all of my wonderful nooks and crannies.’
‘I don’t know why you’ve gone to such incredible—and incredibly expensive—detail, Braedon, when you don’t intend on allowing anyone to actually see all of your hard work.’ Lady Ashton glanced back one last time as they moved towards the door. ‘Or has your Hardwick convinced you to open your weapons wing for public display?’
‘Never,’ he responded firmly.
‘Why so much bother, then, if no one will see it?’
‘I will see it, dear Mairi. I will frequently walk in here and gaze with utter satisfaction on my private contribution to the Marland legacy.’
‘Ah, you intend to gloat then, do you?’
‘Each and every day.’
Their voices faded. Chloe stared after them for a long minute while her pulse settled and the sharp stab of yearning in her breast shrunk to a dull ache. Clearly her own altered feelings didn’t matter. The elaborate mask she’d been so comfortable hiding behind worked too well. Lord Marland looked at her and could see nothing but quiet, stark and efficient Hardwick.
Surely that was as it should be? The marquess had looked at her—touched her—with warmth and admiration for that narrow side of her. She wrapped her arms tight about her middle, as if to hold in all the formally dormant aspects of her nature that were clamouring to be let out—and clamouring to show Lord Marland an altogether different side of Chloe Hardwick.
With a sigh, she turned back to her work. But nothing was accomplished for a good while. She was caught up, instead, contemplating a project of another nature.
Chapter Two
True to his word, Braedon dragged his sister all over the new wing, filling her ears with his ideas, describing all that they’d already accomplished and much that he still had planned. Poor Mairi bore it well, but as the afternoon wore on, her eyes began to glaze.
He took pity on her—and on himself, too, for his mind wandered repeatedly back to Hardwick. There had been something different about her these last weeks, had there not? Or perhaps he was transferring his own uneasiness on to her, for he had to admit, the idea of her searching for a new position had shaken him.
It was one reason he’d been so excited to hear the news about Skanda’s Spear. Not the main reason, but he had to admit that he’d considered that the challenge of finding that elusive artefact would leave Hardwick with no time to think of leaving.
With a smile for his sister, he held out his arm. Escorting her back to the library, he poured her a good, stiff drink and set about discovering what crisis lay behind her unexpected trip home.
‘You’ve utterly transformed this room,’ she marvelled, looking about her while she trailed a hand over the back of the new sofa.
‘This is where I work.’ He nodded to the behemoth desk he’d brought in and grinned at her. ‘I had to do something. This is the only room I can spend any amount of time in.’
‘You’ll have no argument from me.’ Mairi gave a theatrical shudder. ‘They always make me nervous, all of those dead animals glaring at me with their glassy, accusing eyes.’ She crossed over to the high bank of windows he’d had installed. ‘All of this lovely light.’ She sighed. ‘If it were me, I’d go right through the place. Rip out all of that dark panelling and lay all of those poor creatures to rest in some high, sunny meadow.’ She shuddered again. ‘Far away.’
‘I don’t know.’ Braedon shrugged. ‘I feel a certain, perverse satisfaction, walking through those rooms every day.’
‘Because you are here to enjoy them and they are not?’ Mairi asked with her usual terrible clarity. ‘Or because they provide such a marked contrast with your tasteful, new and modern wing?’
‘A bit of both, I’d say.’ And because all of those gloomy rooms served as an inescapable warning. Those dark walls might echo with memories of his desperate unhappiness, but they were also a reminder of the invaluable lessons he’d learned. ‘In any case, I don’t plan on redoing the rest of the old pile.’
‘You surprise me,’ she said with brows raised. ‘I would have thought that you would grab at the chance—if only to thumb your metaphorical nose at Father.’
‘Ah, but I think leaving it the way that it is accomplishes the same purpose. You know how the old man loved Denning. The only thing that ruined his pleasure was the disparity of the place—his beloved Jacobin manor shoved up against the old North Tower like a malformed appendage.’ He allowed his mouth to twist into a grin. ‘Well, now I’ve thrown the new wing into the mix, and we’ve three different styles shoved cheek by jowl together.’
His sister didn’t even try to hide her snort of delight. ‘You are right,’ she said fervently. ‘He’s likely spinning in his grave.’ She trailed a hand along the thick curtains and her expression grew devilish, her smile crafty as she glanced his way. ‘It’s likely a good idea to wait before you redecorate, in any case. What better gift could you give to your bride, after all, than an entire castle to do with as she pleases?’
Braedon’s amusement burst like a bubble. ‘Leave off, Mairi. All the fun and privilege—and expense—of modernising the place will go to your cousin Franklin, as eventual heir.’ He waved a hand. ‘And much joy may he have of it.’
Her face fell. ‘Don’t tell me that you are holding on to that old saw?’
‘Old saw?’ he repeated sardonically. ‘Which one? I dare say I have a death grip on several.’
‘It’s no joking matter, Braedon.’ Mairi’s voice tightened, taking on the shrill edge it had nearly always held in the past, when she was forced to live each day with unending tension and constant vigilance. ‘They are gone now,’ she said with intensity. ‘You cannot let them shape your life. You cannot hide away up here.’
‘I’m not hiding,’ he retorted, stung. ‘I’ve come home and I am fulfilling my duties. I am working!’
‘As what? A reclusive hermit? You are all alone.’
‘And happy to remain that way.’
Mairi was becoming distraught. ‘Don’t say that,’ she whispered. ‘Of course you must marry! I don’t want to think of you alone. I cannot bear the thought that you will never find someone to be happy with.’
He didn’t want to upset her. He summoned a smile and nodded at her. ‘Well, then, of course I shall,’ he said lightly. ‘Eventually.’
But he knew he would not. Mairi had got it backwards. But how to tell her that the brother she knew was largely a fabrication? She had her ways of dealing with the difficulties of their childhood and he’d developed his own. He’d discovered early that exposing too much of himself left him open to ridicule from his father—and worse from his brother. Distance had become his saving grace, both emotionally and physically. It had kept him going until adulthood, when he’d bought himself an army commission just as soon as he was able.
The military had been demanding, but hard-edged reserve had stood him in good stead in the field, almost as much as his skill in tracking down, harassing and capturing French pay wagons and supply caches. He’d been moved eventually into more strategic and diplomatic posts, where he’d learned to add practised charm to his bag of tricks. He’d done well, but it had been a tense and exhausting way of life.
And now—at last—he had the freedom to shape his life exactly as he wanted it. Shockingly, he’d found he enjoyed the role of marquess far more than he had expected he would. As loath as he had been to return to Denning, he had found life here to be almost enjoyable now that he held the title and lived here on his own.
In fact, everything important was easier