The fair Leticia had been several years older than he and had her sights firmly fixed on Viscount Ripley, eldest son of the Earl of Snowton. Chase had no title, and was a younger son, as well—though he was infinitely more well-to-do than the Ripleys would ever be.

Still, Leticia’d had her heart set on a title and a title she was determined to have. Chase had been devastated. Of course, now he thanked the stars for his lucky escape, though at the time he’d sworn never again to smile.

“I have many, many flaws. Not the least of which is a tendency to see things from my own stance and no one else’s and a sad propensity to convince myself that certain problems will disappear if I can just outrun them.” Inwardly Chase winced at how true this profession was.

Stephen eyed him with interest. “Those are grave indeed.”

“I’m trying to overcome them. Besides, no one is perfect. Even my father, who was the most generous man I ever met, had his shortcomings. He loved us all dearly, but he had very little patience with children.” Chase gestured to the chair opposite his. “Come. Sit. You’re giving me a neck ache.”

“I don’t want to sit.”

Chase made an exasperated noise. “Must you argue with every damn thing I say? You are far more like your sister than you realize.”

Stephen’s lips twitched. “Harriet would not agree.”

“All the more reason to believe it’s true.”

Stephen sighed. “I suppose you are right.” He gathered his crutches from the wall and made his way to the chair Chase indicated, stopping to refill his glass.

Though he winced to see how much brandy the lad splashed into his glass, Chase wisely refrained from commenting.

Stephen propped his crutches beside the chair and sank into it. Brandy in one hand, he eyed Chase with a complete lack of respect. “This is asinine. How could you possibly understand my situation?”

“I’m older, a male, and I was once your age.”

“What does that prove?”

Good God, this helping thing was most unpleasant. Chase thrust his feet out before him, settling them on the small brass trunk that served as a tea table. Gad, but the lad was full of pride. “Stiff-necked as your sister, aren’t you?”

“What if I am?”

“What indeed,” Chase muttered. “Tell me what bugs have infested your lady’s bonnet.”

“She wouldn’t like to hear you refer to her in such a manner.”

“Good thing she’s not here, then.” Chase settled deeper into the chair, resting his head on the high back. “What seems to be the problem?”

“There isn’t a problem. Not with her.” All vestiges of sullenness fell from Stephen’s expression. “She’s an angel.”

“If she’s an angel, then why are you so blue-deviled?”

“Because she’s above my touch.”

“Who told you that?”

“She did.”

Chase winced. “What a harridan.”

Stephen jolted upright. “She is no such thing—”

“Calm down. All women are harridans. Every last one.” Especially the brown-eyed wretch who was, he was certain, even then plotting new ways to irritate him.