Nick was confused. “I thought we had.”

She traced her finger along his chest. “There are still things we don’t know—eight years is a long time.”

Her touch was distracting, and he was already thinking of the next things he wanted to do to her. “If you don’t stop that, there will be no words. At least none that aren’t ‘please,’ ‘don’t stop,’ or perhaps ‘harder.’”

Her hand stilled, but her lips turned up in a sultry smile. “You’re trying to avoid conversing.”

“Perhaps.” It wasn’t that he didn’t want to. Actually, it was precisely that. “It’s difficult for me to talk about the past.” That his present held joy was astonishing. He was afraid of ruining his fortune.

“Would you like me to start?” she asked softly, her lips curving into a gentle, sweet smile.

He brought her head down and kissed her. She pulled back after a moment, and he gave her a lopsided smile. “If you must.”

She swatted at his chest and lay down beside him, snuggling into the crook of his arm, her head on his shoulder. “I wished we’d run away together. In my mind, we did. I’d imagine us eloping to Scotland and never coming back. We’d live in a tiny cottage in the Highlands where we would have our children and our love, and we didn’t need anything else.”

It sounded idyllic. “Why the Highlands?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. Because it was far away, I suppose.”

“I imagined us farther than that—America.”

“Did you?” She leaned up to look at him again. “I thought you hated me.”

“I did, but once in a while, I’d let myself fantasize about what could have been.” Particularly when he’d been miserable on campaign with the Fourth. “If you hadn’t been—” He stopped himself before he said something crude he would regret. She didn’t deserve that. He’d meant what he’d said, that she truly hadn’t had any choices. His twenty-two-year-old self hadn’t been smart enough to know that. “Forgive me,” he said.

Her gaze turned soft. “There’s nothing to forgive.” She kissed his cheek, then settled back against him.

He found he wanted to know the specifics. After all this time, he could learn the truth. “How long after you left Bath did you marry Pendleton?” He recalled reading about it, but didn’t remember—or maybe he’d purposely forgotten.

“Almost immediately. It was about four weeks, I think. Just long enough for my father to arrange the marriage settlement and have the banns read.”

“You had no say in the marriage?”

“None. I sometimes wonder if they chose the worst possible person, someone who was bound to make me unhappy.”

When he thought of what she’d already told him about Pendleton, he wanted to rouse the man from the dead and kill him all over again. But perhaps his anger was misguided. Perhaps he ought to direct it toward the living—namely, her mother and father. “Surely your parents wouldn’t be so cruel?”

“I wouldn’t have thought so, but they refused to let me marry the man I loved.”

Loved. She used the word in the past tense. He thought she loved him still, but she hadn’t plainly said so. Did he love her? He’d loved her then—as much as he’d grown to hate her, he didn’t doubt that he’d loved her first.

“Tell me about Pendleton,” he said gruffly, both wanting to stoke his hatred of the man and realizing it would be torture to hear. He suspected she wanted to reveal her secrets. She’d been the one to ask for this conversation.

She hesitated before asking, “What do you want to know?”

“Whatever you want to tell me.” And when it became too much, he would say so.

“He was a philanderer. I hated being married to him.”

A philanderer...Nick tamped down his ire. What good would it do now? “I’m sorry to hear you had to endure such a marriage. And there were no children?” He, of course, knew she’d been unable to carry any, as Mrs. Linford had told him. He thought of her dream of the Highlands—there’d been children in it.

“I can’t carry them.” Her response was so faint, he had to strain to hear it. “I became pregnant several times. After the third loss, Clifford decided I wasn’t worth lying with. As sad as I was, my relief was greater.”

Nick squeezed her tight against his side. There was a unique pain associated with losing a child, and he suspected the desolation was the same even if they hadn’t been born. “Fate hasn’t been particularly kind to either one of us. How did Pendleton die?”

“A lengthy illness, compounded by excessive drink, I believe. And perhaps laudanum. He started taking it for coughing fits. By the end, he was ingesting far more than the prescribed amount.”

“I can’t imagine you were sad when he passed.”

“No, which made me feel a bit guilty.”

He kissed her head again. “You mustn’t.”

“Was your marriage happy?”

“Yes.” As happy as he’d expected to be after losing Maurice and then his uncle.

She propped herself up on her elbow and looked at him. “Just yes?”

His muscles tensed as discomfort tripped through him. “What more can I say that you would really want to hear, Violet?” He pushed himself up, thinking it was maybe time for him to go.

She sat up too and moved close to him, placing her hand on his shoulder. “Pardon me, please. I didn’t mean to press. I am sure she was a lovely woman; otherwise, you wouldn’t have chosen her.”

He angled his upper body toward her. She was so beautiful in the faint light of the candle behind her. Her eyes were rich and earthy, her hair pale and ethereal. She was a mixture of light and dark, of his happiest moments and his saddest. He didn’t want any more of the latter.

He lifted a lock of her hair from her shoulder and fingered the soft tresses. “I prefer not to look backward. That doesn’t mean I don’t want to share things with you. I just want to forge ahead.”

“I understand.”

“And right now, I’m focused on the fact that we are both here, and you make me feel lighter than I have in years.” A smile tugged at his lips. “Well, once I surrendered to your persistence.”

“My persistence?”

“You don’t think you were persistent at the house party?”

“I’m not sure what you mean. I wasn’t trying to pursue you.”

He ran his thumb along her jaw. “Truly?”

She tried to look him in the eye, but a laugh escaped her parted lips. “I tried not to. Your deterrence was rather effective.”

“It’s difficult not to be won over by a woman who can hold her own after tumbling out of a boat, who can win an archery contest with ease, and who is eager to help my dearest friend.”

“You make me sound far more exciting than I really am,” she said softly, looking away in embarrassment.

He put his finger beneath her chin and drew her to look at him. He stared into her eyes, willing her to believe him. “You are everything I want right now.” He’d stopped thinking about what he wanted, because those things kept disappearing. Even as he said the words, fear gripped him. Maybe he should go…

Before he could take flight, she cupped his face in her hands and kissed him. When she drew back, but only slightly, her brow curved into a provocative arch. “Right now?”

“I think so.” He pressed her back onto the mattress and came over her. “Unless you think I should go. I will need to leave before morning, in any case.”

She wrapped her arms around him and stroked the plane of his back, one hand trailing down to his backside. Her touch was divine and exactly what he needed to banish the darkness from his mind. He hoped forever, but accepted it would likely just be for now.

Darkness had a way of finding him.

* * *

The gentleman looking back at him from the glass was hardly familiar. Violet had insisted that he wear something akin to court dress, which he despised and had worn on only a very few occasions. Rather than have something made, he’d sent for one of his suits of clothing from London. Now he was trussed up in a costume of dark green with lilies of the valley embroidered on the coat. The Queen liked flowers.

He looked forward to seeing Violet in her court clothing, almost as much as he looked forwarding to divesting her of it.

They’d spent the last three days in a rapturous bliss. He’d taken her for a boat ride in the canal on Friday, and that evening, they’d happened—on purpose—to encounter each other at a party celebrating All Hallows’ Eve. It had been a festive affair, despite Nick exerting a great deal of effort to avoid the various games of divination. He didn’t need such things telling him his fortune, not when he could be assured it would be bad.

He’d meant what he’d told Violet—he wanted to live in the present and enjoy each moment. And that was precisely what they’d done. He hadn’t seen her today since he’d ridden out to meet the Queen’s procession. Tomorrow they would likely visit the Pump Room when the Queen was there, and the following day they would celebrate Gunpowder Treason Day with everyone else in Bath. It was, he realized, the happiest he’d been in a very long time. In forever, maybe.

Nick turned from the mirror. “Will I do, Rand?”

The valet sized him up and gave an approving nod. “Splendidly.” He handed Nick the three-cornered cocked hat, which Nick placed upon his head. “And now you are perfect.”

“Harrumph.”

Nick departed the house and climbed into his waiting coach. The traffic would be abominable as people had been crowding the streets all day. The city was so illuminated with lanterns that it almost seemed like day.

He wished he were fetching Violet along the way, but they’d decided they couldn’t arrive together. Still, he looked out at her house as they passed her street and saw her coach sitting before it. She hadn’t left yet. Good, he would watch her entrance.

He was one of the first to arrive at 93 Sydney Place, where he was shown into a sitting room to await the time when the Queen would receive visitors. A scant quarter hour later, he was treated to a sight that took his breath away.

Violet appeared in the doorway. She wore a gown of bishop’s blue velvet made wide and full with hoops. Snowy lace trimmed in gold fell from her sleeves, and several ostrich feathers stood high atop her head. Her blonde hair curled gently around her face, and sparkling sapphires adorned her ears and neck. She swept forward, and he couldn’t take his eyes from her.

She was intercepted by a few people, but her gaze found his, and her lips teased into a soft smile. Impatient, he went to her. It was then that he realized the embroidery on her dress was also lilies of the valley.

They exchanged pleasantries until the others moved on, leaving them alone, if only for a moment.

Moving to her side, he leaned close to her ear. “You look stunning.”

“Not as fine as you.” She raked his body with a lingering stare, causing his blood to heat and his body to harden in highly inappropriate places.

“Stop regarding me like that. We’re due to see the Queen at any moment.”

Violet gave him a saucy smile just before the footman announced the Queen was ready. There were several peers in attendance, but Nick outranked them all, save the Queen’s son, the Duke of Clarence, who was already with her. Of the guests in the sitting room, Nick was admitted to her presence first.

Queen Charlotte sat in a wide gilt chair. She looked a bit pale, but then she’d come to Bath to take the waters in an effort to improve her health. Though seventy-three, her large, dark eyes were still sharp.

After he bowed, she gestured for him to come stand beside her. “You do not come to court very often, Kilve.”

“I do not, Your Majesty. I beg your pardon.” He offered another bow.

“I know you were in mourning for a while. Presumably you aren’t any longer?”

“No.”

She nodded. “Good.”

Others were shown in, and they bowed and curtsied, answering the Queen’s questions with poise and grace. Violet came forward and dropped into a deep curtsey.

“Are those lilies of the valley, Lady Pendleton?” the Queen asked before turning her head to look at Nick. “And you are wearing them too,” she noted. “Do I need to be aware of a forthcoming match?” she asked him.

“No, Your Majesty. It is simply a coincidence.”

Charlotte’s full lips curved into a delighted smile. “A charming one.”

Once everyone had paid their respects to Queen Charlotte, she motioned for Nick to come closer. “I would be remiss if I didn’t thank you for your service. You fought at Badajoz, did you not?”

“I did, Your Majesty.”

“Such a terrible battle. Wellington has told me all about it—as much as I can bear.” She looked at him intently for a moment, then seemed to recall something, her eyes flickering. “You fought alongside your brother. Wellington told me that too. He was about to be discharged so that he could return home and inherit.”

That wasn’t quite right—Uncle Gil had still been alive at that time—but Nick didn’t correct her.

“So awful to have lived through such an ordeal and to lose your brother at the same time. I’m sorry for your loss, and we are deeply grateful for his sacrifice.”

Nick inclined his head. Misery and despair coursed through him while the old tang of terror soured his mouth. Ordeal wasn’t an adequate word. It had been hell on earth, and after Maurice fell, Nick hadn’t cared if he lived or died. He’d protected his brother’s body, fighting everyone off with a rage that some had later described as otherworldly. Nick couldn’t say because he didn’t remember the specifics after Maurice had taken his last breath.

His eye caught Violet watching him. She stood nearby, probably close enough to hear what the Queen had said. Observing the creases in her brow and the troubled set of her mouth, he’d say she had.

The audience ended a short time later, and Violet found Nick in the sitting room as people were departing for their coaches. His body thrummed with tension—the conversation with the Queen had unsettled him, and the confines of the reception room had made him restless.

“Are you—”

Nick cut her off before she finished. “I need to walk.” He abruptly turned and stalked from the house, taking to the sidewalk and devouring it in long strides.

He tried to push the distressing thoughts to the back of his mind, as he typically did, but for some reason Maurice’s face kept appearing to him. Teasing when they were boys, laughing before he’d bought his commission, gray and lifeless in the midst of battle.

The pernicious tendrils of despair wound around him. He clenched his fists at his sides as he walked, moving faster as if he could run from the fear that threatened to send him to his knees.

“Nick! Nick!”

He’d no idea how many times she shouted his name, but by the time he paused and turned toward the street, her coach was stopped several yards behind him. Her footman jumped down and opened the door, then helped her out.

She had to go slowly because of the ridiculous volume of her dress. But once she was on the sidewalk, she rushed to meet him. “Nick?”

He didn’t respond, just stared at her. He couldn’t think of a thing to say. His mind, overcome with emotion and memory, was shutting down. Good, perhaps then he could forget.

She took his hand. “Come with me.”

He didn’t object as she dragged him to her coach. He moved much more slowly than before, feeling as though he’d been coated in lead. Everything felt so heavy all of a sudden.

The footman helped her back into the coach, and Nick climbed in behind her, taking the rear-facing seat because her skirts were completely occupying the other one.

A moment later, they were on their way.

“What happened?” she asked.

“She asked me about Maurice.”

“I heard that.” Her voice was soft, comforting, and he calmed a little. “Do you want to tell me why you’re upset?”

“Not really.” He registered the disappointment in her eyes even though she tried to mask it. “I watched him die. I tried to save him, but I couldn’t.”

She came off the seat and knelt on the floor. Looking up at him, she rested her hands on his thighs. “Nick, I’m so sorry for all you’ve endured.”

All I’d endured. Yes, there’d been so much death, but in many ways, his brother had been the toughest loss. He and Maurice had grown up together. They’d lived while their siblings, their mother, their father had all perished. Through it all, including losing Violet, Nick had known that he would survive, that he would be all right—because he had his brother by his side.

“It’s… Sometimes it’s too much.”

Her hands moved gently over him, massaging his muscles, taking the bitter edge off his tension. “I wish I’d met him. You always spoke of him with such affection.”

“I’d give anything to have him back.” How many times had he whispered that plea in the dark days following Jacinda’s death? And again after Elias passed? If Maurice had been there, Nick could have managed so much better. Maybe the ice wouldn’t have taken over.

She knelt at his feet, touching him, stroking him, infusing him with quiet strength until the coach came to a stop.

“Where are we?” he asked.

“My house. Come inside and have a drink. Then you can walk home—if you want. I’ll send my footman back to let your coachman know you’ve gone home.”

A drink sounded good. Hell, several drinks sounded even better.

He climbed down from the coach and helped her to descend. Her skirts crashed into his legs before she moved toward the short flight of steps leading to her stoop.

“I should go.” He wasn’t fit company.

Her coach pulled away, leaving them alone in front of her house.

She turned to face him. “If you do, I’ll follow you. I’m not leaving you alone. Not until I’m satisfied you’re all right.”

“Violet, I’m fine. I’ve had years to cope with his death.” With all of it.

“Yes, and you became the Duke of Ice.” She stepped toward him. “Is that really who you want to be? Or would you rather be the man I’ve spent the past week with?”

He was content as the Duke of Ice. His life was ordered, simple, and, for the most part, without upset. But over the past week, he’d found joy again—to a point. He realized he was still controlled, still ensuring he managed his emotions.

She took his hand again and pulled him toward the house. He allowed her to move him several steps before he stopped short. She careened backward but quickly regained her balance.

He dropped her hand. “I need to go, Violet.”

“I’m not letting you.”

His despair hardened to anger. “It isn’t for you to decide.”

The door to her house opened, and the butler held it wide.

“We can’t do this in the street,” she said, her eyes narrowing. “Go. Inside. Please.”

She clasped his hand once more, her grip like iron, and gritted her teeth as she gave him a tug.

He wanted to dig his heels in, but he couldn’t bring himself to make a scene. He’d go inside, tell her to let him the hell alone, and then he’d leave.

Only, he underestimated Violet.

She greeted her butler with a wide smile that utterly belied the tension swirling between them. “We’re just going into the sitting room for a drink, Lavery.” She sailed into the room, and Nick reluctantly followed her.

As soon as he was inside, she closed the door behind him.

“What will your butler think?” he muttered.

“That we’re carrying on an affair, which is what he’s been thinking for days. And quite accurately.” She went to the sideboard and poured him a glass of something that looked like whiskey.

“You drink whiskey?” he asked, accepting the glass.

“On rare occasion. That’s been sitting there for quite a while, I’m afraid.”

He didn’t care. He tossed the lot down his throat and handed her the empty glass.

She returned to the sideboard and refilled it. This time, she took a sip before giving it to him.

He stopped himself before he drank. He didn’t want to be here. He felt his control slipping, and he didn’t want that to happen in front of her. “I need to go.”

“You keep saying that, but if you’d like to talk to me about Maurice—or anything else, I’m more than happy to listen. What I am not more than happy to do is stand by and watch you freeze over and withdraw.”

He glowered at her over the rim of the glass, then took a drink.

She stared at him and crossed her arms. “You can’t go back to being the Duke of Ice. It’s not good for you. This past week, you’ve been more like the old Nick, which I think was your intent given the way you recreated things we did before. So, let’s do what we can to keep him here.”

Yes, he had tried to reclaim what they’d shared, but he wasn’t the same person. Too much had happened. “The Nick you met doesn’t exist anymore. You keep focusing on the past. I’ve decided I don’t want to do that. I can’t do that.”

Lowering her arms, she came toward him, the feathers atop her head swaying. “Then we’ll find the new Nick, someone who doesn’t need to shield himself behind a wall of ice.”

She stopped in front of him, so close, but didn’t touch him. He burned for her just as he ached to leave. She’d push him to places he maybe didn’t want to go.

“What if I can’t do that? Everything that’s happened has made me who I am.”

“And I’m a part of that,” she said softly. Her gaze turned sad. “We can’t go back, but I still hope we can move forward.”

He wasn’t sure. Even now, those old feelings of bitterness stole over him. In his darkest moments, he’d blamed her for instigating a string of misfortune. Though he knew that none of it was her fault, it was difficult right now to differentiate that in the midst of his anguish.

His body hummed with buried emotions and suppressed need. Before he could force himself to turn and go, she placed her hand against his chest.

It was a simple contact, not even particularly intimate, but he felt it all the way to his core. And it provoked him to move—but not to leave.

He slipped his finger beneath the gold bandeau encircling her head, to which those ridiculous ostrich feathers were attached, and slid it from her hair. He grasped one of the feathers and tossed the headpiece to the floor. Then he pulled the pins from her curls, letting lock after lock of blond silk fall through his fingers.

When her hair was loose, he combed his hands through it, settling it like a veil over her shoulders. She was so beautiful, eyes sensuously narrowed, lips parted. Her tongue darted across her lower lip, and his control collapsed.

Clasping her back, he dragged her against him. He crushed his mouth over hers, seeking immediate entry to the pleasures within. Their tongues met and clashed as his hunger drove him to press her body tightly against his. But the damn hoops beneath her skirt kept him from feeling what he wanted.

He pulled his mouth from hers, nipping her bottom lip. She gasped, but it was an earthy, seductive sound. “Those bloody hoops,” was all he could manage to say. His body shook with need.

She stared at him, her eyes keeping his captive while she slowly raised her skirt. “Untie them.” She turned, presenting the ties that held the hoops around her waist.

Nick pulled at the ribbons, his fingers trembling. It took a bit longer than it should have, likely because he was fixated on the curve of her backside, clearly visible beneath the thin linen of her chemise, but he finally tugged them loose. He offered her his hand, helping her to step clear of the article.

She still had so many clothes on. The volume was prohibitive. He didn’t want to wait to disrobe her—he needed her now.

“Violet, I need to—”

He cut himself off as she turned and dropped to her knees before him. Wordlessly, she unbuttoned his fall and adjusted his smallclothes so she could find his stiff cock. Withdrawing his flesh, she stroked it from base to tip, using a stroke that was swift and sure, giving him precisely what he craved.

As she did this several more times, he closed his eyes and relaxed his shoulders, letting his head tip back. When the moist tip of her tongue connected with his sensitive skin, he moaned. Blood rushed to his balls, his cock, making him harder. He was desperate for her to take him into her.

Then she did. Her mouth closed over him, moving slowly until she took him as deep as she could. Her retreat was even more enthralling, her lips and tongue sending curls of ecstasy writhing through him. When she moved forward once more, she picked up her pace, and her hands clasped his hips, her fingertips digging into his flesh.

His need built, his pelvis moving with her. He tried not to thrust into her mouth, but it was so hard to hold himself back. He tried to regain the control he’d abandoned a few minutes ago, but it was more than just elusive—it was completely gone.

He opened his eyes an infinitesimal amount and tipped his head down. Her hair fell around them like a cascade of gold, the silken locks brushing his thighs. Her lips, pink and perfect, surrounded him. It was the most erotic thing he’d ever seen. And he was going to spill himself in her mouth.

Somehow finding a thread of control, he withdrew from her. Reaching down, he gripped her arms and pulled her to her feet.

He stalked to the settee, bringing her with him. When he turned, she was delicately wiping her mouth. Overcome with lust, he kissed her, hot and hard and fast.

“I need you, Violet.” He turned her toward the settee. “Lift your skirts and kneel, facing the back.”

She hesitated, but only for a second before she lifted her skirts and climbed onto the cushions and settled on her knees. He grasped the bulk of fabric and held it up at her waist. She leaned forward, and with his free hand, he shoved the chemise, which was adamant about clinging to her backside, up to expose her flesh.

She widened her stance, opening herself to him, and it was all the invitation he needed. He stroked his fingers along her folds, eliciting a soft moan from her lips. She was warm and wet, more than ready for him. Good, because he was past ready. He was almost past thinking.

Guiding his cock to her opening, he eased inside, trying to go slow. The thin thread of control he’d found snapped in two as her tight heat engulfed him. Desire raged through him, and he surrendered to the madness, driving deep into her core.

She gasped, thrusting her hips back until her backside was flush with his groin. He gripped her hips, still clutching the mass of bunched-up fabric, and pulled back, trying to go slowly to savor the sensations. But when it came time to push forward, he had no such patience. The momentum of his need took over, and he plunged into her.

She moved with him, rocking back and forth, driving him to delicious torment. Her passionate cries urged him faster. Then she said his name. Over and over. It was part provocation and part plea. And it stole what little remained of his sense.

He dug his fingers into her flesh and claimed her as his orgasm built. Ecstasy coiled inside him and her muscles clenched around his cock, pushing him to the brink. He teetered for a moment before cascading into delirium.

He wasn’t sure how long he was mindless, but when awareness returned, their harsh breathing filled the room and their movements had slowed to nearly nothing. His grip on her clothing loosened, and the fabric fell against her leg and tried to drop over her backside. But he was still seated inside her. She felt so good, so right.

And he felt like a beast.

Withdrawing his flesh from hers, he let her dress cover her as he backed away. He tucked his slackening cock into his breeches and buttoned the fall.

She turned and slid onto her backside on the settee, her chest still rising and falling as she worked to regain her breath. She smoothed her wrinkled skirts over her legs and looked up at him.

“I’m sorry.”

Her brow creased. “For what?”

“I shouldn’t have taken you like that.”

“Why? I quite enjoyed it. I look forward to doing that again, preferably without clothing to manage.”

“Not the position.” He searched to find the right words but didn’t think there were any. “Me. I’m… You deserve better.” He had too much darkness, too much of the ice she didn’t want.

She stood and went to him, her arms coming around his waist. “That’s nonsense.”

“It isn’t,” he practically growled, his anger rising again. “You understand who I am now, and you have to accept I’m not the man you once knew, and probably not the man you want.”

She frowned at him, her eyes narrowing with a bit of her own ire. “I don’t need you to tell me what I should want. I’ve had quite enough of people deciding things for me, thank you very much.”

Yes, he supposed she had. He knew this wouldn’t be easy—him trying to regain some semblance of a happy life. And seeing if he could do that with her. He needed air.

“I have to go.” He pulled out of her embrace. “And this time, you’re bloody letting me.”

She held up her hands. “I can’t control you,” she said softly. “Nor do I want to.”

Good, because he could barely control himself.