Page 78 of The Duke of Ice
Bloody fucking hell.
He’d forgotten about going to the princess’s funeral. Could he miss it?
No. The queen expected his attendance. If Violet were his wife, he could beg off…
But she wasn’t.
Wife. He hadn’t dared to think of her in that capacity. And why was that?
Because of precisely what was happening right now. If he took her as his wife, he’d be open and vulnerable. He couldn’t do it.
“Your Grace?” Rand looked at him expectantly.
“Yes, we’ll leave tomorrow.” He had to. One did not refuse the Queen.
And maybe, if he left Violet, he’d be able to think straight. Because right now, he was tied up in knots, his mind completely twisted with fear and despair. He’d walked that road before, and he knew where it led.
He refused to end up there again.
Chapter 16
Four days later, Nick rode through Hyde Park, the November wind biting through his clothing. He didn’t feel a thing. He hadn’t felt anything since he’d left Bath.
He’d visited Violet the evening before his departure. They physician had just left, and Nick was glad to have missed him. Chalke reported that the man still suggested nothing to improve her condition. Beyond frustrated, Nick had found an accomplished physician in London upon his arrival and paid him handsomely to attend Violet in Bath.
He’d received an update in the post that morning: Violet regained consciousness periodically but was too exhausted to do anything but eat and drink before falling back to sleep.
Nick had to admit he’d lost hope that she would recover. That, or he’d convinced himself that he couldn’t care. This was too familiar, too painful. He’d rather move on without her of his own accord than risk losing her.
The question was how to move on. In the time they’d recently spent together, she’d become a part of his life. He liked having someone to talk to, someone he looked forward to seeing. He didn’t want to go back to being the lonely Duke of Ice. Well, the lonely part anyway. He was destined to live behind his frigid wall. He couldn’t see another way.
He considered running off as Simon had done. Maybe they could travel the Isles together.
Consumed with his thoughts, he caught sight of another rider just before he rode directly into his—her—path. He realized at the last moment that the rider was using a sidesaddle.
“Your Grace?”
He vaguely recognized the voice, and once he’d calmed Oberon, he looked over at her. “Miss Kingman.”
The petite brunette smiled. “Yes. I’m so pleased you remembered me.”
“How could I forget? You were a charming presence at the house party. I enjoyed our tour of the cathedral.”
Her eyes flickered with surprise, making him wonder what he’d done.
She seemed to sense his confusion and let out a light laugh. “I didn’t realize you’d enjoyed it. That makes me quite happy.”
Right, because he’d left the cathedral in a rush, following behind Simon. Plus, he’d behaved like an ass for a majority of the party. Hell, he’d behaved like an ass for years. And suddenly, he’d regained his ability to be pleasant.
Because of Violet.He had to credit her.
His chest tightened, and he pushed her from his mind. “What brings you to London?” he asked.
“This is where we live primarily.” Miss Kingman glanced toward his black armband. “Are you going to Windsor for the funeral?”
It was in a few days. “Yes, that’s why I’ve come.”
She nodded, and he expected to see sadness in her eyes or that she would comment on the tragedy. Instead, she said, “At least she isn’t in pain any longer.”
