Chase watched as the brandy disappeared. “You know, I’d be careful drinking that if I were you.” He held up his hands when Stephen’s eyes flashed. “I’m not going to say another word, it’s just that many of my own problems came from a bottle of my own choosing.”

“This is only my second glass.”

Which, if one never drank, was still a good quantity of brandy. But there was little Chase could say at this point. The glass was almost empty, and Stephen really didn’t seem very tipsy. Perhaps the lad had a head for such things. “I don’t suppose you’d welcome the suggestion that you should perhaps forget Miss Strickton for the time being.”

“I cannot. You have no idea what she’s like. How she smiles. The way she looks when she’s trying to decide on something. The way I feel when she’s near.” Stephen shook his head in wonderment. “I love her and no one else.”

The lad had it bad. In a vague way, Chase supposed he could understand Stephen’s fascination. It was the same way he felt about Harriet.

Chase, being more mature, didn’t fancy himself in love—far from it. But there were certain women who managed to raise his ire—and other parts of his anatomy—remarkably easily.

There was something special about a woman who refused to be charmed. Chase was only lately beginning to realize that fact. Perhaps it was the challenge. The simple give and take of an intelligent wit coupled with a well-turned mind.

Strange how he’d never realized the importance of such things before.

Such women needed firm handling. Direct action. “It’s a pity you can’t ride into a party and toss her over your saddle like that knight fellow, Loch-something,” Chase said thoughtfully. “There’s a lot to be said for such decisive handling.”

Stephen blinked.

Chase rolled his shoulder a bit and winced. “Perhaps you could begin with something simple and build up to a grand gesture. Start with oh, I don’t know…maybe a picnic. That could be romantic if done right.” He imagined taking Harriet on a picnic. A basket of food—good food, not the work fare they got out in the field—a blanket beside a creek, and perhaps a little wine. He loved the way the sun warmed her brown hair with golden lights. And if the two of them were alone, there was no telling how many kisses he might win from her lips.

The idea held some merit. Perhaps he should—

Stephen slapped his knee, the sound breaking the silence like a gunshot. “B’God, you are right!” His voice brimmed with excitement. He snatched up his crutches and was on his feet and halfway to the door before Chase could even form a sentence.

“Stephen! What are you—”

But Stephen was already making his way out the door. His grand exit was somewhat marred by the fact that he stumbled a little while passing the tea table and had to right it.

“Stephen! Where are you going?”