The Duke of Ice

by Burke, Darcy

  “Good evening, Your Grace,” Cassie said before sipping from her glass of ratafia. “We were just talking about you.”

  “Were you?” His gaze drifted to Violet, and she detected a bit of humor.

  “We were trying to place you,” Andy said. “I remembered you from when you used to live here. Before you were a duke. Kilve isn’t that far—do you come back often?”

  “No, actually. But I may rectify that. I’d forgotten how much I enjoy Bath.” He slid a look at Violet, a smile teasing his lips. She stared at him, trying to silently communicate that he should refrain from saying such things. Honestly, it wasn’t what he was saying but how he was saying them. He was flirting. In front of people. She wasn’t ready for that. And frankly, she was surprised he was.

  Cassie abruptly stood. “I need to visit the retiring room. Please excuse me.”

  Andy’s mouth twitched in the barest grimace at her sister’s indelicate comment—Cassie was not the most socially astute—and hastened to join her. “I’ll go with you.” She smiled at both Violet and Nick. “Lovely to see you both. You should come round for tea, Violet.”

  “I’ll do that, thank you.” While she wasn’t close friends with the sisters, she would count them above acquaintances. They were quite intelligent, if a bit eccentric.

  After they left, Violet sagged against the back of her chair.

  “Is something the matter?” Nick sat down beside her.

  “They remembered that we’d been acquainted eight years ago.”

  “So?”

  “So they also noticed that we danced tonight.” She glanced around, wondering if anyone was looking in their direction. “Do we want to draw attention to ourselves?”

  He was quiet a moment. “I hadn’t considered that. I suppose we must—consider it, I mean.”

  “It seems prudent not to appear as if we are courting.”

  “The rules are a bit different once you’re widowed, aren’t they?” He gave her a rueful smile. “I admit I don’t really know.”

  She laughed softly. “I don’t either. I just know that we need to be careful. And with that, I think I’ll go home.”

  “Did you walk? I could escort you.”

  “I didn’t—my house isn’t quite close enough, particularly given tonight’s abysmal weather.” They’d arrived amid a cold, persistent rain.

  “I know where your house is. Mine is at the near end of Royal Crescent.”

  She stared at him. “That’s not far from mine at all. You planned that.”

  His slow smile was thoroughly self-satisfied. “I’ve planned everything.” He lifted a shoulder. “Almost. It all depends on you, of course. If you’d like to leave now, I think I might too. I may have somewhere to be, actually.” He looked at her in question. No, in invitation.

  “I do believe I’m ready to retire.” She stood, and he made a show of taking her hand and bowing.

  “Until we meet again, Lady Pendleton.”

  Violet’s heart thundered, and her breathing quickened. Anticipation raced through her, and she had to work to modulate her steps as she made her way from the tearoom. She was achingly aware of his gaze burning into her back.

  It took forever to get her coach, and when she didn’t see Nick leave the Assembly Rooms behind her, she worried that he wasn’t coming. However, as her vehicle departed, she caught sight of him exiting.

  As soon as she reached her small town house, she informed her butler that she was retiring. He would also retire, which would leave the night footman. Violet’s maid, Chalke, who also served as the housekeeper, would go down to her chamber as soon as she finished helping Violet prepare for bed.

  She wondered how Nick would get into the house, but since he’d said he’d planned everything, she had to assume he had things well in hand. Did that include knowing the location of her bedchamber?

  Chalke, a middle-aged woman with bright red hair, met her at the door to her room. “Good evening, my lady. Did you have a pleasant time?”

  Violet smiled at the maid, whom she’d hired when she’d moved to Bath two and a half years ago. She’d liked Chalke immediately. The woman had a motherly air about her but also a sense of mischief and warmth that Violet had sorely needed in her life after Clifford’s death. “I did, thank you.” She walked into her dressing room, Chalke trailing her.

  Violet set down her reticule and removed her earrings while Chalke unfastened the pearls adorning Violet’s neck. “Did you dance?” the maid asked.

  “I did.” Violet set the jewelry on the dressing table.

  After setting the necklace beside the earrings, Chalke began unlacing the back of Violet’s gown. “But you didn’t stay for the whole ball. Are you feeling all right?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  Chalke made a noise in her throat that sounded a bit like disapproval. “I can feel how tense you are. If you don’t tell me what’s the matter, I’ll make you drink one of my toddies. And not the ones you like either.”

  Violet looked over her shoulder and met Chalke’s eyes. “Are you threatening me?”

  Chalke gave her a smile that was really more of a smirk. “I’m fussing. I think you secretly like that.”

  “I’m fine, truly.”

  “You’ve been on edge a few days now. It’s as if you’re waiting for something to happen.” Chalke helped her out of the dress and took it to the armoire. “You can confide in me. If you want to.”

  Yes, she could talk to her. In fact, Violet had done that many times during Chalke’s employment. She knew all about the man from Violet’s past—the one she’d fallen love with and had to walk away from. What Chalke didn’t know was that Violet had become reacquainted with that man. Violet hadn’t wanted to talk about him, not when it seemed she was moving forward alone. Then when he’d appeared at the Sydney Hotel, she’d been afraid to share her excitement. She was so afraid it would evaporate. Yes, she was waiting for something to happen—good or bad.

  Violet kicked off her shoes. “You remember the man from my past?”

  “The one you met here in Bath?” Chalke returned to unlace her corset.

  “The same. I didn’t tell you, but he was at Hannah’s house party.”

  Chalke’s eyes widened as she looked up at Violet. “You’ve been keeping secrets! How lovely.” She chuckled softly. “I imagine it was wonderful to see him.”

  “It was certainly surprising. Well, he’s here now.”

  Chalke removed the corset and set it aside before returning to help take the petticoat over Violet’s head. “Here in Bath? That’s extraordinary! Was he at the ball tonight?”

  “He was.”

  “It’s no wonder you’re apprehensive. Is there a hope that you’ll reconcile?”

  “Yes.” But that was all she had right now—a hope. They’d discussed nothing about the future. Which they shouldn’t. Not until they determined if they would suit. She wanted to know so many things about him. Maybe she could ask him tonight, provided he actually came.

  Do you think there will be talking?

  Violet stifled a smile.

  “I can sense the joy in you. I do hope it all works out.”

  “Thank you, Chalke.”

  When Violet was ready for bed, she went into her chamber and paced. Her window overlooked the tiny back garden, which was so dark, she wouldn’t be able to see him—if he even came that way.

  If he came at all.

  Why was she doubting him? Because she still couldn’t quite believe he was here, that they might have a chance.

  Teeming with nervous energy, she tightened her dressing gown around her and left her chamber. She made her way downstairs to the front sitting room. The street was somewhat illuminated, with lanterns spilling light at intervals.

  Suddenly, she heard a commotion from downstairs. There came the distinct sound of a cat howling followed by a woman shrieking and then crockery shattering.

  Violet dashed to the back stairs and flew down to the lower level. What she saw in
the kitchen made her slap her hand over her mouth and her eyes goggle in shock.

  Sprawled on the floor was Nick. The cook, Mrs. Spindle, stood over him, her chest heaving and her face bright red. She jabbed her finger toward him. “Thief!”

  Chalke rushed into the kitchen in a state of half-dress, a robe pulled over her chemise but not yet fastened, carrying a candle. “What the devil?”

  “A thief!” Mrs. Spindle repeated.

  Violet lowered her hand. “He’s not a thief.”

  Chalke met her eyes for a moment, then laughter spilled from her mouth. “Oh my goodness.” She knew precisely who their guest was.

  “He’s, ah, a friend of mine,” Violet said lamely.

  “Yes, a friend,” Chalke said, trying to stop laughing.

  The butler ran into the kitchen at that moment, his coat askew and his hair tousled. “What—” His gaze took in the scene, and he looked to Chalke, blinking.

  “We’ve a minor situation.” Violet summoned a serene smile that was quite at odds with the thundering of her heart. “Nothing I can’t handle if you’d care to go back to bed, Lavery.”

  The butler straightened his coat. “I heard Mrs. Spindle shout ‘thief.’ Do I need to alert the magistrate?”

  “No, thank you, Lavery,” Violet said hurriedly. “There’s no thievery going on. Just a bit of a commotion.” She smiled at him, hoping he would take himself off to bed.

  “Look at this mess.” Mrs. Spindle gestured to the shards of pottery littering the floor. “He tripped over Ginger’s dish of milk and then sent some of the crockery flying. Thief or no, he’s a menace.”

  Ginger, the orange tabby cat, came prowling back into the kitchen. She approached Nick, who gave her a stern stare. In response, she nuzzled his arm and began to purr.

  “Traitor,” Mrs. Spindle muttered.

  Nick stroked the cat’s head before standing. “I beg your pardon for breaking the pottery. Perhaps the doorway is not the best place for a cat dish.”

  “Perhaps stealing into people’s houses isn’t the best way to spend an evening!” Mrs. Spindle retorted.

  “So there is thievery?” Lavery asked, sounding incredibly perplexed. He looked at Chalke, who couldn’t seem to stop laughing. Violet had to acknowledge the entire situation was rather amusing.

  “It’s an excellent alarm should anyone—like you—decide to invade Lady Pendleton’s house.” Mrs. Spindle turned to Violet. “Why would your friend sneak in the back door?”

  Chalke stopped laughing with a cough. She touched the cook’s arm while gesturing for Violet to take Nick upstairs. “Let me help you clean up, Mrs. Spindle.”

  Violet took Nick’s hand and dragged him up the stairs to the ground floor. She continued up, but halfway to the first floor, she turned and broke into laughter, unable to control herself any longer. “What the devil were you doing?”

  The light in the stairwell was dim from the wall sconce, but she could make out the arch of his brow. “Isn’t it obvious?”

  “I suppose so, yes, but couldn’t you have been more…discreet?”

  “I rather thought sneaking in through the servants’ entrance was discreet.”

  She laughed harder, shaking her head.

  “Will this be a problem?” he asked. “Of course not. Otherwise, you would have had me leave.”

  Taking a deep breath, she wiped at her eyes. “My maid will set things right with Mrs. Spindle.”

  “What about your butler? He seemed perturbed. When he wasn’t confused, that is.”

  Violet started laughing again, and Nick put his hand beneath her elbow. He guided her up the stairs. “Let’s get to your chamber.”

  She paused on the next landing, gasping for breath. “Do you know where that is?”

  He hesitated before saying, “No.”

  “So, let me understand,” she said, trying not to laugh again and failing. “Your plan was to sneak into my kitchen and skulk about my house until you happened upon my bedchamber?”

  “I don’t, as a rule, skulk—”

  She waved a hand to cut him off and managed to stop laughing for a moment. “Oh, I think you skulked plenty at Hannah’s party.”

  “Skulking is not the same as brooding.” He snaked his arm around her waist and drew her tight against his chest.

  The laughter left her in a whoosh, but her elevated heart rate didn’t calm. If anything, her pulse increased. “I suppose it isn’t.”

  “Now, would you like to lead me to your chamber, or should I continue with my plan right here?” His fingers curled into her back and his other hand clasped her waist, holding her firm against him. The fabrics of her night rail and robe were much thinner than her regular clothes. She could feel him—his heat, his hardness, everything—quite distinctly. Her knees threatened to give way, and she could just imagine toppling him down the stairs. This night only needed that.

  No, this night needed him to take her to her chamber. Now.

  “Up to the next floor, turn left, first door on the left.” She sounded breathless and desperate. Which made sense since she was both of those things and so much more.

  “I don’t know.” He lowered his head and lightly brushed his lips along her neck, causing her to shiver. “There’s something delectably naughty about our current situation.” He licked a path to her ear.

  “The servants could come up at any moment.”

  “Exactly.”

  Oh dear, the servants. What on earth would they say? She imagined Chalke would congratulate her—she’d said many times that she only wanted to see Violet happy. But Mrs. Spindle? Or worse, Lavery? He would be shocked. Knowing that didn’t change her mind.

  She tangled her hands in the thick, dark crop of his hair. “I don’t care where we are, so long as we’re together.”

  His hand moved up her back and cupped her neck, positioning her so that he could take her mouth. And take it he did. His lips crushed hers in reckless abandon, his tongue sweeping inside to claim what she would freely offer.

  After a thorough and quite pleasurable exploration, he swept her into his arms. She clasped her arms around him as he strode up the stairs. He managed to open the door to the first floor with his hand and keep hold of her quite securely. He easily found her chamber, and once they were inside, he carried her to the bed, where he laid her gently on the coverlet.

  “Shall I lock the door?” he asked.

  “I’m not sure it’s necessary,” she said wryly. “Everyone knows you’re here. I daresay we won’t be disturbed.”

  He stood near the bed and swiped his hand over his mouth. The light from the candle next to her bed flickered across his handsome features. “Should I go? I didn’t mean to create a mess.”

  “It’s not a mess I can’t tidy. And anyway, I don’t care.” She’d spent too many years dreaming of him, wanting him. There was no way she would turn him away. Not now. Probably not ever. She knelt up on the bed and drew her robe away from her body, then dropped it to the floor. “Come here.”

  He moved next to the bed and looked down at her, his eyes a dark, turbulent gray.

  “You are overdressed, Duke.”

  “Perhaps you’d like to remedy that, my lady.”

  “With pleasure.” Violet tore apart the knot of his cravat and pulled the fabric from his neck. She slid her hands down to his chest and pushed his coat from his shoulders. As the garment fell to the floor behind him, she unbuttoned his waistcoat. All the while, she stared into his eyes, not wanting to break the connection moving between them. It had been so long since she’d felt close to someone. And now that he was here, she wanted to savor every moment.

  He shrugged out of the waistcoat and backed away, giving her a flash of alarm. “I’m taking off my boots.”

  She exhaled, watching as he perched on a chair in the corner and removed his boots. His stockings followed, and he padded barefoot to the bed.

  Reaching for him, she pressed her palm against his chest. His heart beat strong and sure beneath
the linen of his shirt. She pulled the hem from his waistband and pushed the fabric up his chest. He lifted his arms and whisked the shirt over his head.

  As the bare expanse of his chest was exposed to her, she splayed her hands across his muscles. He was so different than he’d been before—harder, wider. “You look as if you do manual labor.” She ran her fingertips over his flesh, loving the feel of him.

  “I work with my tenants on occasion. And I ride. And fish, of course.”

  She smoothed her hands over his collarbones, shoulders, and down his biceps. “You still row.” She remembered the day he’d taken her out on the canal at Sydney Gardens.

  “I do. It’s a bit trickier in the ocean.”

  She looked at him sharply. “Is it safe?”

  “Is anything?”

  She wondered at his question, but not for long as he drew her night rail over her head. Cool air rushed over her, and her nipples stiffened beneath the chill.

  “You look cold. We can’t have that.” He lowered his head and drew her flesh into his mouth, his lips caressing her breast as he tongued her nipple.

  Desire gripped her hard and fast as sensation rioted through her. It had been so long since she’d been touched like this. She couldn’t compare him to Clifford. There was no similarity whatsoever aside from the fact that they were in a bed.

  He cupped her breasts, lifting them as he feasted on first one and then the other, his lips and tongue wreaking delicious mayhem on her senses. She closed her eyes and cast her head back, giving herself over to his touch.

  With one hand, he clasped the back of her neck and eased her back until she was lying flat across the bed. She stretched her legs out, and they dangled over the edge of the mattress. He stood between them, the wool of his pantaloons brushing her bare thighs.

  Continuing to lavish attention on her breasts, he moved one hand to her clitoris. He’d taught her that word eight years ago just before he’d given her the first orgasm she’d ever experienced. Then he’d explained how he was going to put his mouth on her there. She’d tried to stop him, horrified that he would suggest such a thing. But then he’d kissed her flesh, and she’d come undone.

  He parted her folds with his fingers while his thumb worked to build the pressure inside her to a boiling point. She cried out as her hips began to move of their own accord. She couldn’t have stopped her body’s responses if she’d wanted to.