Unbuttoning Miss Hardwick Read Free Page B

this behaviour originated with some pain in his past or from simply never having experienced otherwise.
Either way, her heart ached for him.
    But she would never break his trust by allowing him to know of it. The marquess was an intensely private man, she’d discovered, and nothing displeased him more than someone—anyone—trying to edge past the barriers he kept firmly in place. So instead, she did what she did best. She watched him closely, learned all that she could and became exactly what he needed most. She took on his burdens and eased his mind about the project closest to him. In short, she became the absolute best Hardwick she could be.
    Sneaking another glance at him, she suppressed a sigh. Sometimes being Hardwick was very hard indeed.
    ‘Lord Marland—wait!’
    He pivoted on a heel, brow arched in surprise. She knew how he felt. She’d shocked herself.
    ‘Ah, could you wait a moment? There is something, actually.’ She twisted her fingers around each other to keep them away from her buttons.
    He waited.
    ‘It’s just…the new wing is so nearly complete…and the collection is in splendid shape…and I know you are not interested in opening the collection to outsiders…’
    ‘No. I am not,’ he said flatly.
    ‘I didn’t mean to argue the point.’ Chloe ducked her head. Reaching into her pocket, she touched the letter from her oldest friend. ‘It’s only—it’s been suggested that I might seek another position. That you might not require my services any longer, after the project is finished.’
    ‘What?’ He reared back. ‘Who’s been spouting such nonsense?’ His shock and outrage were sincere, to her utter gratification. ‘Not Mrs Goodmond, I hope?’
    Surprised, Chloe shook her head and placed her book on the table between them. ‘No, it was—’
    She stopped, her mouth open, unable to continue, when the marquess took a seat directly across from her. He stared up at her with a kind expression of sympathy and understanding. ‘Your position must be an awkward one, Hardwick. You’ve talents that put you beyond a woman’s normal sphere. No doubt you will run into more than one narrow-minded fool who will push you towards a more accepted mould.’
    He reached out suddenly and grasped her wrist. Chloe’s mouth dropped again in wordless shock, even though her coat covered the spot. Her bones felt small and fragile beneath his large hand. His grip was both firm and tender. Warmth radiated from his hand and she could not suppress the shiver that ran through her.
    ‘Don’t listen to them, Hardwick,’ he said, insistent. ‘Any woman can run a household or pop out a parcel of babes, but your skills are unique. You have a fine, clear mind, a gift for retaining and arranging information, and the damnedest ability to inspire people to meet your high standards.’ He shook his head. ‘This wing, this collection, they are incredibly important to me, and neither would be in so grand a shape were it not for you.’
    He gave her arm a squeeze and, sitting back, let her go. Chloe flushed with surprise and pleasure. He’d given her compliments before, on a job well done, but this level of warmth and approval was new—and intoxicating.
    ‘Not everyone is meant for the intimacy of marriage or the rigours of child-rearing,’ the marquess reflected. He smiled at her. ‘Embrace your differences, Hardwick. Don’t allow anyone to make you feel inferior.’
    Elation abruptly drained away. Stricken, Chloe blinked at the marquess. Inferior? She might have spent the last months moulding herself to best fit his needs, but she’d never considered that the process would render her unfit for anything else.
    She cleared her throat. ‘I’m afraid you’ve misunderstood, my lord. It is not Mrs Goodmond, but a friend of mine who worries… He fears that there soon may not be enough work for me here.’
    He leaned back. ‘What sort of friend?’ He frowned. ‘And what could he know of the state of my