Page 24 of The Duke of Ice
“I’ve no idea, nor do I care. He’s here and he’s staying. Somewhere inside him is the Nick we both used to know. We just have to find him and draw him out.”
Chapter 6
By the timeNick rode back to Linford’s stables, he was windblown, damp, and cold enough to make his nickname accurate. It felt good. It felt like home, because he spent many a day riding along the windswept coast regardless of the weather. Being outside allowed him to feel untethered; his thoughts as careless as the breeze.
Except today, he’d been thinking. Last night, he’d tossed and turned, hardly able to sleep after his confrontation with Violet. He’d recalled their time together, their happiness and anticipation, when they’d forecast a life and marriage before them. Since then, everything had gone to hell, and he realized now that a part of him blamed her. As ifshe’dcaused all his misfortune.
But he knew that wasn’t true. The curse was his. She seemed content and had maintained her charm, even if she was more subdued than she’d been eight years ago. He remembered a young woman who was quick to laugh, her eyes alight with a constant gleam of excitement and joy—as if every day were a new adventure. And he supposed it had been. For that blissfully short time.
Had that been the happiest period of his life? He wasn’t sure. He wanted to say it was his marriage to Jacinda, but he’d wed her out of duty. Yes, he’d grown to care for her, but he’d never experienced what he’d felt for Violet. And therein lay a part of his guilt.
He shook his head as he dismounted in the yard and handed the reins to a groom. He hadn’t thought of such things in a very long time, if he’d ever considered them so deeply. Normally, he did his best to thrust such thoughts away. It seemed, however, that in the presence of Violet, he wasn’t able to do that.
And if she could somehow resurrect him from the prison he’d created—and yes, itwasa prison—shouldn’t he let her?
He stopped short as he approached the house, the wind nearly whipping his hat from his head. What was he saying? Was he thinking of rekindling their affair?
Would that be so terrible?A tiny voice whispered in the back of his mind.
He hadn’t had a lover in ages, and house parties seemed rife with opportunity for just such an endeavor. She was, he now knew, a widow, which was also beneficial. He allowed his curiosity about her to rise. How had she become widowed? Did she have children? Had she been happy?
It felt wrong to care about those things—about her—given what he’d endured, but perhaps it was past time he released his emotions. At least a little.
As Simon and Violet had pointed out, he was here at this party. Perhaps he could try to make the best of it, for Simon if not for himself. He was glad for Simon—he was ready to move forward even if Nick wasn’t. And if Nick could help him do that, he should.
Nick started toward the house once more, a buoyancy to his step that had been absent for far too long.
It was past luncheon—he’d purposely gone for his ride during that time to avoid the gathering, just as he’d broken his fast in his chamber instead of downstairs. The house seemed quiet, and he wondered if people had retired for a respite or had perhaps left on an excursion. If it was the latter, they would’ve done so on foot because the stables hadn’t reflected any sort of activity that supported transporting guests. He supposed he ought to pay attention to what the devil was going on at this party if he intended to stay. And since he hadn’t left yet, he had to accept that he’d made his decision.
He ducked into Linford’s library, which wasn’t terribly impressive, to select a book for the afternoon. He stiffened, his feet planting into the carpet, upon seeing Violet perched on a cushioned seat set into the bowed window.
She looked up, and color instantly flooded her cheeks when she saw him.
He wanted to turn and leave, but he didn’t. He could do this. Taking a deep inhalation through his nose, he strolled forward until he was a few feet from her.
She closed the book, keeping her place with her forefinger. “Good afternoon. We missed you at luncheon.”
“I was riding.”
“And you came back.” A smile teased her mouth, but only for a moment.
He was sorry not to see it bloom. “Evidently,” he said wryly. “I’ve decided to stay. It looks as if it will rain.”
She glanced out the window at the darkening sky. “Yes, I’m afraid so. Hannah had planned a walk earlier, but we feared becoming drenched, so they played cards instead.”
“Theyplayed cards,” he said knowingly. “While you came here to find poetry.” He glanced at the book in her hand.
“You remembered.” Blushing slightly, she tipped her head back toward the window. “We’ll take the walk tomorrow—if the weather allows.”
A large, fat drop hit the window and slid down the glass. “There it is.”
With her free hand, she traced the water’s descent. Nick had a flash of her forefinger moving down his chest. The memory jolted him.
She turned her head and looked up at him. “I’m glad you’re staying. After last night, I wasn’t sure. I will stay out of your way.”
That would probably be best. She was rousing all sorts of memories and emotions that he didn’t entirely want to face. That voice at the back of his head piped up again.She’s not your enemy.
No, but he’d cast her as a villain for so long, he wasn’t sure he could think of her any other way. Did she really deserve that?
