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 firewithin 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 suchmatters.
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 Cromptonwas chipping away at them day by day.
Do I dare trust another with my happiness for a second time?
