there, as foreign and exotic as an ocean naiad in a gown containing every changing colour of the sea.
Thom let loose a long, low breath. ‘By all that’s holy, that is Hardwick!’ He shot Braedon an accusatory glance and moved to intercept the two women.
Cursing wildly in his head, Braedon made his excuses to the vicar’s wife and followed. Some of the anxiety returned to Hardwick’s expression as he joined the small group.
Good. Some primitive part of him did not want her to be comfortable. Mairi crowed with delight in her handiwork and Thom was at that very moment expressing his own approval of the surprise, but Braedon was feeling unaccountably … furious.
Why? He breathed deeply, pushed back, tried to impose the emotional distance that was such a vital component of his equilibrium, but it fell apart each time he looked at her and the anger in his gut raged a little higher.
Again, he forced himself to consider why. Because the two women had cooked this up between themselves, without his knowledge? Because Thom was acting like a randy stallion who’d just scented a new mare? Or because this was what Hardwick had been hiding all of these months—and he’d never had the faintest idea?
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