Page 32 of The Duke of Ice
He shook his head and came to stand next to Violet. “I blame the wind. It picked up since you shot.”
He was right, as the ribbons of her hat were now blowing quite freely. She glanced up at the sky and saw that darker clouds had moved in. “I believe our afternoon plan for bowls may be ruined.”
He looked up as well. “Unfortunately, yes. We’ll have to find entertainment indoors.”
In fact, Violet’s mind was already working on that. She had a boon to claim, and she knew precisely what she wanted. She just needed to corral the younger set this afternoon.
Nick was waiting for his turn, which was second to last. He stared straight ahead, his features impassive.
“Nick seems back to his old self today,” Violet said quietly. “Did something happen, or am I mistaken?”
“I’m not certain,” Simon said with a slight frown. “He walked to the field with Lady Nixon and Mrs. Law, then spent time assisting Miss Kingman with her shooting.” He fell quiet while Lord Adair shot. Then he angled toward Violet. “It may just be exhausting for him. He hasn’t had to be social in ages.”
Yes, that could be it. Particularly since he’d shared the company of Lady Nixon and Mrs. Law. They were the very definition of taxing. “Why is he such a recluse?”
“He was in deep mourning, and I think he forgot to come out.”
Mourning. Her mind instantly went to his brother, but then she remembered that he was also a widower. “Because of his wife?”
Simon nodded grimly. “And son.”
Oh God, he’d had a son? “I didn’t know.”
“Not surprising,” Simon said. “It isn’t my tale to tell, but to lose Jacinda in childbirth and then Elias such a short time later was devastating.” His voice had grown tight, his face pale.
“It pains you too,” she said softly, wanting to comfort him. “You are truly a good friend.”
“We all have pain, do we not?”
Yes, but for some people, there was unbelievable tragedy, and she began to see how Nick had become the Duke of Ice. She realized Simon had endured a similar calamity. No wonder he spoke of Nick with such compassion. It was perhaps why they were such close friends. She was glad they had each other.
“We do,” she said.
“What’s yours?” he asked.
Startled by the question, she focused on the contest for a moment. Lord Colton shot, and she clapped along with the others. Nick was up next. She didn’t answer while she watched him take his position.
His stance was excellent, his long legs parted, the muscles evident beneath the fit of his breeches. He lifted the bow, and his coat pulled across his shoulders, demonstrating that he was finely formed from head to toe. But then she knew that. She recalled the feel of him beneath her hands, so smooth and warm and hard.
Head straight, grip loose, he pulled back the arrow, and it sailed straight into the heart of the target. Just like Cupid who’d set his sights on her eight years ago. His arrow had struck true, and she’d fallen completely.
“It’s him,” Simon said softly. “Your pain.”
She turned her head slightly but couldn’t look at him when she answered. “Yes.” Like Nick, she’d shut down after marrying Clifford. It had been a kind of mourning, she supposed, as she’d had to kill the only love she’d ever known.
The three gentlemen whose arrows had hit closest moved to the last target. Aside from Nick, this included Mr. Seaver and Sir Barnard. She watched in silence next to Simon as first Mr. Seaver shot—his arrow landed fairly close to the middle—and then Sir Barnard hit the center. The crowd cheered and held their collective breath as Nick took his place at the line.
“How can he possibly win?” Violet asked, her breath caught tight in her lungs.
“Watch.” Simon’s voice held the warmth of a smile.
She did just that and was shocked and amazed when Nick’s arrow split Sir Barnard’s in two. She gasped.
“I do believe we have a tie,” Irving declared.
Lord Colton shook his head. “The Duke should be crowned the victor. Surely his exceptional skill in splitting the arrow would break the tie.”
As the spectators exchanged words with their neighbors, Simon nodded. “I would agree with that assessment.”
