Authors: Gloria Harchar
Tucking the swatch of cloth inside his waistcoat pocket,
Malcolm
wandered down the steps Gaspar had taken and walked outside. The abandoned parchment lay forgotten in the street. Carefully he retrieved the foolscap and saw it was
exactly what he
'
d predicted
—
a pamphlet protesting the plight of the stockingers.
His research had proved fruitful. He
'
d made sure several of the guests
at the ball
knew
of
his new venture, that of a
hosier. Talk
among the stockingers would consist of
the new looms Malcolm had recently purchased
, and word
of a new target
would most assuredly reach
Ramsey Diderot, Miss
Moore
'
s
cousin
.
The local magistrate suspected young Diderot of vandalizing other hosiers
'
looms and, after witnessing the young rebel
'
s actions on the street, Malcolm was certain of it. A trap would be waiting. Diderot
was easy to predict.
The rumble of wheels upon cob
blestone drew him to the here and now
.
He admired the shiny chrome and
brass on his new steam runabout with the
retractable bonnet.
After Gaspar
drew
the vehicle to
a halt,
he alighted and walked around to the passenger
'
s side, knowing Malcolm preferred to drive.
As
Malcolm
shifted into
gear, he wondered
h
ow long he
would
have to wait to get
Nicola
all to himself.
She should jump at the chance to wed any aristocrat, but he sensed she wasn
'
t just any
female
.
His musings were
inconsequential. Her actions proved how close she was to her cousin. A little blackmail was all it would take
.
He would merely have to wait. And if anything, he was a patient man.
Gaspar's teeth
flashed in the depths of the
coach.
"
My lord, I don
'
t like the g
lint in your
eyes
.
"
"
How can you
see anything
?
"
"
I sen
se your determination, so I won
'
t say any more on the matter.
"
Hu
rt and censure laced
Gaspar
'
s tone, which
Malcolm
ignored.
"
Much appreciated
.
"
H
e dismissed Gaspar and thought again about Miss
Nicola
Moore
. Whatever challenge she posed was minor compared to the reward of owning the
dye
.
An image of his brother floated through his mind—blond hair blowing in the wind, his blue
eyes
crinkled with laughter. The memory was replaced by William's pale face and closed
eyes
as he laid in a coma. Knife-like pain drove deep in his chest. Determination swept over him. He vowed to get rights to the recipe.
In addition to owning
the
dye
, Nicola Moore would fit well into his plans. H
e
r hoydenish manners would
make him more of an outcast, a condition he preferred. Society
had never been kind to him and so their opinion meant nothing
.
The carriage stopped at
last in front of the Campbell
'
s
manor—
more like a two-story cottage with a thatched roof—and a surge of anticipation swept through
Malcolm
at the thought of running the recalcitrant
tomboy
to ground. He stepped down from the cab and
wait
ed until his servant followed.
"
Watch
for
her
and her cousin
, Gaspar. If
either one
leaves, notify me at once.
"
"
Yes
, sir,
"
the man replied and
headed for
the servants
'
quarters while
Malcolm
took the brick paved steps to the main entrance.
The moment he entered, a hush crept over the guests closest to the
foyer
as they recognized him. A resigned acceptance washed over him. M
ost people feared him or, if not feared, had a h
ealthy respect for him and didn
'
t feel comforta
ble in his presence, which suited him fine.
He approached the small ballroom, barely noting the paisley wallpaper or the oak flooring, instead his senses
tuned
to
locating
his quarry.
A
cloak of indifference settle
d
over him
as he
scanned the chamber.
Nicola
wasn
'
t among
the guests gawking at him
. Some revelers danced. O
thers milled about
, but nothing seemed out of the o
rdinary, which
signified her absence
.
The young Mr.
Diderot
conversed with other rascals
on the far side of the ballroom
.
Diderot
scanned the room, his gaze lighting on Malcolm briefly before moving on.
Soon the scamp would take the bait.
Then he heard a voice he remembered all too well from the turmoil in the street and turned.
She stood in an alcove several feet away, talking to a
homely
man
with a large nose
who appeared to be a lieutenant of the Hussars. Her animated demeanor
fascinated him
, and briefly
Malcolm
wondered what subject could bring about such enthusiasm. Then she batted her hands about her face as if chasing away an insect, turning to glance behind her. Flushing, she gave the lieutenant a curtsy and left him gazing after her with a foolish smile on his face.
Malcolm
knew the exact moment
Nicola
became aware of him, for she looked across the crowded ballroom and their gazes met. The frisson of energy from that look shook him to his very soul. He wondered if her wide-
eyed
stare indicated
she also
fe
lt the strange attraction…
or the danger he presented.
Reluctantly entranced, he studied her. The almost exotic appeal of her almond-shaped
eyes
and high cheekbones contrasted with the chaotic look about her person. The feather
s
on her bonnet stuck out at odd angle
s
,
and the some of the starfish had broken, leaving only a couple of the legs.
Those wide generous lips made his mouth water with the desire to taste them. What did she think about him? Did he
pique
her curiosity?
She jumped, and he wondered if his presence had caused the bizarre reaction. But as she tu
rned with a smile and opened her mouth to speak, her friendly expression melted into confu
sion as she looked at the
space behind her.
What bothered
the chit?
Did she have an o
veractive imagination? What caused her such
animated
expression
?
Soon—very soon he would discover the reason. The mystery surrounding her would be solved.
Once the secret unraveled,
he
would
put her on a shelf with his other
memorabilia
and
return to putting in his time until death
.
Nicola resisted the urge to glance behind her again.
Why did
she
keep hearing that ethereal voice when nobody was near?
It all started when she conversed with the very nice Lieutenant
Tell
.
Although she told him that he hadn't done anything to offend her, but
that
she had to be alone for a while,
she could see he didn't believe her. H
is
hurt expression would haunt her
.
Truth
be told
, she
was feeling spooked and more than slightly crazy. A
dd insult to injury,
the Earl of Falconwo
od watched
her with unnerving intensity. The fine hairs on her nape tingled
again
.
Against her will, her
attention riveted on the source.