Unbuttoning Miss Hardwick Read Free

the gorgeously rendered, ornate sketch. ‘You designed this?’
    She nodded.
    Braedon eyed her closely again. He fought back a short-lived twinge of disappointment at the idea of never probing beneath all of that packaging she wrapped herself in. He couldn’t help glancing over his shoulder, back in the direction of the main house. He was back at Castle Denning, wasn’t he? The place where he’d grown used to being denied what he wanted most. He shrugged off the thought. In any case, it wasn’t his habit to pry into others’ secrets, any more than it was to share his own.
    The magnificent design caught his eye again and he made his decision.
    ‘Well, then, Miss Hardwick—how would you like to stay on as my Hardwick?’

Chapter One
    One year later
    ‘M iss?’ The head carpenter poked his head into her workroom. ‘Would you have a moment? You might wish to see this.’ He jerked his head in the direction of the weapons wing.
    Clutching her correspondence, Chloe instantly left her desk. ‘What is it, Mr Forrest?’ She groaned. ‘Not the gallery floor again, I hope?’
    ‘Now, miss,’ the carpenter said with a chuckle, ‘it does no good to always expect the worst.’
    Plaster dust swirled about her skirts as she followed the man, ducking under scaffolding and stepping around stacks of wood. But there were far fewer obstacles than in months past, and in only a minute he paused to wave triumphantly at one of the niches set into the first-floor walls.
    ‘Ooohh.’ She sighed in delight.
    Forrest nodded. ‘That Italian you brought over talks as fast as a river floods, and I vow he’s as tetchy as a cat with a sore tail…but he does beautiful work.’
    That he did. The scalloped levels of the domed top beautifully echoed the colours of the ceiling, pillars and floor, while the framing and the interior panels had been covered in gorgeously ornate plasterwork. A large blank space awaited the installation of a specially designed display case.
    ‘That does end the day on a good note, doesn’t it?’ Mr Forrest grinned. ‘I’m the last straggler here, miss, save yourself. Do you want to lock up after me?’
    ‘Oh, yes. Of course.’ With a last lingering look, she tore herself away. She bid the tradesman a good evening, then, closing the heavily panelled doors after him, she leaned against them and took in the results of two years of hard labour.
    Nearly complete. It seemed an impossibility. Yet Lord Marland’s wing stretched out before her, a dusty, slightly cluttered promise of magnificence. Only details remained to be completed: the niches, a bit of work on the second-floor gallery, the intricate trim and moulding about the walls. Then, of course, the displays would need to be arranged and set up—oh, who was she fooling? There were still a hundred small tasks that needed doing, but the end was drawing undeniably near.
    The thought had her pulling out her crumpled letter. Her old friend knew that the wing was nearly finished—and he hinted that it was time for her to leave Northumberland.
    She looked up again, taking in marble and stone, pillars and dome, and clutched a fistful of buttons on her formidable jacket. She’d been so fortunate in this project—and in this position. Here, she had the best of all worlds. Tucked up safe behind her spectacles and boxy skirts, she’d also been utterly challenged and completely absorbed. The work had brought her closer to her stepfather in his last days and provided an outlet for grief and an escape from loss when he’d passed on, mere weeks after Lord Marland’s return.
    Never could she have imagined such a perfect hiding spot. She’d thrown herself into both the collection and the construction, reinforced her persona and buried her true self deep, far beyond the chance of discovery. She’d proved herself to the marquess, too, and they had gradually developed a quiet bond of respect. She’d found herself as close to that elusive state—happiness—as she’d