer by layer.

At last she was bare to the waist. Fabric lay in discarded heaps about them, but he did not turn her. Instead he reached up. One by one he plucked the bright jewels from her hair. Pin by pin, lock by lock, he loosened her hair, until it fell like black water over her shoulders and down her back.

He buried his face in the thick, rich abundance of it. He breathed it in. Marvelling at the softness against his cheek, he reached around and cupped her full breasts in both hands.

She groaned and arched into his caress.

He squeezed again and explored her curves. He rubbed his thumbs over the straining peaks of her nipples until she squirmed against him.

Then he turned her. And looked his fill. ‘God, but you are beautiful,’ he said on a whisper. ‘I can’t understand how you hid it from me for so long. It seems impossible.’ He glanced up at her. ‘And cruel.’

Keeping his gaze locked with hers, he leaned in and licked his tongue over a taut bud.

She gave a great shudder all over.

‘Well, then,’ he said, ‘perhaps I’ve found a way to repay your unkindness.’ He licked her again and suckled her. His fingers found her other nipple and rolled it as she curled into him and moaned. Before long her hips were moving against him as she shifted from one leg to the other.

‘Yes,’ she breathed.
‘Yes.’

He let her slide free with a slick pop.

She protested, arching into him again. ‘My l—’

‘No!’ He said it as sharply as she had done to him, earlier.
‘Chloe,’
he rasped.

She shivered.

‘As I call your name, so must you use mine. I want to hear it.’

She nodded.

‘Now. Say it now.’

‘Braedon,’
she moaned.

In one swift movement he swept her off of her feet and laid her back along the sofa. Breathing hard, she gazed up at him. Candlelight danced over her skin and glowed in her dark eyes. All of the fine lines of her face—cheek, jaw and chin—stood out in relief.

Leaning back, he began to remove his clothes. He smiled when she propped up on one elbow to assist. Soon he was bare to the waist as well. Grinning with satisfaction, Chloe trailed a caress across his shoulders, along his ribs and down to his breeches. Anticipation shone in her eyes as she drifted back to the cushions.

He returned her grin and reached for—

‘My feet?’ she said in surprise, rising up again.

Braedon laughed. ‘Just lay back and trust me.’ Lovingly, he picked up her foot. Her skin flowed like silk in his hands. Her bones were so fragile. Carefully, he pushed his thumbs up and over the pad of her foot. She gasped in pleasure. He dug a knuckle into the arch of her foot and she melted. Tenderly, he laboured over both of her feet and then he began to run soft fingers up the length of her legs.

His own skin tightened. Chloe lay languid and warm beneath his hands as he quickly finished undressing her, but he was growing more taut and hard by the second. He bent to her breast again and teased her thighs apart.

Chloe allowed it, if only because she had become a void in the very air around her, an empty space of need that existed only to be filled. She longed to touch him, to make him feel the wonder with which he gifted her, but she was helpless. Held in thrall to the sensations he created inside her.

His fingers worked magic between her legs and his mouth did amazing things to her breast. Gradually the universe shrank, condensing to the scant few inches between them. He stroked, she writhed, until nothing existed save the two of them and the pleasure that lived between them.

It shifted, their pleasure. It grew, changed, becoming a wave that reached for the moon, lifting her higher and higher. She rode it willingly. Stretching for him, she tugged relentlessly, pulling him towards her.

‘Please,’ she whispered. ‘Please, now.’

‘There is no need…’ he began.

She gripped his shoulders hard. ‘No,’ she said urgently. ‘We’ve come so far together, I won’t go on alone.’

He hesitated, perhaps because he knew she spoke of so much more than merely physical things. ‘The risk—’

‘Have you ever known me to be a fool?’ she demanded. ‘I put on a pretty gown, but I didn’t leave my brain behind on the dressing table. My courses are just over.’ She said it without a trace of the shyness she felt. She knew it would doom her. ‘There could be no better time for this.’ She moved against his hand. ‘And there are some things in life that are worth the risk.’

‘Chloe, I—’

His words ended in a hiss as she reached out and cupped his manhood. He throbbed in her hand, warm and heavy, thoroughly and wonderfully male.

And he was convinced. With a growl he surged against her. In a matter of seconds the remainder of his clothes landed beside hers on the floor. He pushed her back, drew her hands over her head and knelt between her thighs.

‘Yes,’ she said as she sighed.

And he was inside her. Deep and wide, he stretched her. She gasped, but he moved again, demanding more. She gave in, gave way, with most satisfying results.

Again he moved, but carefully. Slow and steady, he stroked. Tenderly, he touched her face. Immense power, held in check. For her sake. Such glorious, heady stuff. Massive, he loomed everywhere. In and above, around and over. All the power of an avalanche to crush and destroy her, yet she’d never felt safer.

Joy infused her. Pleasure seized her. Faster they moved and Chloe found herself reduced to simple need once again. More and more and more, she wanted. And then she was there, thrust with him into a place of frenzied happiness. A space where distinctions such as you and me ceased to existed, leaving only a perfect blend of
us
,
together
.

And together they drifted, entwined and yet free, until they were recalled to earth. They followed paths beat out by the gradually settling pounding of their hearts.

Replete. Content.

But separate again.

Chapter Fifteen

T
he following day—the last before Lady Ashton’s ball—was a full one. Chloe had a list a mile long, columns of last-stage planning, decorating and setting up to accomplish. Of all days, today she needed a clear head and every one of her abilities to organise matters and inspire people.

What she had instead was a dreamy sense of satiety and fledgling hope—and a tendency to find that she’d been standing still and staring off into the distance for an undetermined amount of time.

It was foolish. It was impractical. And it happened again as she was tenting exotic fabrics from the ceiling, transforming the morning room into a Middle Eastern fantasy—and taking twice as long as needed to do it.

‘Miss Hardwick? Miss? Miss Hardwick!’

Startled, she turned to find a scowling footman trying to gain her attention. He held the glass-based bottom of an elegant Egyptian hookah in one hand and the tall metal stem of the water pipe in another. ‘Have you any idea how these go together?’ he asked, clearly frustrated.

Chloe grimaced. ‘No, I’m afraid I don’t. But we’d best work it out quickly. There are two more of those to be unpacked still. It won’t be a decent smoking room without a hookah or three, or so the countess insists.’ She dug in her apron pocket for a pencil and in another for a slip of paper. ‘Here. This is the address of the tobacconist in Haymarket where I obtained them. Run down there and ask for his assistance—but do it quickly, if you please.’

‘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.’

Chloe 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.