The Duke of Ice

by Burke, Darcy

  No one would have dared ask a duke to do that, but Nick didn’t mind. On the contrary, he liked feeling useful, particularly to people he knew and liked. Eames had been a dear friend of his uncle’s. Nick felt suddenly contrite for not keeping in touch with the man.

  “I wouldn’t mind at all.” He took himself off and went to have Eames’s cup refilled at the pump. While there, he obtained two more cups for Violet and himself. He looked over at her where she sat next to Eames, their heads bent together in conversation. She laughed at something the man said, and Nick could only imagine what story he was relating.

  Balancing the three cups, he made his way back to the table. “Here we are.”

  Eames took his mug. “Thank you, thank you. Now sit. I’m regaling the fair Lady Pendleton with stories of your youth, such as the time you and your brother sneaked into the Cross Bath.”

  Nick groaned. “We got into so much trouble for that.” His uncle had banished Nick and Maurice to the stables for a week.

  “Aye, but your uncle and I laughed about it.”

  “That’s nice to know now,” Nick said wryly.

  Eames looked at Violet as he lifted his cup. “Do you live here in Bath, Lady Pendleton?”

  “I do, yes. It seemed a nice place to settle after my husband passed. I spent some time here in my youth and have many fond memories. Residing here kept them close in my mind.” Her gaze strayed to Nick, and she gave him a shy look.

  She’d moved here to feel closer to him, to what they’d shared? He hated her for years, and apparently, she’d felt the opposite. But what could he have done differently? She’d married someone else.

  Eames looked to Nick. “Your uncle’s estate is doing quite well. Mr. Prendergast has proved an excellent farmer.”

  Nick had sold the farm after inheriting the dukedom. He hadn’t wanted anything that reminded him of all he’d lost. “I’m glad to hear it.”

  “You should go and pay him a visit if you can,” Eames suggested. “I presume you’re here because of the Queen. I imagine it’s busy being a duke. So many demands and requirements.”

  As Nick sipped from his cup, he noted Violet’s keen interest. She looked between him and Eames with the fascination of a thrilling shuttlecock match.

  “It’s certainly not anything I anticipated having to learn.”

  “Nor did your uncle. He was bloody shocked when his cousin and his heirs passed.”

  Nick recalled the letter he and Maurice had received after that had happened. Uncle Gilbert had summoned Maurice home because he’d suddenly become heir apparent to a dukedom. But he’d never made it. They’d gone to battle at Badajoz a few days later, and Maurice had died.

  “Then your poor brother…” Eames’s voice trailed off, and Nick was glad the man hadn’t completed that thought. This entire line of conversation was pushing him to a place he was trying to get away from.

  Eames drank more of his water, then clacked his cup on the table. He turned to Violet. “How did you make His Grace’s acquaintance?”

  Violet’s eyes darted to his, and he saw the question there. “We were recently in attendance at the same house party.”

  It wasn’t an outright lie.

  “A house party? I’ve never been to one. What do you do there?”

  “Any number of things,” Violet said. “There was dancing, an excursion to St. Andrew’s Cathedral in Wells. And fishing.”

  Eames looked at Nick, his eyes gleaming. “I expect you enjoyed that. Do you remember bringing me fish?”

  “I do.” He and Maurice often caught so many, they had to share them with the neighbors. Eames had always been their first stop. “Lady Pendleton didn’t mention the archery where she won the ladies’ contest.”

  The older gentleman turned an admiring look upon her. “Did you now? Well done.”

  She blushed prettily. “The Duke won the men’s contest.”

  Eames chortled. “Well, aren’t you a match, then?” He finished the last of his water, then climbed to his feet. Nick started to rise, but Eames waved him down. “Sit, my boy. Er, Your Grace. It was a pleasure seeing you. If you get out to Prendergast’s, I hope you’ll stop in and visit me.”

  Nick gave him a warm smile. “I’ll do that.”

  Eames bowed to Violet. “A pleasure, my lady.”

  “The pleasure was mine,” she said softly. As they watched him go, her lips curved up. “What a charming gentleman.” She turned to Nick. “You knew him well?”

  “He was a good friend of my uncle’s.”

  “I remember you speaking of him—your uncle. I’m sorry I didn’t meet him.” She sipped her water. “What happened? He inherited the dukedom, and it passed briefly to your brother?”

  “No. My brother was killed in battle before he could get home. When I became the heir apparent, I was discharged, but I didn’t make it back to England before Uncle Gilbert passed away.”

  She reached for him across the small table but stopped before she touched his hand. “I’m so sorry.”

  “I’d rather not speak of it,” he said. “At least not today. Not here.”

  She nodded in understanding, and they were quiet a moment before she said, “I confess I’m not certain how to proceed. You said you wanted to see if we would suit.”

  “I do. But I suppose that doesn’t matter if you aren’t in agreement.”

  “I’ve spent eight years wishing we could start over, that things could be different.” She looked away sharply. “I know that isn’t really possible.”

  He hated the sadness and regret in her tone, but couldn’t dispute it. “No, it isn’t.”

  “I suppose we should get to know each other—as we are now. As much as I loved yesterday, we can’t continue in that vein.”

  “No, nor was that my intent.” He’d thought to take them back to those glorious days, but he knew they’d have to resolve what lay between them. If they could. There were so many things he didn’t know about her and longed to. He started with something simple. “How did you become acquainted with Mrs. Linford?”

  Her eyes took on a sparkle, and she laughed softly. “It’s a terrible story, actually. Well, not terrible, but embarrassing. I was at my first ball in London after being married.” She cast him a nervous look, and he made a note to tell her that they couldn’t keep letting that come between them, not if they truly wanted to look to the future.

  She cleared her throat. “Hannah—Mrs. Linford—was there too. It was her second ball since marrying Irving. My husband left me immediately, and I didn’t see him again for the rest of the evening. Hannah and Irving were kind enough to take me home.”

  “He just abandoned you there?”

  She nodded. “I hadn’t yet realized I would enjoy myself far more. But it didn’t take me long to learn.”

  “He sounds like a complete wastrel.” If the man weren’t already dead, Nick would like to thrash him for treating her like that.

  “That is an excellent description,” she said. “Luckily, Hannah found me and stayed by my side all evening. We’ve been friends ever since.”

  “She seems a lovely woman,” he said, thinking that he ought to have behaved better at her house party. He thought of Violet chastising him for nearly ruining her party and winced.

  “What is it?” Violet asked.

  “I was just thinking that I should have liked to have gotten to know Mrs. Linford better during her party. I was, er, out of practice when it came to socializing.”

  “You said as much,” Violet said wryly. “Not that anyone would have mistaken you for a gadfly.”

  He laughed at that, trying to imagine himself running about chatting with people. “I’m not sure I ever would’ve been taken for that.”

  “Doubtful, but I remember you being quite amiable. As I said yesterday, women threw themselves at you—and that was before you were a duke. What happened after you inherited? I would’ve liked to have seen that.” Her voice had grown more tentative with the question and subsequent declar
ation. Again, she was being cautious, not that he blamed her.

  He took a drink of his water. “I went to London for the Season—that was 1813. It was difficult. I hadn’t acclimated to being a duke, but it seemed I should just get on with it.”

  Violet hadn’t spent any other seasons in London. Clifford had said it wasn’t necessary, but she knew it was so that he could carry on his lascivious activities without her around. “Is that when you met your wife?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you fall in love?” Violet tried to keep her voice nonchalant.

  “Violet,” he rasped. “Do you really want to talk about this?”

  “We need to understand each other. Learn each other. I would like to know everything that happened to you.”

  And he wanted the same from her. He’d seen the flash of pain in her eyes when she’d mentioned her husband. Speaking of him couldn’t be easy, especially to her former lover.

  “I met Jacinda very soon after I arrived in London. She was the epitome of grace and kindness, and I knew she’d make an excellent duchess. I didn’t fall in love with her.”

  “Oh.”

  He let a laugh escape. “You sound relieved.”

  She cringed. “I didn’t mean to. I’ve no wish to disrespect your wife.”

  “She understood that I didn’t love her. She used to say that she had enough for both of us.” His chest constricted as remorse poured through him. She’d deserved more than he could give. If he’d been honest at the start, he might have felt differently. But then he hadn’t known he wouldn’t love her. He hadn’t realized that his heart had still belonged to Violet. And probably always would.

  He finished his water. “Did you love your husband?” He suspected he knew the answer already and was every bit as relieved as she’d been.

  “Absolutely not.” The words came fast and vehement. “My parents arranged the marriage, and it was as horrid as I’d anticipated it to be.” She took a deep breath, and the color that had flooded her cheeks receded a bit. “I blamed myself, thinking it was a terrible match because I still loved you. I tried to be fair, to give it—him—a chance, but he was an awful man.”

  They’d conversed very quietly, and between the music and the discussion around them, he was certain no one could hear what they said. Even so, this seemed too private to share here.

  “Do you want more water?” he asked.

  She blinked at him, likely due to the abrupt change in topic. “Are we taking the full recommended amount?”

  “I don’t feel required to do so, do you?” When she shook her head in the negative, he continued, “Then let us depart.” He stood and offered his arm.

  She took it, and they walked toward the exit. “Did I say something wrong?”

  “Not at all. I just think our conversation might be better suited to a different venue.” He escorted her outside. “Is your coach about?”

  She inclined her head down the street. “Down there.”

  “I’ll walk you to it.” As he pondered what she’d told him and what he’d discerned from her behavior, he concluded that her husband had been someone he’d like to meet in a boxing match—and beat to a pulp. “Did he ever hurt you?” He hadn’t intended to ask, but the question rose in his mind and spilled from his mouth.

  “Once.”

  Every muscle in Nick’s body tensed. But again he reminded himself, what could he have done? “If I’d known that, I would have killed him,” he said quietly, his gaze trained straight ahead.

  “It wasn’t more than what I deserved after what I’d done.”

  Nick stopped. He turned, uncaring of the spectacle he might cause, and clasped her hand while she still clutched his other arm. “Don’t ever say that.” Except he’d wished her ill—and he’d thought he’d suffered for his vengeful thoughts. They’d both lived a tangled mess. “You didn’t deserve that.”

  “I’m glad to hear you say so. Maybe now I’ll believe it.” She smiled up at him, hope shining in her eyes.

  God, he wanted to kiss her. Touch her. Hold her. Never let her go.

  But he’d already created enough of a scene. He withdrew his arm and took a step back. “Is this your coach?”

  She looked over her shoulder and nodded. The coachman jumped down to open the door for her.

  “Will you go to the fancy ball tomorrow night?” he asked.

  “I thought we were going to live in the present.”

  He flashed her a grin and saw the subtle change in her eyes—a seductive darkening that made his cock start to stiffen. “As it happens, there is a fancy ball tomorrow night—in the present.”

  She smiled back at him, and it took everything he had not to follow her into the coach and take her in his arms. “Then yes, I’ll go,” she said, turning to the door her coachman had just opened.

  Before she climbed inside, she looked at Nick over her shoulder. “Did you really come to pay your respects to the Queen?”

  He fixed her with an intense stare that carried the full weight of his desire. “No. I came for you.”

  Chapter 13

  When Violet entered the Upper Assembly Rooms the following evening, it was exactly like eight years ago—only worse. The women—and men—clamoring for Nick’s attention were four or five deep. She anticipated having to wait at least an hour for him to even see her.

  She’d underestimated him.

  Taller than most, he’d been able to see over the throng and instantly reacted to Violet’s arrival. He’d worked to excuse himself, and a scant five minutes later was at her side.

  Then he’d promptly asked to dance with her for the next set. It was the most joyous she’d seen him since running into him at Hannah’s. He danced as she remembered—his feet light, his smile broad, his laughter easy. And Violet felt as if she floated on air. If there’d been a more perfect night, she didn’t remember.

  Except she did remember.

  They’d danced eight years ago at that fancy ball, and it had been just as affecting. The only difference was that he hadn’t been accosted by people as soon as they’d left the dance floor. Now, however, he was a duke, and people liked to talk to dukes, particularly just before the Queen was due to visit and they were wrangling for an opportunity to attend her reception on Monday.

  Violet made her way to the tearoom for supper. She sat at a table with a pair of sisters who lived in Sydney Place. Lady Andromeda Spier was a widow like Violet, and her bluestocking younger sister, Cassiopeia Whitfield, was a committed spinster.

  The latter woman, who was the same age as Violet, adjusted her gold-rimmed spectacles. “How was the house party, Violet?”

  “Very nice, thank you.”

  “That was hosted by your friend, Mrs. Linford?” Andy asked. She and her sister were rather bookish and didn’t always pay attention to social events. In fact, Violet was a bit surprised to see them here tonight. They hadn’t danced, however.

  “It was, yes.”

  “Who was the gentleman you were dancing with?” Cassie picked up a cake and took a bite, her gaze politely inquisitive.

  Violet stifled a smile. It didn’t surprise her that Cassie had no idea who Nick was.

  “Oh, that was Mr. Bateman,” Andy said. “I remember him from when he lived here before. Don’t you?” She turned her head toward her sister. They looked somewhat similar—Andy with blonde locks while Cassie’s had a bit of red along with the gold. But their eyes were distinctive, even when one discounted Cassie’s spectacles. Andy possessed serene, intelligent gray eyes and Cassie’s were a bold hazel with sharp gold flecks.

  Cassie tipped her head to the side, considering her older sister’s question. “I’m not sure. Mr. Bateman…”

  “He’s the Duke of Kilve now,” Andy said, turning her head to Violet. “Isn’t that right?”

  Violet nodded.

  “And how do you know him?” Cassie asked rather absently as she picked up another cake.

  “They were acquainted before,” Andy answered before Vi
olet could.

  Violet froze. She hadn’t considered that anyone would know that. But acquaintance was nothing, she reasoned. Andy had just admitted to being acquainted to him back when he’d been Mr. Bateman. “Yes, I met him in Bath eight years ago—before I was married. We were reacquainted at Hannah’s house party.”

  Andy gave her a shrewd smile. “Well, he seems to have taken a liking to you. I remember thinking he liked you then too. Or am I misremembering?” She tapped her finger against her lip briefly before dropping it to her lap. “No, I’m quite certain, but then I am most observant.”

  Cassie rolled her eyes. “Yes, yes. We know.”

  Violet preferred to change the subject. She didn’t want to draw attention to herself or to Nick. Or worse, to both of them. Together.

  Why?

  Because what if nothing happened? What if they decided they didn’t suit?

  Yesterday’s conversation at the Pump Room had been revelatory, and even though he’d quite aroused her desire with his declaration that he’d come to Bath for her—she shivered again just thinking of the look he’d given her—she didn’t hold any illusions that things were perfect. There was still a great deal to resolve. But she’d been encouraged by what he’d said, that she hadn’t deserved her unhappy marriage. Perhaps they could find their way back to each other. She was almost afraid to hope.

  As if conjured by her thoughts, Nick entered the tearoom. He scanned the room, his gaze moving from table to table until he saw Violet. Upon finding her, he wove his way in her direction.

  Violet didn’t want him to come here. It would only increase the sisters’ speculation. On the other hand, it wasn’t as if they were gossips. Contrarily, they were rather private and kept to themselves.

  In any case, it was too late, because Nick was already at the table.

  “Good evening, ladies,” he said.