“Very well. You just continue to tell yourself that, and perhaps it will be true.”
Nathaniel turned back to him. “Let us not squabble about things of which you know nothing. Let us make plans. Whites tonight?”
“Very well, but it will be on your purse,” Julian said.
“Oh, on my purse?” Nathaniel replied, relieved that their conversation had taken a different turn. “And pray, why is that?”
“Because you are the Duke of Sinclair. And if the ton is to be believed, you are one of the richest men in England. I am merely a marquess, waiting to rise to duke, and even then I shall not be anywhere near as rich.”
Nathaniel raised his hands. He couldn’t argue with this. It was true that he was far richer than he ever thought possible. Sometimes, he did not know what to do with all his riches. When he lived in his small home in Edinburgh, he would never have presumed to be able to spend as freely as he was now.
He certainly would not have been able to spend such an amount on unnecessary renovations simply to annoy the woman who was living in his house. There were times when he had turned each coin twice before spending. Not because he had been poor. Once he had become heir again, his uncle had made sure he had enough money to spend. But he had been careful, because he had never wanted to seem frivolous.
The only time he had spent somewhat too freely had been when he had gone to the watering holes of Edinburgh—or whenever a pretty woman caught his eye.
But what he had now was beyond his wildest dreams.
“Very well. I shall meet you there at eight,” he said.
“Good. I shall leave you to your viewing then,” Julian said and nodded his chin toward the window. “I cannot see them anymore, but I’m sure if you stay long enough, they will come into view again. Do not fret. But perhaps you should change windows. Try the ones upstairs.”
“Julian, do not vex me, or I shall change my mind on whose purse we shall drink on tonight.”
“Very well,” he said as he slapped him on the shoulder before he made his way out into the hall. Soon, he heard the front door clatter, and then Julian walked toward the carriage, which had been waiting for him.
Nathaniel crossed his arms and stared out of the window, but then he realized something. He was doing precisely what Julian had teased him about—standing there waiting to see them come back.
How pathetic was this?
He shook his head and marched away, his footsteps booming loudly in the entry hall because all the paintings and tapestries had been removed for repainting. He made his way up to his chambers but found that the footmen were removing furniture out of Evelyn’s dressing room—his latest step in his plan to vex her into departing his home. Instead, he went to the library.
There, he dropped into a seat by the window, his feet up on the stool in front of him, and glanced outside.
He wasn’t looking for her. He wasn’t looking for them.
He just so happened to be sitting in a comfortable chair that happened to be near a window.
And so what if he glanced up more than once? So what if he craned his neck more often than was normal to look outside?
That didn’t mean anything. Indeed, not that he was beginning to have feelings for the very woman he wanted to get rid of.
“Nathaniel, do you really hate me so?” Evelyn called out later that evening.
He placed his napkin down and rose from his dinner plate, making his way into the hall where Evelyn had just burst through. She was still in her riding habit; her hair had come loose somewhat, and her bonnet was askew.
“What is the matter now?”
“What is the matter? I told you how much I despise riding, and here you are, letting me ride out with that lord.”
He raised his hands. “It was not my idea for you to go out riding with him. It was his. Besides, I was quite surprised that you did not tell him that you did not wish to, because I am quite familiar with your tongue these last few weeks, and I have never known it to be quite as still as it was this afternoon.”
“Because I was shocked,” she said and curled her hands into fists, her knuckles popping white. “I am terrified of horses.”
“Terrified? Last night you said you mainly did not like?—”
She rolled her eyes, then stood straighter and pulled her shoulders back as if she had realized rolling her eyes was unladylike, although he found it quite expressive and hardly unattractive.
“Terrified, scared, dislike—it is all the same.”
