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' 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,