CHAPTER TEN

Nicholas found himself beside her before he had fully thought through his actions.

He had seen her pause; the flames reflected in her wide brown eyes, and he had acted on instinct. Something about her made him want to protect her. He did not wish to hinder her, and he did not believe her incapable, but he wanted to offer a helping hand should she need it.

Although in the centre of the circle, the crowd around them were talking amongst themselves. Some were watching, but most were distracted, waiting for their turn.

He was able to move a little closer to her and could feel how tense she was.

“Have you played the game before?” he asked, his voice low in the bustling room.

“Never,” she whispered.

“My advice would be to raise your hand much higher than you believe is necessary. It is all in the pace with which you approach the flames. Do not linger long and choose your target wisely. Often, one goes for the centre, but in fact, the opposite edge is easier.”

Clarissa stepped up to the bowl, and Nicholas watched carefully as she raised her hand just as he had suggested. He held his breath as her fingers hovered above the flames, the light shimmering over her porcelain skin. She took a deep breath, plunged her hand into the fiery bowl, and scooped up a raisin as though she played the game every day.

She held it aloft with a cry of triumph receiving much applause from those around her. Nicholas felt an ache in his jaw, as he was smiling so widely.

As she stepped back, her hand brushed against his, and the instant spark of connection ignited on his skin once more. He felt as though the fire from the bowl had lit up his whole body, and he gasped as he met her gaze.

For a long, stolen moment, the room about them faded away. He was lost in those deep, brown eyes, taking in the perfection of her face and the exuberant smile she wore. Her beauty was only accentuated by the dim flickering light from the bowl.

It could only have been a second before they stepped away, even though it had felt like an eternity to him.

Nicholas watched as she ate the raisin gleefully, keeping his smile in place. But within himself, Nicholas was in turmoil for the remainder of the game. He participated mechanically, having played many times before, his rakish mask firmly in place.

His mind was swirling madly as each person about him took their turn, his eyes returning time and again to Miss Crompton.

He could not help but examine her delicate features and the animation in her body as she came alive at the game. The excitement and danger inherent in plunging one's hand into a flaming bowl had animated her even more.

The brightness in her eyes and the joy in her gaze were a sight to behold. Nicholas could not understand why the entire company was not captivated by her. He was unable to look away for any length of time and was at a loss as to how he had not instantly seen how exquisite she was.

He was desperate to be beside her again, irritated by the number of people in his way. His heart thundered in his chest, his mind a whirlwind of delight and uncertainty as he tried to contrive a way to move to her side once more.

As his turn came around again, he stepped up the bowl without hesitation, plunging deep and bringing out a handful of raisins that were still alight. He blew on them theatrically, intent on impressing her, and heard her gasp as he doused the flames and ate the raisins in one movement.

He knew he was acting foolishly, and as he moved back to his place, he caught the gaze of Henry, who was standing beside Emily on the other side of the circle. His expression was a little difficult to read in the half-light, but he seemed to be smiling knowingly.

As the entertainment ended and Nicholas was declared the victor he stepped away from the group for a little time, watching the footmen relight the candles all about the place. Clarissa went to speak with Henry and Emily beside the fire, still flushed and breathless from the game.

Never in his life had he felt what he had just experienced over those dancing flames. It was not only her timid nature and quiet shyness that had first attracted him to her. Her indifference to him had piqued his interest, but he could no longer blame his vanity for his regard.

She was the most breathtaking creature he had ever beheld. Not even Victoria had made him feel the depths of emotion that he had experienced in her presence that evening. It was as though he were watching a phoenix rising out of the flames. A tiny thing that had seemed unremarkable and made entirely of ash was now a vibrant, colourful marvel that he was ashamed to have overlooked when they had first met.

What would it be like to truly know her? To find the elements of her character that she showed to no one else?

She was reserved, proper at all times, and constantly on her guard. But there were moments where she would let down the walls she had built about herself, and he would see the real woman beneath. Something about that called to him like nothing ever had. He, too, was hiding in plain sight, trying his best to survive a world that had treated him cruelly for too long.

As he watched her, a feeling spread through his chest that he had never hoped to experience again. It frightened and unnerved him to be so affected in so short a time.

Who is this woman? She has stripped away all my certainties, all the things I believed were important in life. She makes me question everything I have built around me for so long…

“My Lord, you are pensive this evening. Am I to wonder that you have tired of our company so soon?”

Nicholas felt his jaw clench unpleasantly and his teeth grind together as Lady Wilde approached him. She was in a very fine dress of deep brown that evening with rather an ostentatious feather in her hair. It was too much for the company, just as Rosemary had said, and he was beginning to think she was doing it solely to impress him.

If that is her intention it is having the opposite effect.

“Of course not, my dear lady; I am merely wondering if I have set my skin aflame.”

It was a casual comment meant to change the subject from her inquiry, but to his irritation, she looked pained and gently rested a hand on his arm.

“My Lord, I do hope you are not injured. Must we fetch a doctor?”

Is the woman a simpleton?

“Not at all; I am merely jesting. I believe perhaps the game has tired me. The lights being so dim and the flames so inviting, I have been reminded that it is soon time for us all to be in our beds.”

He regretted the words immediately, as her eyes darkened with obvious interest. He had meant the comment as a general assertion of the lateness of the hour; it had not been an invitation, yet she appeared to have taken it as such.

He was glad they were in a room filled with people, as the hand that had touched his arm was retracted, much to his relief. He had no doubt if they had been alone, she might have made him an offer, and the very idea was more unpleasant than it should have been.

He put on his most charming smile, affecting an air of polite interest. He tried his best not to linger too long on Miss Crompton, although he was not entirely successful.

“I have never been so diverted as at this manor house; I do believe your aunt is one of the greatest hosts I have had the pleasure of staying with. She has ensured that I want for nothing.”

Her eyes flicked up to his face, down over his body, and back up again. The woman was shameless.

“Indeed, my aunt is the very model of a proper lady. She has been a generous and welcome comfort since I returned to these shores.”

“And this manor house is yours, I take it, following the inheritance you received?”

Nicholas nodded. “It is. But I have assured her, as I would any of my relations, that I have no wish to turf her out. She will remain at Kingston Manor for as long as she chooses. It is her home and has been such for far longer than I have been in residence.”

“You are the picture of humility. So many men would wish to take their country seat—and their seat in town—without any regard for their relations. You are astonishing, Lord Bolton, in your generosity.”

Again, he kept his smile in place, but his skin was itching to leave her side. He looked up hopefully to see if Lord Wilde might be coming to fetch his daughter. It took him a few seconds to locate him, however. The man was sprawled on the chaise longue at the corner of the room, snoring quietly.

Nicholas cursed inwardly that everyone else was so occupied.

Why does this woman constantly seek me out at every opportunity?

As he looked back at her gaze, however, it was easy to answer that question. She was pursuing him quite relentlessly it would seem. He was astonished it had taken her almost two days to bring up his title and his inheritance, given her blatant wish to make an advantageous marriage.

Miss Crompton laughed at something Henry said across the room, and Nicholas’s gaze moved to his friend. A flare of violent jealousy lanced through him, so fierce in its intensity that it surprised him.

Henry was a handsome man, with his hair much longer than the fashion. His figure was tall and lithe, similar to Nicholas’s, if a little less muscular. Miss Crompton seemed very pleased in his company and Nicholas realized he could not bear the thought that she might find interest elsewhere.

How ridiculous to be so besotted in so short a time, he admonished himself. Yet admonishments did no good. He found it decidedly difficult to keep his eyes away from Miss Crompton for the remainder of the evening.

As the festivities wound down Nicholas was sat in an armchair at the edges of the room.

Lord Crompton was telling a story of one of his business acquaintances. It appeared the man had been missing for some days and a great mystery had arisen as to his whereabouts. When he was eventually found, it was discovered that he had locked himself in his own cellar. His hysterical wife heard him calling for help a full two days after it was believed he had died.

The room was filled with gentle laughter. Miss Crompton’s eyes were affectionate and kind as she looked at her father, but, once again, the proper exterior was firmly in place. Nicholas found himself desperate to peel away the layers and see that fire within her again.

Weary from his thoughts, he rose to get himself a brandy. He was surprised when he was joined by his aunt.

“Would you pour me one of those?” she asked, as a footman came forward to assist her and she waved him away.

“Of course, aunt, I did not know you enjoyed brandy.”

“I believe the raisins have given me a taste for it,” she replied, but her stance was wrong, and her sharp gaze was taking him in somewhat carefully. He sighed, looking at her quizzically.

“I know you have not come here simply to imbibe. Although I will happily pour you a glass of your excellent brandy, what do you wish to say?”

The room was bustling again with the movements of those about the fire. Several people were discussing different topics in smaller groups, and they would not be overheard. Nicholas was glad of it when his aunt began speaking.

“What is there between Miss Crompton and yourself?” she asked, her eyes narrowed and suspicious. Nicholas felt a jolt of uncertainty rush through him. He was unwilling to expose feelings he could not yet name, but he did not want to lie to her. He handed her the glass, and they both sipped.

“What is your meaning?” he asked evasively.

She scoffed and shook her head. “I am not blind, Nicholas. You have been looking at her all evening, and that display over the punch bowl was very gallant but rather unexpected. What are your intentions toward her?”

“My intentions?”

“You know very well of what I am speaking. The Crompton family have been through a great deal and have lost much. The last thing Miss Clarissa Crompton needs is an association that will come to nothing.”

She is right, he thought morosely. What can come of this except more heartache? That is all that has ever come from such matters.

His aunt took a long sip of her brandy and gave him a stern glare.

“I am not one to interfere unduly. But all I will say is that if you are interested in the lady, you should think carefully before you act. She is not one to be trifled with.”

She left Nicholas speechless.

His eyes returned to Miss Crompton, and his heart clenched at the idea that his aunt was right—that he might have to give her up.

***

That night, as Nicholas readied himself for bed his mind was consumed by Miss Crompton. The brief touch of their hands amidst the game had unmanned him. He felt loose and afloat, as though his feet were not steady on the ground beneath him.

He was accustomed to casual dalliances and flirtations. Many came to nothing, but he prided himself in never having broken a heart. He had taken pains to ensure he did not do so, and that was the way things had been for the longest time. But the intensity of his feelings for Miss Crompton had been unprecedented, disturbing him beyond anything he could have predicted.

It had been a long time since he had pursued a woman for more than sport. Miss Crompton—Clarissa—seemed to consume every part of him against his will.

For the first time in years, he began to regret his prior conduct. If he were not known as a rake, and had not indulged so heavily, he might be closer to understanding Clarissa’s feelings. She was very guarded around him, as well she might be.

But there had been a reason for his rakish mask. To protect his own heart from splitting open again. It had taken him many years to build the walls that protected it, and yet Miss Crompton was chipping away at them day by day.

Do I dare trust another with my happiness for a second time?