CHAPTER EIGHT

Nicholas closed the library door, heaving a sigh. It was a relief to find some solitude. The house party had been relatively bearable until now, but he was grateful for the peace and quiet.

The library was ornate and well-designed, with high shelving all around the walls and some narrow nooks where one could find privacy to read alone. He leaned against the door, looking up at the painted ceiling and listening to the quiet amidst the shelves.

There was a long window at one end of the room flooding everything with light. He watched the dust dancing in the pale winter sunshine and took a moment to gather his thoughts.

“Have you not read enough books in your lifetime?” came an ironical voice nearby, and Nicholas grinned as Henry emerged from between the narrow shelves holding a thick tome in one hand.

“Are you studying geography?” Nicholas countered as he squinted at the book in Henry’s hands, which seemed to be a large atlas.

“Goodness no. There is a table in my bedroom that is crooked, and I thought this could go beneath the fourth leg.”

Nicholas snorted. “As if you would use my aunt’s books so ill.”

Henry gave his usual easy smile, but there was a hesitancy about him. Nicholas wondered if he had meant to avoid discovery.

“What secrets do you hope to determine with it?” he asked, looking at the atlas.

“I was merely trying to win a bet with Miss Emily Crompton.”

Nicholas frowned at him in mock outrage. “A bet? With a lady? Unthinkable!”

Henry chuckled. “She is adamant that Sheffield is south of York. I am certain she is incorrect.”

“My dear Henry, you lack direction in everything you do, geography included. Sheffield is sixty miles south of York.”

To Nicholas’s surprise, Henry looked pleased by the news and placed the atlas behind him decisively.

“Then I will tell her she is the winner.” He did not seem upset that he had lost the bet. “Care for a game?” Henry asked suddenly, pointing to the ornate chess set positioned in front of the window.

“Of course,” Nicholas said cheerfully, “I could do with another trouncing.”

Both men wandered to the window and sat down.

The garden was looking particularly chilly that morning, and a spider had threaded a web across a large portion of the window. The gossamer strands were covered with a sparkling layer of frost, neatly frozen in space.

Henry cleared his throat pointedly, and Nicholas realized his friend had already moved a piece while he had been idly staring at the scenery.

“You are so contemplative these days,” Henry said with a smile. “I had expected you to be bored to tears by this party, but instead, you seem in very high spirits.”

Nicholas shot him a warning glance. “And what is that a reference to?”

“Nothing, nothing,” Henry said innocently as he moved another pawn forward. “It’s just that you did seem rather enamoured with one of your aunt’s guests last evening.” Henry’s eyes were twinkling as he spoke.

Nicholas did his best to keep his expression blank, but he suddenly felt embarrassed that his confusing feelings for Miss Crompton had been so visible.

“Nothing of the kind, I assure you,” he replied quickly, “I was merely attempting to make the lady feel welcome. She is rather shy.”

“As well she might be. This is the first event I have seen Lord and Lady Crompton attend since the scandal.”

Nicholas moved his knight and bit his tongue. He was desperate to probe further into the history of Miss Crompton’s life, but he did not wish to listen to gossip—not even if it came from Henry.

“Surely that was long enough ago?” he asked evenly.

“It was. But it caught the attention of society, unfortunately. These things often do when a family as prominent as the Cromptons are disgraced. They have barely been seen in town for three years.”

“Something to do with the sister, wasn’t it?” Nicholas asked, losing the battle with himself.

“Mmm, she ran off with her music teacher. Eloped in the night. The papers latched onto the story instantly. It was in every edition for weeks.”

Nicholas’s throat felt tight at the idea that Miss Crompton had been subjected to such a humiliation. Scandals could be brutal when they attracted so much commentary. From her shyness and propensity for standing at the edges of a room, he could see the effect it still had on her.

“You made a good team at charades,” Henry continued, giving him a sly grin. “I have not seen you smile that much in an age.”

Nicholas took Henry’s bishop, only to have his own piece taken immediately after. He was already losing, but he couldn’t clear his head enough to concentrate. He didn’t like to think that his actions had put Miss Crompton under further scrutiny. The last thing he wanted was to make her life more difficult.

I should probably stay away from her, he conceded. It was not a pleasant thought.

He had felt a spark across his skin when their hands had touched the night before. He had been unable to think of anything else when he went to bed. Their time at charades had been the most fun he had had in months, and her dazzling smiles, though rare, were captivating.

But it was her eyes that were the most intriguing of all. They were such a beautiful colour—deep brown, like antique wood, warm and welcoming. Her lashes were long and curled, framing her eyes in a striking outline.

As he looked out the window, he wondered how they might look if snowflakes were to catch on them.

As Henry took his fourth piece, Nicholas smiled ruefully and tried to get his head in the game. He was thoroughly beaten in only a few more minutes, however, and as the game concluded, the two men rose, walking together at a leisurely pace back to the drawing room.

Tea was about to be served, and as they entered the room, servants bustled about, placing trays amidst the party.

Nicholas’s eyes were immediately drawn to Miss Crompton and her cousin standing at the window with Rosemary. He felt the same swell in his chest at the sight of her.

Despite his confusing feelings in her presence, he found his feet moving toward them involuntarily.

He had relished their time playing charades together and found himself eager to recapture the feeling. Their acquaintance had been fleeting, yet it left a lasting impression. He took satisfaction in a particular notion: that he had been able to coax more smiles from her than she might have typically expressed. It pleased him to think their chance encounter had brightened her demeanour, if only briefly.

“And how did the creative exploits of the morning progress?” he asked his sister as he stopped beside them.

Rosemary’s eyes twinkled as he joined their group.

“Tolerably well,” Rosemary said with a sigh. “Miss Emily has made a beautiful garland which I rather think Aunt Eleanor will place above the mantel in this very room.”

“Oh Lord,” Emily said with her usual smile. “It will probably fall apart the moment it is hung.”

“And, of course, Miss Crompton has always been far superior to me in her creativity,” Rosemary said with a put-upon sigh. His sister was an excellent musician, but artistry had never been her strong suit.

He turned to Clarissa to gauge her reaction, only to feel dismayed as her eyes quickly flicked away from his, her cheeks colouring a little. She focused on Rosemary and gave her a faint smile.

“You do yourself a disservice, Miss Kingston,” she insisted. “Your bough is very pretty.”

She stiffened as he took another step into their circle; all the easiness of the evening before had disappeared as though it had never been. Her eyes flitted about the room, as though searching for an escape.

“And what were you making?” he asked, trying to keep his voice casual while observing Miss Crompton from the corner of his eye.

“We were making kissing boughs!” Emily answered very readily, oblivious to the tension that had sprung up between them.

Nicholas looked at Miss Crompton and watched, fascinated, as her blush deepened even further. His body was instantly flooded with a heat of a different nature, and his heart beat wildly in his chest.

“Lord Bolton, you are the most fiendish of men not to tell me of your sister’s talents at decoration,” came Lady Wilde’s voice from just behind him as she pushed her way into the group. “I was quite outdone at the table.”

Nicholas chanced a quick glance at his sister. Rosemary had barely refrained from rolling her eyes at Lady Wilde’s arrival. He felt his own bolt of irritation at the interruption. She was very close to him, their elbows brushing as though on accident, but he was too well-versed in this dance to believe it. Nothing of what she did would be an accident.

He forced a smile, feeling the falseness of it now. With Miss Crompton, his smiles came very easily, but now he felt the mask of the rake slip back into place.

“And did you also make a bough, Lady Wilde?” he asked.

“Indeed, I am embarrassed by my own efforts,” Lady Wilde protested.

“My aunt has already said she will hang yours in the foyer,” Rosemary said with barely disguised annoyance.

“Lady Wilde, such praise from my aunt is exceedingly rare. You must show it to me before we go to supper this evening,” he said automatically, keeping his charming facade firmly in place.

Madeline’s arrival appeared to have made Miss Crompton even more uncomfortable. Nicholas felt an overwhelming feeling of protectiveness for her. He wanted to fix her sad expression and see her easy laugh again.

He gave Lady Wilde a tight smile as she continued to expand on the subject of the kissing boughs for many minutes. Miss Emily was the only person in their group who readily answered her.

As the bell rang for dinner, Nicholas was herded to the other side of the room to look at Lady Wilde’s creation. To him, it was just a bundle of foliage with no artistic value.

“It is very pretty,” he said quickly, wishing to be away from her, but the lady gave a coy smile.

“You flatter me, my Lord, but I thank you for your kind words. I was wondering whether you might join us to make one yourself.”

Nicholas smiled. “I would not wish to attempt to emulate your talents, Lady Wilde. I imagine it would resemble something a cat had tangled together inexpertly. I would ruin the entire household aesthetic.”

She gave a high, piercing laugh that Nicholas did his best not to wince at. He was grateful to be able to excuse himself as he headed to his room to dress for dinner.

As he ascended the stairs, he was already considering what he might wear. He had paid little attention to his clothes in the last few days in his aunt’s house, yet now he was eager to look his best.

When he mentioned such musings to his valet, the man positively glowed with excitement. He pulled out an assortment of waistcoats and asked him which might be to his liking.

As Hargreaves fussed with his selections, picking out this and folding that, Nicholas’s mind was drawn back to Madeline’s attention. He did not consider himself a vain man, though he knew the effect he often had on women. But she could not have been plainer about her regard for him.

Yet the only woman I wish to look at me seems entirely immune to my charms.

Although Miss Crompton had blushed profusely at the mention of the kissing boughs. He had a sudden jolt of desire as he looked at his reflection, imagining having the opportunity to kiss her in the privacy of the corridors of the house. Perhaps they would find themselves unexpectedly beneath a bough, and all other conversation would cease as they stared into one another’s eyes and—

“Perhaps the green coat this evening, my lord?”

Nicholas cleared his throat and nodded stiffly. Hargreaves beamed and helped him to pull the thing over his shoulders.

Nicholas brushed down his sleeves as he considered the many choices he had made in life and the inevitable truth that he would have to make many more—for better or worse.

Lady Wilde was just the sort of woman he should admire. She was beautiful, fashionable, and well-connected with a large fortune. He would have rejoiced in the flirtation—for flirtation, it was—not three days before.

But now, all that filled his mind was Miss Crompton. It was surprising and rather alarming to be so bowled over by a lady.

She was reluctant around him, which he was unaccustomed to. He found himself longing for her good opinion, and as Hargreaves stepped back with a smile of pleasant enjoyment, Nicholas realized that he looked very well indeed as he surveyed the finished ensemble.

For the first time, he looked like the Earl of Bernewood. He wore a strict evening jacket and cream waistcoat, with a complicated construction about his neck that framed his face.

He had never cared how others perceived him up until today. He was desperate for Miss Crompton to see beneath the facade he presented to the world.

For the first time in many years, he finally wanted to be known and not simply seen.