More or Less a Countess

by Anna Bradley

  Violet was shaking so badly now the pages felt slippery in her hands, but there’d been another sheet of paper wedged at the back of the desk. She didn’t want to look—God, she didn’t want to know, but even as her heart pleaded with her to leave the single, crumpled sheet unread, she was sliding it out from under the lease…

  A name was scrawled at the top left corner of the page. A woman’s name.

  Catalina di Foscari.

  No doubt Nick’s mistress—Catalina—was as beautiful as her name, dark-haired and passionate, and of course she must be in love with Nick, madly so, because why wouldn’t she love him? Any woman would love Nick, any woman would want to keep him for her own.

  There were very few words on the page, but what was there made Violet gasp from the pain slicing through her heart.

  My dear Catalina,

  It feels as if years have passed since I last saw you, but it won’t be long before—

  That was it. The last word trailed off in a smear of ink, but once again, it didn’t matter.

  She’d seen enough.

  She dropped the papers onto the desk, not bothering to replace them in the drawer. Let Nick find them there. Let him know she’d seen them when he returned—

  If he returned.

  When she rose from the chair at last, her limbs felt heavier than they ever had before, but no tears came this time, and why should they? She’d known all along she wasn’t destined for a great love, so she really hadn’t lost anything, had she?

  Her hand went instinctively to her belly then, and she pressed her palm protectively over the flat surface. No, she’d gained something. Someone, and it was more than she’d ever hoped to have. That someone was already so precious to her, crying self-pitying tears would be nothing less than blasphemous.

  Violet left Nick’s study without a backward glance. She spoke to Lady Westcott first, then went in search of Bridget. Not more than two hours later her trunk was packed, and she and Lady Westcott were bundled into her ladyship’s carriage and on their way to London.

  * * * *

  Nick’s only thought when he burst through the door of Ashdown Park later that evening was Violet. He was so anxious to see his wife he didn’t even notice Gibbs hovering in the entryway, wringing his hands like some kind of morbid gatekeeper waiting to announce the arrival of doomsday.

  “Lord Dare, a word, if I may—”

  “Not now, Gibbs.” Nick took the stairs two at a time. Dear God, an entire day away from Violet had felt like a lifetime. The gift he’d brought her weighed down the leather satchel slung across his back, and he couldn’t wait to see her face when she opened it.

  “My lord, I beg you to—”

  “I really must speak to Lady Dare about hiring a butler. We can’t have you hanging about in the entryway in this ghoulish manner, Gibbs. You’ll frighten the visitors away.”

  “That’s what I wish to tell you, my lord. Lady Dare is—”

  “Lady Dare is what, Gibbs?” Nick paused on the landing and waved an impatient hand at his valet. “For God’s sake, get it out, would you? Or better yet, whatever it is, let Lady Dare tell me herself. I’d much rather stare at her lips than yours.”

  “Lady Dare’s lips aren’t here—that is, Lady Dare, my lord. Lady Dare isn’t at Ashdown Park.”

  Nick blinked. “Not here? What the devil do you mean, Gibbs? Of course she’s here. Where else would she be?”

  “London, my lord. She left early this afternoon with Lady Westcott, in her ladyship’s carriage.”

  The first shiver of foreboding darted down Nick’s spine, and he descended a few stairs, his full attention now fixed on Gibbs. “Why, Gibbs,” he asked, his voice dangerously quiet, “would my wife be in London?”

  Gibbs, who prided himself on his unflappability, became as flustered as a debutante at her first ball of the season. “I don’t know what happened, Lord Dare. One moment she was dozing in your study, and the next she’d summoned her lady’s maid, packed her trunks, and set off for London.”

  Panic was creeping upon Nick, threatening to send his thoughts scattering in a thousand useless directions. He gripped the bridge of his nose between his fingers and tried to think. It wasn’t at all like Violet to suddenly walk out the door without a word of explanation to anyone.

  No, something must have happened.

  Nick came down the stairs as quickly as he’d gone up, and rushed down the hallway toward his study, Gibbs on his heels. He threw the door open, expecting to find something awful, but the study looked much as he’d left it this morning. A bit messier, perhaps, with some loose papers flung about on top of his desk, but—

  Nick’s gaze landed on a page with a few lines in his handwriting scrawled across it, and he moved closer to the desk, his brow furrowing. What—

  Oh, Christ.

  He leapt for the desk, understanding slamming through him as he caught the papers in his fist, but there was no need to read them. He already knew what they were, and his heart sank like a lead ball into the pit of his stomach.

  The lease for Casa di Bella Mare, with his signature scrawled across the bottom, and dated the day after his marriage to Violet.

  And underneath the lease…

  Nick squeezed his eyes closed, but he could see the words as clearly as if he were holding the paper in front of his nose.

  My dear Catalina, it feels like years since…

  He’d signed the lease and written that fragment of a letter in some sort of petty, childish bid to return the hurt he’d felt over Violet’s sketch, but even as sotted as he’d been at the time, he’d known he’d never post either of them, so he’d shoved them into his desk drawer and forgotten all about them.

  Until now.

  “Burn these.” He thrust the crumpled papers at Gibbs, then turned for the door.

  Gibbs clutched them to his chest as he followed Nick into the entryway. “But…where are you going, my lord?”

  “To London, to bring my wife home.”

  * * * *

  “What the devil is that infernal racket?”

  The Marquess of Huntington wasn’t the sort of gentleman who enjoyed surprises, and he especially didn’t care for them when they were loud, unexpected, and arrived in the dead of night when he was enjoying uninterrupted private time with his wife.

  “Bloody hell! Stop that hammering!” His lordship tightened the tie on his robe as he stomped down the few remaining stairs and marched across the hallway. He threw open the door, ready to leap upon whoever stood on the other side, but when he saw who it was, shock made him freeze. “Dare? What the devil are you doing here? I thought you were in West Sussex. For God’s sake, man, it’s the middle of the bloody night—”

  Nick thrust Finn aside without a word of apology and shoved his way through the door. “Where’s my wife?”

  Finn stared at him for a moment, his mouth wide open with shock, then he crossed his arms over his chest and fixed Nick with a cold stare. “You’re asking me? You mean to say you don’t know where your own wife—”

  “Damn you, Huntington. Is she here, or not? Tell me at once.”

  “No. She isn’t here.” Finn seemed to notice Nick’s wild panic then, and his anger faded to baffled concern. “Why should she be in London?” His eyes narrowed. “Oh, Christ. What have you done, Dare?”

  Nick let out a bitter laugh. “Let’s just say your lack of faith in me has proved prophetic, Huntington, and leave it at that, shall we?”

  He turned for the door without another word, but a voice pitched high with distress stopped him before he could escape through it.

  “Lord Dare?”

  Nick paused, and he and Finn looked up the stairs to find Lady Huntington standing on the landing above them, her face pale and her hand twisted in the silk dressing gown at her throat.

  “Has something happened to
my sister? Is she…is she all right?”

  Nick dragged his hands down his face. “I—there’s been a misunderstanding between us, but if I can just find her, I can set it to rights.”

  Finn glared at Nick. “What sort of misunderstanding?”

  “If it’s all the same to you, Huntington,” Nick replied with a scowl, “I’d rather discuss it with her.”

  “Wait!” Iris’s voice echoed in the entryway. “Where are you going?”

  “To Bedford Square, to Lady Chase’s. If Violet isn’t there, then to my aunt’s. Lady Westcott and Violet left Ashdown Park together.”

  “And if she isn’t at either place? What then, Dare?”

  Nick met Finn’s gaze without blinking. “Then the rest of London. All of bloody England, if I have to.”

  Finn studied him for a moment, then to Nick’s shock, a corner of Finn’s mouth lifted in a smile. “Good man, Dare.”

  “I’m coming with you.”

  Finn’s smile faded as he glanced back up the stairs. “No, Iris. Go back to bed—”

  “I said I’m coming with you. You will wait right there for me to dress, Lord Dare, and you, Lord Huntington.” Iris gave her husband a cool look. “You may stay or go as you please, but I will accompany Lord Dare, with or without your approval.”

  Finn shook his head, but his lip quirked again, and after a moment he threw his hands up in the air. “To Lady Chase’s, then.”

  * * * *

  “Well, Lord Dare. Here you are, and I can’t say I’m surprised to see you.” Lady Chase looked him up and down, her lips pinched together with disapproval. “Already made a mess of it, have you? Not as charming a husband as you were a suitor, eh?”

  Nick hardly noticed the insult. It was clear Lady Chase had been expecting him, and that meant Violet must be here. It took all of his restraint not to nudge the old lady aside and tear the house apart until he found his wife, but manhandling her grandmother wouldn’t improve his chances with Violet, so he offered Lady Chase a hasty bow instead. “I beg your pardon, my lady, but—”

  “Yes, yes. I know all about it. Fools, the both of you.” Lady Chase stood aside and gestured Nick into the entryway. “And here are Lord and Lady Huntington, too. I suppose you dragged them from their beds first. Well, well, come in, then.”

  “My wife? Where—”

  “She’s in the old schoolroom, on the third floor.” Hyacinth Somerset stood at the bottom of the staircase, her arms crossed over her chest. She gestured with her chin toward the stairs, but she made no move to step aside when Nick approached. “You promised you wouldn’t hurt her, Lord Dare.”

  Nick had had quite a few hours on his return journey to London to think about his behavior toward Violet over the past weeks, and he’d already concluded he’d been a brute and a scoundrel, but never was he more ashamed of himself than when he looked into Hyacinth Somerset’s reproachful eyes.

  “If I could take away her hurt—take it into myself—I would. I can’t, but I vow to you, Miss Hyacinth, I’ll never hurt her again.”

  “You failed to keep that vow once. Why should I believe you’ll keep it now?”

  “Because I’d rather die than hurt her. Because I love her.”

  The quiet words came straight from Nick’s heart, and Hyacinth must have understood that, because after a brief hesitation, she stepped aside.

  Nick bounded up the four flights of stairs, but when he reached the door to the schoolroom and saw Violet he stopped, his breath heaving in and out of his lungs.

  She was sitting in an old leather chair, staring straight ahead. She turned at the sound of Nick’s boots on the wooden floor, and he crossed the room until he was standing in front of her. He pulled his hat from his head and stood there silently, twisting the brim between his hands.

  Violet looked up into his face, and her breath left her lungs in a quiet sigh.

  And that sigh undid him. The grief of it, the exhaustion and despair—that tiny sigh sliced through his heart. He slid to his knees before her and buried his face in her lap. “Would you leave me, Violet? Would you abandon me, and break my heart?”

  She was quiet for a long moment, and when she did speak, her voice was the softest whisper. “I left you before you could leave me. I broke your heart before you could break mine.”

  He wrapped his arms tighter around her legs and pressed his face against her belly. “No. I won’t leave you, Violet. Not ever.”

  She stiffened. “I saw the letter. The lease, Nick, and the…the letter to—”

  Nick had to close his eyes against the pain in her voice. “I never sent them.”

  “But you must have thought you would, eventually. Why else would you keep them, hidden away in your desk?”

  He didn’t release her, but he raised his face to hers. “Listen to me, Violet. It was a moment’s madness only. The lease, and the letter…I was hurt and confused, but the ink hadn’t even dried on the page before I knew I could never leave you. I shoved the papers in my desk and never thought of them again.”

  She drew in a shaky breath, but she didn’t speak, and she didn’t touch him.

  Nick grabbed her hand and pressed it to his cheek. “Please, Violet. Italy, Catalina—the moment I met you, they ceased to exist for me.” He dragged her hand down to his chest and pressed her palm against his heart. “You must know how much I love you. So much that breaking your heart would be the same as breaking my own.”

  She’d kept very still since he touched her, but a tremor passed through her at his words, then slowly, so slowly he thought his heart would cease beating, a tremulous smile lit her face. “You love me?”

  Nick wrapped his hands around her waist and eased her from the chair into his arms. “Madly. How could I not? I’ve loved you since the day you took me to the burial grounds and demanded I hand over my walking stick so you could dig for bones.”

  That made her smile, but it faded quickly, and Violet hid her face against his chest. “I—I’m sorry, Nick. I shouldn’t have left Ashdown Park without speaking to you first. I thought…well, it doesn’t matter now.” She let out a ragged sigh and wrapped her arms around his neck.

  “What did you think? I don’t want any more secrets between us.” She tried to look away, but Nick tilted her face up to his with a fingertip on her chin. “Violet?”

  “It’s just that you’ve been so secretive lately, and then there was this sudden trip to London, and you didn’t come to me last night. When I saw the papers, I…well, I put all those things together, and assumed the worst.”

  “I didn’t come to you, sweet, because you were unwell. I’m not such a brute I’d force my attentions on my ill, exhausted wife. Though perhaps I am a brute, after all, because I nearly yielded to temptation a dozen times that night. I had to move to another bedchamber, because it was driving me mad knowing you were just on the other side of the connecting door.”

  She flushed, but her eyes were sparkling. “I’m never too ill to receive your attentions, my lord.”

  “No?” His gaze dropped to her lips just before he lowered his mouth to hers, his kiss tender and demanding at once. When they broke apart at last, they were both breathless. “As far as my being secretive, well…I’ve been working on something for you. A gift.”

  Violet’s eyes widened. “A gift? You mean the whispering with Gibbs and the sneaking about the house was all because you were planning a gift for me?”

  “Yes. I have part of it here with me, but you’ll have to wait until we return to Ashdown Park to see the rest of it.” Nick urged her to sit down in the chair again, then fetched the leather satchel he’d dragged all the way back to London and pulled a large, paper-wrapped package from it.

  Violet eyed it with interest. “It’s heavy.”

  Nick grinned. “I know. I’ve carried it to London and back twice now. Open it.”

  He lai
d it carefully in her lap, and Violet slid her fingers under a flap in the paper covering and smoothed it back. “Oh, my,” she breathed when she lifted the book from the wrappings. “It’s so fine.” She smoothed her palm over the dark green leather binding and traced a reverent finger over the gilt-edged pages.

  “I think you’ll like the frontispiece.” Nick knelt next to her chair and opened the book to the title page.

  Violet gasped softly, then reached up to press a shaking hand against her mouth. “Oh, my goodness. Oh, Nick.”

  He brushed his lips over her ear. “Read it to me, sweet.”

  It took Violet a moment to catch her breath, but at last she whispered, “A Treatise on London for Bluestockings and Adventuresses.”

  “All your essays, and your sketches.” Nick turned over a few pages until he reached a page entitled List of Illustrations. “Cockpit Steps and Execution Dock—they’re all here. The publisher, John Murray, was astounded at how much information you’d gathered. He’s already asked to see your next work, and…Violet? Don’t cry, sweetheart.”

  She looked up at him, her lower lip trembling. “I just…I can’t believe you did this for me.”

  He looked surprised. “But…don’t you know, Violet? I’d do anything for you.”

  Violet stared down at the book on her lap, running her fingertips over the page, her eyes swimming with tears.

  Nick tipped her face up and caught the drops on his fingertips. “More tears? What’s the matter, sweet? Don’t you like it?”

  Violet turned her face to press a soggy kiss into his palm. “I love it. I love you, so much, Nick. More than I can ever tell you.”

  “Oh, love. You don’t need to tell me.” He brushed a soft kiss on her lips, then lay his hand gently on her belly. “You’ve already shown me.”

  Chapter Twenty-four

  “It smells like paper, and fresh ink. Have you given me my own library?” Violet reached behind her head and tried to tug off the scarf Nick had tied around her eyes. “Take this off, Nick! You’ve made me wait long enough to see it.”