Nicholas bit back a chuckle. She rarely felt the cold.
“Might I ask what you’re reading?” Chadderton pressed.
She raised the book and showed him the spine. “The Lady of the Lake. It is a favourite of mine. One must admire Douglas for not forcing Ellen into a loveless marriage. An alliance based on anything other than love leads to untold misery.”
Nicholas could testify to that.
Chadderton brushed a hand through his mop of brown hair and offered a charming grin. “The best love affairs often begin as friendships. The best friendships develop when two people partake in like-minded pursuits.”
She gave an unladylike snort. “We have just established we have nothing in common, sir. I do not want to waste your time when other ladies are vying for your attention.”
The man bowed. “Then I shall look forward to persuading you as to the error of your assessment, Miss Langley.”
Nicholas stepped back from the door, and when Chadderton left the library, gave the impression he had just entered the hall.
“Ah, St Clair. Just the man I need.” Chadderton drew Nicholas towards the drawing room and lowered his voice. “Being like family, you’ve spent more time with Miss Langley than most. What does she find entertaining? How might I gain her attention?”
Nicholas imagined grabbing Chadderton by the throat and squeezing until the dandy’s face turned blue. Instead, he pasted an arrogant grin. “You won’t. Miss Langley will marry for love or not at all. She told me so herself.”
Chadderton shrugged. “Women are fickle. With a little attention and the right amount of pressure, she’ll be as pliable as putty. What makes her smile?”
The sound of raindrops pounding the windowpane.
Tending her mother’s roses.
Cook’s plum pudding.
Winning at croquet.
Snow.
“Tulips and toads,” Nicholas lied.
Chadderton frowned.
“And she likes a man who agrees with her opinion.” She preferred a man who knew his own mind, who could argue his point with a degree of intelligence.
After some thought, the dandy nodded. “I can play the buffoon for a short time. What else does she like?”
“Byron. Macaroons. Charades. She hates the sea.”
Chadderton grinned. “So we do have things in common.” He gave Nicholas a brotherly pat on the back. “I shall have to be clever in my approach. Make her think I seek friendship.”
Nicholas excelled at showing Miss Langley he had no romantic interest in her. Had they not plunged down the embankment, he might still be a walking monument to indifference. Now, his hunger for her had reached ravenous levels.
It tugged deep in his gut.
Had kept him awake most of last night.
He left Chadderton contemplating his plan of attack and went in search of Charles Holland. He found the blackmailing beggar in the stables, admiring Lady Brompton’s Arabian thoroughbred.
Much like the night he’d attacked Parbrook, the same rage fired his muscles into action. He flew at Holland and pinned him to the floor in an empty stall.
“What the hell are you doing at Grayswood?”
“I—I came with my aunt,” Holland spluttered. “How was I to know you’d be here?” Holland tried to move, but Nicholas held his arms down with a vice-like grip and straddled his body.
“Liar! You knew damn well I’d received an invitation.”