by Burke, Darcy
Even if he wasn’t to be married, she had to let him go. He was right about one thing—she deserved to be happy and unencumbered, and that meant freeing herself of the guilt that had bound her these past eight years.
It also meant unraveling the love in her heart. That, she knew, was going to take some time.
Raised male voices carried from the hall into the morning room, where she stood before the fire. She frowned and pivoted toward the doorway through which Chalke had recently departed.
“Your Grace, you must let me announce you!” Lavery sounded quite agitated.
Violet froze at the appearance of the unannounced visitor.
Your Grace.
Her brain should have made the leap, but she’d truly never expected to see him again and certainly not in her home.
Nick stood just over the threshold, his hat in his hand and his shoulders wet with snow that was rapidly melting into the dark wool.
Her traitorous heart leapt at the sight of him, but she did her best to emulate him and transform herself into the Viscountess of Ice. “You really ought to have let Lavery announce you. It’s polite.”
“I think we can both agree that I’m past polite,” he said, wincing.
“Well past, yes.”
Lavery hovered near the door, his ears red with anger. “Shall I escort him out, my lady?” He looked at her before adding, “Please?”
“Yes, I think that would be best.” She gave Nick her frostiest stare. “I believe your letter said everything that needed to be said.”
“No, it didn’t.”
“Come, Your Grace.” Lavery spat the honorific as if it were poison on his tongue.
Nick held up a hand. “Momentarily.”
Violet drew herself up and employed her haughtiest tone. “Do not speak to Lavery in that fashion. You’ll leave. Now.” She let her ire steal that last word, her tone elevating and her hands clenching at her sides.
Lavery, bless him, grabbed Nick’s arm and pulled him backward.
“I’m not getting married,” Nick blurted as he stepped back out of the room. “I wanted you to know. If there’s any way—”
Violet stalked forward and sneered at him. “I don’t know what you’re going to say, and I don’t want to. I have wasted too much of my life on you, and I refuse to give you another minute. Get out.”
Lavery gave him a surprisingly vicious tug, causing Nick to stumble. Violet flinched and nearly asked if he was all right. In the end, she held her tongue and watched as Nick turned and walked away, Lavery hard on his heels. She followed them, slowly, perversely enjoying this spectacle.
As soon as the door closed, Lavery spun toward her and tugged at the bottom of his coat to straighten himself. “I’m a bit disappointed I didn’t get to throw him out the door.”
Chalke hurried into the hall, her eyes wide. “Did I hear His Grace?”
“Yes. He came to inform me that he isn’t getting married.”
Lavery sniffed. “As if you would care.”
Violet stifled a smile. Her retainers knew far too much about her life, but that was her own fault. In the absence of a family, she’d forged relationships with them that were probably too familiar. But she didn’t care. She’d followed the rules and look where it had gotten her. Miserably married.
“Exactly right,” Chalke said with a definitive nod. She glanced at Violet. “I’m afraid I ran upstairs to see the commotion and left your toddy in the kitchen. I’ll just go and fetch it.”
Violet retreated to the morning room, where she enjoyed her toddy more than she’d anticipated. Having the opportunity not only to see Nick again but to react to his letter in person made her feel quite satisfied.
And yet her mind was already mulling the implications of what he’d said. He wasn’t getting married. He’d come here to tell her. Did that mean he wanted to reconcile? That seemed the logical conclusion, but she’d given up on logic where Nick was concerned. For a man made of ice, he was a slave to his emotions.
She sipped her drink and told herself again that none of it mattered. This changed nothing. She still needed to move on without him.
After she’d finished her toddy and felt sufficiently warm, she stood to find a book on the shelf. Lavery entered, his mouth curved into a half smirk. “He’s taken up a position across the street and is watching the house like a dog awaiting his dinner.”
Violet whirled about and looked out the window to the back garden. Snow was swirling in the air. It didn’t look to be sticking to the ground, but it was still very cold. She walked past Lavery and went to the front sitting room to see for herself.
There he was, his arms crossed and his hat pulled low over his forehead. Snow dusted his shoulders and the top of his hat. He had to be freezing.
Good.
And yet the longer she stood there, the less satisfied she felt. “He can’t stay out there indefinitely.”
“You don’t want to invite him back inside, do you?” Lavery sounded as if he’d battle her on that point.
“No, but neither do I want to watch him freeze to death.” She turned to the butler. “Would you go out and tell him to leave? Tell him he’s accomplishing nothing but perhaps ensuring he catches cold.”
“It would be my pleasure.” Lavery bundled himself up and went out into the darkening afternoon.
Violet watched at the window as the two men conversed. The interaction didn’t last long, and soon Lavery was back inside removing his greatcoat and hat.
She went into the hall to meet him. “What happened?”
“He refuses to leave until it’s dark. What’s more, he says he’ll return tomorrow and every day after that until you agree to see him.”
For the love of God. She was not going to let him make himself ill. “You told him there was no point to that?”
“I told him he could come every day until the end of time and you would still not admit him.” Lavery shook his head. “He actually smiled and said he’d take that chance, that he’d at least be able to see you coming and going and if that was all he could have, he’d take it.”
A loud sigh drew them both to turn. Chalke had come back to the hall. Her gaze had gone limpid, and her mouth curved into a half smile. “That is so romantic.”
Lavery scoffed. “It’s cracked is what it is.”
Violet had to agree it was romantic. And so like the Nick she’d met. Was he still in there?
Of course he was. He was just buried beneath fear and sadness and the inability to cope.
“Are you going to let him in?” Chalke asked.
For a brief moment, Violet considered it. “No.” She wasn’t sure she believed he’d come back every day for eternity, but decided it might be fun to find out.
Three days later, she decided he wasn’t going anywhere. It had snowed a couple of inches that first night, then the temperature had dipped. Through the cold and the snow swirling around his boots, Nick had spent two full days huddled across from the house. Yesterday, he’d worn a blanket draped around his shoulders, and Lavery had reported that someone had brought him something to drink. Something hot, he’d said, given the way Nick had cupped the mug and held it close to his face.
As she stood in front of the sitting room window, Violet decided that she had to put an end to this farce. She turned to Chalke, who’d come into the room a few moments ago. “Bring me my cape, my hat, and my gloves.”
Chalke’s brow creased, and she clasped her hands together. “You don’t need to go outside. That can’t be good for you.”
“I wasn’t ill; I injured my head.”
Lavery came into the sitting room, his face awash with surprise. “You can’t mean to speak with him?”
“I think I must, don’t you? I won’t be responsible for him catching cold. And, honestly, I worry the neighbors may complain soon.”
Chalke stared at her in confusion. “About a duke standing in front of their house?”
That did sound rather absurd.
“M
rs. Blevins tried to invite him inside earlier,” Lavery said.
Violet winced. Mrs. Blevins lived a few houses down the street with her five little dogs and an indeterminate number of cats. She dearly loved visitors, and once inside, you were captive for hours because she rarely stopped talking. “Oh dear, well then, at the very least, I need to warn him away from her.”
Against her judgment, Chalke wrapped Violet up tight. Before letting her outside, she made Violet promise to return within ten minutes.
After swearing she would only be gone five, Violet went outside and nearly lost her hat to the biting wind. Clamping her hand on the top of her head to keep the accessory from flying away, she walked down the steps. Before she could get to the sidewalk, Nick was in front of her.
“You shouldn’t be out here,” he said.
She stared at him from beneath her wrinkled brow. “Wasn’t your intent to lure me outside?”
“No, I was hoping you’d invite me in.”
“I thought it might be nice to get out.” Now that she was standing in the wind, she had to admit that thought was ill-advised. She blinked up at him. “I can’t believe you’ve endured this for two and a half days.”
“I would endure it forever if it meant I could see you.”
“Just see me?”
He looked at her intently. “I’ll take what I can get.”
“Why aren’t you marrying Diana?”
“Because I love you.”
The words she’d ached to hear for so long made her knees weak and her chest tighten. She pressed her lips together and glowered at him. “You didn’t realize that before you proposed?”
His gaze turned sheepish. “I did—I’ve always known it, no matter how much I tried to fight it.”
Violet crossed her arms over her chest and hugged herself tight against the cold. “Is that what you’ve been doing all this time—fighting it?”
“Among other things. As Simon aptly said, I’ve been a daft prick.” His mouth tipped into a crooked half smile.
She arched a brow at him, surprised at his sense of humor. “I knew I liked Simon.”
“I’m only sorry it took him to finally make me see sense. You were very patient with me, and I was… I was a coward.”
He was a coward, but she understood why. “I’ve been a coward too. I preferred to live in the past, in the only time I was truly happy.”
His answering smile was soft and bright. “That’s not cowardice. That’s self-preservation—and a much better solution than erecting a wall of ice around yourself.” His face darkened, and she tensed. “I know I’m different now. I don’t think I can be the Nick you fell in love with, not anymore. Can you accept me as I am?”
He sounded so unsure, so apprehensive, that the old, familiar cracks in her heart trembled. “No, you aren’t the same Nick, but I love you even more now than I did then.”
“After what I’ve put you through?” He sounded as if he wanted to thrash himself, and she supposed in some ways he had.
“Stunningly, yes,” she said wryly. She touched him tentatively, her hand grazing his great coat over his heart. “We both dealt with loss in our own way. Not that my loss can ever compare to yours.”
He stared into her eyes, every emotion she’d ever wanted to see from him naked in their depths. “We’ve both lost a great deal, especially time. I’d rather not lose another moment.”
“I just need to understand about Diana. Is she all right?”
“I’m assured she is. Though her parents are another story that we can discuss another time. Or never. Whatever you decide.” His smile came back. “That you’re concerned for her welfare only accentuates what a wonderful woman you are.”
“I still need… How do I know you won’t panic and run off again?”
“I can promise you I will panic again, particularly when you end up with child. But I won’t run again. At least not away from you. I point in one direction now, Violet—to you.”
Despite the cold, heat blossomed inside her. Until her brain processed what he’d said first—about children. She withdrew her hand from his chest. “Nick, I can’t give you any children,” she said quietly, her gaze dropping.
He clasped her shoulders, drawing her to look back up at him. “Maybe not. Or maybe you will. I will be happy either way.”
“Oh, Nick.” She stood on her toes and kissed him, but it was brief. The second his frigid nose brushed up against hers, she gasped. “You have to come inside.”
He grinned. “I thought you’d never ask.”
She turned and started up the steps. When they were inside, Lavery cast him a disgruntled look while Chalke smiled brightly. They each took Nick’s and Violet’s outerwear, respectively, and left them alone in the hall.
Nick took Violet’s hand. “Thank you for bringing me in out of the cold.”
“Does this mean you aren’t the Duke of Ice anymore?”
“Do you think we could convince people that I’m the Duke of Fire?”
She laughed. “Do you plan to rage at people?”
He shrugged. “I could. Honestly, I don’t care what anyone calls me—only you.”
She threaded her fingers through his. “And what do you prefer?”
“Friend, lover, husband?” He looked at her in question.
“If that’s supposed to be a marriage proposal, you’ll have to do much better than that.” She lifted their hands and held them to her chest as she moved to stand closer to him. “Are you sure you want to take this risk? Anything could happen—to either of us. You know there are no guarantees?”
He caressed her face, smiling down into her eyes. “There is one, actually: I will love you until the end of time.”
She fell into him, her arms encircling his neck. “Well then, how can I refuse?”
Epilogue
August, 1818
“You’ve a son, Your Grace!”
Nick, pacing outside his bedchamber where Violet had been laboring for the past nine hours, slumped against the wall.
“I’ll fetch the whiskey,” Rand muttered before clapping his hand on Nick’s shoulder. “Congratulations.” He couldn’t help but smile as he practically ran to deliver the good news. The entire household had held its breath. No one had mentioned the last time a child had been born at Kilve Hall, and yet he knew they were all thinking about it. How could they not? How could he not?
“Can I go in?” Nick tried to keep the fear from his voice, but was certain he’d failed miserably. The physician was quite aware of Nick’s terror—Violet had made the poor man promise to inform Nick of her progress every step of the way. She’d even negotiated for Nick to be present during her ordeal, but after six hours of watching her suffer, he hadn’t been able to stand another moment.
He really was a coward.
“Yes, do come in,” the physician urged. He opened the door and motioned for Nick to precede him.
The midwife was finishing up with cleaning Violet, while Chalke, grinning broadly, held the baby.
“Oh, Your Grace, he’s just beautiful.”
Nick didn’t doubt it. He was, after all, Violet’s son. And Nick couldn’t wait to hold him. But first he had to make sure she was all right.
With leaden steps, he moved to the side of the bed. She turned her head and smiled weakly at him.
Nick turned his head back sharply toward the physician behind him. “What’s wrong? She’s pale. She looks like she can barely lift her lips to smile.”
The man moved up to the bed beside Nick. “She’s exhausted, Your Grace, which is to be expected.”
Violet gently shook her head at him. “Really, Nick, I’d like to see what you’d look like after what I’ve been through.”
He’d be passed out, probably. He glanced over at the physician. “She’s fine?”
“Excellent. That was one of the easiest births I’ve ever attended. And I appreciated the fine assistance of Mrs. Gowdy here.” He nodded toward the midwife.
Violet had wan
ted both a physician and a midwife, and Nick had agreed. Why have just one child birthing expert when two were better?
“Where is Maurice?” Violet asked, using the name—his brother’s, of course—they’d chosen if they’d had a son.
He had a son.
The lad was astonishingly quiet. Last time… He shouldn’t think of that. Last time, Elias had squalled incessantly—until he’d become too weak to do so.
“I’m nearly finished here, Your Grace,” the midwife said. “Perhaps His Grace would like to hold his son?”
Before Nick could answer, Chalke transferred the babe into his arms. He was already so different from what Nick had expected. His head was covered in a fine blond down, and his eyes were a dark indigo. Maurice stared up at him in open curiosity, as if deciding whether Nick would measure up.
“Do I pass muster, then?” Nick asked softly. He touched his finger along Maurice’s brow. The boy scrunched his face, and Nick thought he might cry, but he didn’t. Nick looked between the physician and the midwife. “Why isn’t he crying? Shouldn’t he be crying?”
“He did at first,” the midwife answered, covering Violet’s legs and standing back from the bed. “I’ve cared for many babies who didn’t cry much in the beginning. Don’t worry. He’ll get hungry here in a bit, and then I suspect he’ll bawl loud enough to bring the rafters down around us.” She laughed.
The midwife proved an excellent prognosticator, because not ten minutes later, Maurice started wailing and didn’t stop until he latched on to Violet’s breast. Nick watched in wonder, scarcely believing how his fortunes had changed.
Later, when Maurice was asleep in the cradle next to the bed and Violet dozed, Nick stretched out beside her. He closed his eyes, tired but happy. The touch of his wife’s hand against his made him open his eyes and turn.
Fear seized him. “Are you all right?”
Her lips curved up, and she patted his chest. “I’m quite all right. Isn’t he amazing?”
“As perfect as you.” Nick kissed her forehead.
She snorted. “There is no such thing as perfect and nor would I want there to be—can you imagine trying to sustain that? I do, however, believe in miracles.” She gazed at Maurice in adoration. “I still can’t believe we did this. I told you it wasn’t possible.”