The buzz of conversation as soon as Simon and Violet had walked half the distance of the nave grew to the point that Nick was forced to walk away from it. Or maybe he just wanted to go after Simon.

What the hell had just happened? His first impression at seeing Simon bent over Violet was that they were having some sort of intimate moment. Simon’s face had reflected concern, and he’d touched her in a way that Nick hadn’t dared—not in eight years anyway.

But then he acknowledged they wouldn’t be engaged in anything romantic in plain sight on the bloody landing of a staircase in a cathedral. One of those gossiping old hens had the right of it—Violet had fallen. However, there was no way in hell Simon had pushed her.

Especially given the way she’d leapt to his defense. She’d clutched his arm, holding him with great care. Seeing them together sent tendrils of jealousy curling through him.

He watched Violet and Simon stop at the end of the nave. Simon said something, then left. Nick didn’t think before stalking toward where Violet now stood alone.

His intent hadn’t been to speak to her, but to follow Simon. Nevertheless, he stopped at her side. “What the hell just happened?”

“You saw. You heard.” Her voice was cool, detached.

“Yes, I saw. Is there something between the two of you?”

She turned to face him, her eyes blazing. “That is none of your business. Your friend is in pain. You heard what those awful women said.”

Yes, he had. He needed to go after Simon. He strode from the cathedral and went to his horse, unsurprised to see that Simon’s was already gone. He set off in pursuit, racing out of town toward the Linfords’ manor. As he crested a hill nearly halfway to his destination, he caught sight of Simon’s mount near a slender brook.

Slowing his horse, Nick veered off the road and guided the beast toward the water. Simon sat on a rock, his gaze trained at some indeterminate point beyond the stream.

Nick dismounted, his thoughts jumbled. He didn’t really believe there was something between Simon and Violet, and she was right—his friend needed him right now.

Simon didn’t turn his head. “Why did you follow me? I’m fine.”

“It should be obvious. I’m your friend. I can’t imagine you’re fine.”

“I’m as fine as you are.” Simon stood from the rock. He clasped his hat with one hand, and the wind stirred his hair. “You’re turning your back on something most people would die for.”

Nick knew how much Simon had loved his wife, how badly he missed her, and how devastating her death had been. Or still was, it seemed. The torment in his friend’s gaze flayed him. “You mean you,” he said quietly, and he was afraid the wind had carried the words away.

Simon’s dark eyes glittered in the sunlight filtering through the mottled clouds. “Yes, I would die if it would bring Miriam and my unborn child back. You have a bloody second chance. But you’d rather toss it away. Violet is an incredible woman. You’re a fool.”

“Perhaps you should pursue her. She’s everything you want in a wife—mature, widowed, experienced. She’s intelligent, witty, and she clearly cares for you.” Nick couldn’t keep the jealousy from stealing into his voice. He was supposed to be helping Simon, not being an ass.

With a slight shrug, Simon turned his head toward the brook. “Maybe I should. She deserves to be happy, and I sense she’s not.”

White-hot anger crested in Nick’s chest, but he’d had too much practice in managing his emotions. He tamped it down while reason told him that Simon was merely provoking him. Or deflecting from the real issue.

Nick took a deep breath and willed his pulse to slow. “Let me worry about Violet.” Did he really plan to do that? He couldn’t think of that just now. “You mustn’t let what happened in the cathedral drag you into darkness.”

“Why? Then you’d have company.”

Nick couldn’t hold on to his frustration any longer, not entirely. “Goddammit, this isn’t about me.”

“No, it isn’t.” Simon glanced back at Nick. “But forgive me if I can’t take advice from someone who does nothing to improve his lot.”

“There is nothing to be done.” Nick grappled with his control and held on to it with the barest thread. “I am cursed. There is no hope for me.”

“And that is where you and I diverge. I still have hope. God help me, even after today’s debacle, I still have hope. If I didn’t, I may as well give up. I honestly don’t know what keeps you going.”

Stunned into silence, Nick stared at him. What did keep him going? He woke up every day and did what he must—he managed his estate, he conducted his ducal duties, he took pleasure in riding, fishing… Hell. He was lonely. And it had taken this infernal house party to wake him to that fact.

He looked down at the ground briefly, then nodded. “I get your point. Finally.”

Simon snorted. “Well, that’s something. I hope this means you’ll make things right with Violet.”

A wave of apprehension swept over him. He wasn’t sure that was the right course. Realizing he was maybe ready to make a change, to try again to allow something into his life, didn’t mean that something was Violet. He associated her with the start of his misfortune. He’d often wondered if his behavior wasn’t to blame. He’d carried on a liaison with a young woman out of wedlock, never mind that he’d had every intention of marrying her…

“I don’t know.” That was all he could say right now. “I’d rather focus on you. I’ll make sure everyone knows Violet fell.”

“It doesn’t matter. Society’s court long ago passed judgment on me, and I was a fool to think I could expect otherwise. So I live on the fringe.” He shrugged, appearing as if he didn’t care, but Nick knew better. “I’ve managed it for some time now.”

“It won’t always be like this,” Nick said. “Lady Nixon and her ilk will forget. Or die.”

“I don’t know about the former, but the latter is a certainty. For all of us.” He put his hat back on. “I’m going back to the house, and then I’m leaving.”

“You can’t.”

Simon arched his brow as he pulled his glove more snugly around his left hand. “Why not?”

“We have a deal.”

The wind buoyed Simon’s laugh. “The deal was that you would stay one night.”

“We were supposed to leave together for your box.”

“I’m not going there. You’re welcome to, of course.”

Nick narrowed his eyes. “Where are you going, then? It doesn’t matter. You should stay. Show those shrews that you aren’t rattled. If the tables were turned, you wouldn’t let me leave.”

Simon grunted. “I’m still leaving. You need to stay and explore things with Violet. Or not. But if you don’t, I promise that I’ll hound you about the mistake for the rest of your days.” He went to his horse and mounted.

“This may be the end of our friendship,” Nick called.

Simon stared at him a moment, then shook his head before turning and riding northwest.

Nick picked up a rock and skipped it into the stream, swearing. Without Simon, he truly had no one, and now that he’d realized his life was lacking, he couldn’t afford to lose the only friend he had. Did that mean he had to try to work things out with Violet?

He swore again. This wasn’t Simon’s bloody life. He didn’t understand the complexities surrounding their relationship—the broken promises, the guilt, the unresolved emotions. Wouldn’t it be better for Nick to just start over?

Miss Kingman was beautiful and charming, albeit reserved. And today in the cathedral, she’d demonstrated a sharp intelligence as they’d discussed the reformation and the Civil War. If he wanted to banish the emptiness in his life, he could do no better than someone like her. If she agreed to his terms—no expectation of love—he’d be in no danger of losing his heart. Or his mind with grief if tragedy struck, as he almost certainly expected it to.

And yet he couldn’t ignore the unresolved feelings he had for Violet, the burning desire that pulsed through him whenever she was near. Hell, whenever he even thought about her as he was doing now. He recalled that night so long ago when she’d feigned illness, then slipped out of her aunt and uncle’s house. Nick had been waiting for her outside, and together they’d gone to his uncle’s town house, but his uncle hadn’t been there. It had just been Nick and a handful of servants, and it had been easy to secret her upstairs to his chamber. By the light of the moon streaming through his window, they’d made love for the first time, and he’d basked in the joy of knowing they would be together for the rest of their lives.

He closed his eyes and saw her as she was then—her body soft and lush and so responsive to his touch. She’d cried out his name over and over and declared her love between soul-stirring kisses. He’d never imagined their plans would crash down around him less than a week later.

The familiar anger wasn’t as strong now as it had been, but seeing her had roused it again. What Simon didn’t understand was that Nick had to manage all these conflicting emotions where Violet was concerned. And he wasn’t sure he could.

He opened his eyes and went to the rock Simon had vacated. Dropping down, he stared out toward the Mendip Hills, mindless of the wind picking up or the clouds darkening overhead.

When the first raindrop struck his shoulder, he glanced up. Another drop splattered his cheek. He was about to get drenched.

Muttering an oath, he mounted his horse and thundered back to the manor. He was, as anticipated, thoroughly soaked by the time he arrived at the stables. He looked for Simon’s vehicle. Not seeing it, he asked if the duke had left and was informed that he had. Damn, Simon had departed with incredible speed.

Likely he’d wanted to avoid seeing anyone, which he’d done because the coaches were just arriving from the village.

Nick went into the house and asked for a bath and whiskey. Hopefully, the combination would give him some insight on what path to take.

* * *

Violet stood in the upstairs sitting room that overlooked the front drive and watched the ladies climb into the coaches for an afternoon jaunt into Wells to shop. After yesterday’s disaster at the cathedral, she’d wanted to close herself in her room for the remainder of the party, but Hannah had convinced her to come to dinner. Violet had relented, agreeing that it would be better for Simon if she showed everyone that she was fine and reiterate that he hadn’t pushed her.

She just wished he hadn’t left. Everything she and Nick had done to rehabilitate his reputation had been swept away.

Hannah had felt horrible. She’d vowed never to invite Lady Nixon and Mrs. Law to anything ever again. It was good the house party would conclude after tonight’s ball. Violet was looking forward to leaving in the morning.

She wanted to put as much distance between herself and this party as possible. And not just because of what had happened with Simon. No, if she were honest, it was largely to do with Nick.

He’d come to dinner last night and been his usual aloof self. Even so, she’d caught him looking at her several times. Not that she’d been able to discern why. His features had been as impassive as ever.

Still, she’d been aware of his presence and her undying attraction to him the entire evening. She couldn’t stand it. Perhaps she could beg off tonight’s ball and plead illness. Everyone had seen that she was perfectly fine yesterday. They wouldn’t blame Simon.

Of course they would. They already did.

Scowling, she turned from the window and instantly froze.

Standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame, his gaze targeted directly on her, was Nick. He was dressed as he’d been at luncheon—a dark green coat with buff breeches and a waistcoat of warm acorn brown. “You aren’t dressed for riding,” was all she could think to say. The men were going riding while the women ventured to the village.

“No, they just left.” He pushed away from the jamb and closed the door. Then he walked slowly into the center of the room before stopping.

Why had he closed the door? She ignored the invisible magnet drawing her to him. “I was just heading back to my room.”

“Stay.” He took another step toward her. “Please.”

“I shouldn’t.” And yet she didn’t move.

“After tomorrow, I doubt we’ll see each other. It seemed…” He cleared his throat and took another step. What the devil was he about?

His brow creased, destroying the careful composure he always wore. Was he going to be the Nick she remembered? The Nick she liked? The Nick she loved?

No. She didn’t love him anymore. Not this Duke of Ice.

He wiped his hand over his mouth, a gesture he’d done often in their youth. It startled her.

“I’m conflicted.” He speared her with a tumultuous look, and she could see the battle in his eyes. “I… I want to move forward, but I don’t know that I can. Not until I put the past behind me. I didn’t realize that until I saw you here.”

And now the conflict ignited inside her. She’d been so happy to see him. Suddenly, all the dreams she’d buried had taken flight, and for the first time, they’d seemed real. Until she’d seen what he’d become. Now she had to accept that her dreams were dead, that they’d died eight years ago. And yet here he was, standing in front of her—the man who’d stolen her heart, the man she would’ve given anything to reclaim. Sanity told her to run away, but she was rooted to the floor.

“I need to move on too.” She didn’t recognize the sound of her voice. It was dark and steely. Cold.

“I was hoping that together, we could do that. Find a way to leave the past where it belongs.”

She’d held her love so close to herself for so long that it was simply a part of her. She couldn’t begin to imagine how she’d cut it away and be whole again. “How?”

He closed the gap between them. His eyes, so pale and bright in the afternoon light coming from the window behind her, bored into hers. “Like this.”

He reached for her, his hand curling around her waist. She sucked in a breath, desire enflaming her as he drew her against his chest.

Staring down at her as if he hadn’t truly seen her in eight years, he traced his forefinger along her forehead, then down over her temple and across her cheekbone until he found her jaw. Dragging his flesh along hers, he came to her mouth. The moment his finger touched her lips, she opened and drew the tip inside, never breaking their eye contact.

His eyelids lowered, and his gaze turned instantly seductive. She suckled his finger, but he pulled it away, and she thought he meant to leave then.

Instead, he lowered his head and kissed her. The contact was like a bonfire catching flame, sending heat licking outward until everything was ablaze.

He tasted of that heat and need. He tasted like home.

This was no gentle brush of lips as in the ballroom the other day. This was the passion she remembered, his body pressed to hers, his mouth opening and invading hers, his tongue tempting hers. And she answered every provocation, straining against him, her arms twining around his neck and pulling him to her, lest he decide this was a mistake.

Maybe it was. She didn’t care. This wasn’t the Duke of Ice. This was Nick, the man she’d given her heart to, her lover.

His fingers dug into her back as he kissed her with fierce need. She met his desperation with her own, clutching his neck and curling her hands into his collar. Tilting her head, she pressed harder against him, need pulsing between her legs. She hadn’t been with a man in so long. And she hadn’t known ecstasy with one since him.

He brought his hand beneath her arm, along her rib cage, until he found her breast. He massaged her through the layers of her clothing, and she wanted to weep with want.

“Always too many damn clothes,” he muttered against her mouth, not fully breaking their kiss.

She tangled her tongue with his, cutting off further speech. A sound vibrated deep in his throat, which she felt more than heard. Joy spread through her. How long she’d imagined this moment. And it far exceeded the fantasy.

His thumb came up over the edge of her bodice and brushed along her flesh. She wanted to peel her clothes away and do the same to his. Sliding her hand down from his neck to the edge of his collarbone, she tugged at his cravat, loosening the knot.

He ended the kiss with a groan, and she opened her eyes, her body quivering.

He backed away, wiping his hand over his mouth again, his eyes wild with desire. “I thought I would kiss you and that would be enough. Then we’d part on friendly terms.”

She wanted to laugh with the absurdity of that. One kiss had never been enough after that first time. Keeping their hands from each other had been a distinct problem in their short but torrid relationship. “And is it? Enough, I mean.”

“No,” he rasped. But he turned and went to the door. She sagged with disappointment even as every instinct she possessed said this was for the best.

Then she heard the click of the lock just before he pivoted, pressing his back to the door. “Do you want me to go?” he asked.

She shook her head, unable to speak.

“There are two other doors.” He strode to one of them, and she heard him throw the lock while she rushed to the other.

“There’s no lock on this one.” Before she could turn, she felt him approach behind her. “Then we shall have to be quiet. And hope no one tries to come in. If memory serves, we had to do this once before.”

The third—and last—time they’d been together. They’d taken advantage of a seldom-used sitting room while attending a party one evening. They’d been young and foolish, overcome with emotion and physical yearning. They ought to know better now, to practice caution and reservation.

And yet, she didn’t think she could do so, especially not when she was enveloped in his spicy scent and his breath tickled the back of her neck. As if reading her mind, his attention focused on that spot as his lips caressed her skin.

She closed her eyes and leaned her forehead against the door. Over the next several minutes, he did things to her neck with his lips and tongue that aroused her more than she ever thought possible. She splayed one hand next to her shoulder against the door for support, and with her other hand, she reached back and gripped his thigh. His muscle was taut beneath her palm, and he brought his body against hers, his groin nudging into her backside.

His breath came hard and fast against her skin. She clutched at him, eager for more. The whisking sound of her skirt filled the near quiet as he lifted her dress from behind. Cool air rushed over the backs of her legs. When the fabric was bunched between them, she felt his touch, the gentle stroke of his fingertips along the back of her thigh.

His tongue traced the outer shell of her ear. “Part your legs,” he whispered.

She did as he bade, widening her stance. His hand moved forward and found her core. He lightly teased her flesh, swirling around the most sensitive part of her as his lips and tongue ravaged her ear. She turned her head and laid her cheek against the wood, her breath rasping from her mouth as her pulse climbed.

“You are very wet for me,” he murmured, trailing kisses along her jaw. “Do you remember how it was?”

He’d always tormented her until she was not only wet and begging for release; he didn’t stop until she came. Only then would he take his own pleasure. There’d been only one occasion when his pleasure had come first—

Her thought was completely interrupted by the press of his finger inside her. He went slowly, his touch seductively methodical. She gasped softly at the welcome intrusion, and she couldn’t keep her hips from arching back.

“Do you want more?” he asked, sliding out briefly before edging in again.

She kept her eyes closed, all her attention focused on the ecstasy building within her. “I want everything.” She turned her head farther, seeking his kiss.

His mouth ravished hers as his finger thrust deep into her. She would’ve cried out if not for the preoccupation of his kiss. Their position was a tad awkward, and it wasn’t long before he broke his lips from hers, returning his mouth to her neck. Her hips moved with the thrusts of his hand, and she rose onto her toes as need tightened inside her. Her pleasure built, and her body tensed.

“Come for me, Violet.” The soft command came against her ear, and it was all the urging she needed.

Her muscles clenched, and she sucked in a breath as her orgasm crashed into her.

“Shhh.” He kissed her ear, her neck, her jaw, all while his hand kept up its relentless assault.

Before the sensations had faded, he scooped her into his arms and carried her to a chaise, where he laid her upon the cushions. She opened her eyes and saw the harsh control etched into his features. His eyes were dark, his lips parted as he pulled his cravat away. He tore his coat from his shoulders and dropped it to the floor.

He stopped and stared down at her. “Was that enough?” he asked tentatively.

She kicked her shoes off and reached for him, her fingers pulling at the buttons of his waistcoat. “My God, no.”

“Good.” He sounded relieved, which made her smile.

“Keep doing that.” He leaned down and kissed her hard and fast, his tongue sliding against hers and his teeth catching her lips as he straightened to remove his waistcoat.

“Smiling?” she asked. At his answering nod, she said, “You rarely do. I miss that.”

He stared down at her, his gaze familiarly seductive, and his lips curved up very slowly. The smile broadened until it tautened his cheekbones and lit his eyes.

Her insides turned to jelly. “Nick,” she breathed. There he was at last. “Come here. Please.” She reclined and parted her legs.

He tossed up her skirts and looked at her sex. Once, she would’ve succumbed to embarrassment and squeezed her legs closed, but Nick had taught her to be proud and confident, to use her body to please herself and him. When she’d awaited her new husband nude in their bedchamber, he’d chastised her horribly. Then when he’d discovered she wasn’t a virgin, he’d called her a whore.

She closed her eyes to banish the memories.

“What is it?” Nick’s gentle question jolted her as his lips trailed along her cheek.

She opened her eyes. “Nothing. I don’t want to think of anything else. Just you. Us. Here. Now.”

Curling her hand around his neck, she pulled his mouth to hers and kissed him, her tongue sliding into his mouth on a quest to reclaim him, even if it was just for now. He settled between her legs, and she tugged her skirts up, wishing she could disrobe. But they didn’t dare. This would have to suffice. She felt the length of his cock against her sex, his clothing the only barrier between them.

So long as her hand was in the vicinity, she put it to good use, unbuttoning his fall. She slipped her hand inside and found the warmth of his flesh. He groaned into her mouth.

His hips pressed into hers, smashing her hand between them, but bringing him into delicious contact with her hungry flesh. She worked her hand along his length and, after a few more teasing moments, pulled him free.

His fingers stroked her clitoris, spinning her toward ecstasy once more. Then he parted her flesh, and she guided him inside. He went slowly, and her body greeted his entry with a shudder. Then he filled her completely, and she knew a joy she’d never thought to experience again.

He began to move, retreating from her and then pushing forward with increasing speed. She clutched at his backside, drawing him deep inside her. Lifting her legs, she curled them around his hips. He thrust faster and tore his mouth from hers, gasping.

She dug her fingers into him and rose to meet him, their bodies snapping together in a familiar rhythm. They fit together perfectly, just as she remembered.

Thought receded from her mind as her body took over. She was only aware of his heat, his insistent thrusts, and the hard pulse of his breathing. Pressure built inside her, then broke free. Light exploded behind her eyes, and she worked to keep from crying out.

“Violet.”

She recognized the desperation in his plea as well as the clenching of the muscles in his backside. She kissed him, devouring his moan as he spilled himself inside her.

They continued to move together, their bodies slowing as satisfaction claimed them. Violet relaxed back against the cushions, releasing his mouth to take in air. He did the same, working to lower his pulse. After another moment, he left her to sit at the edge of the chaise.

He looked over at her and reached down for his cravat before offering it to her. “Do you want to use this?”

She shook her head. “Petticoats can serve more than one purpose.” She sat up and pulled her skirts down, covertly tidying their mess. “I’m surprised you don’t remember.”

“I do, in fact.” He’d looked away but now speared her with an intense stare. “I remember everything. Just as I’ll remember this.”

That sounded rather final. He’d wanted to leave their past behind and apparently thought this would do that. “Is that enough, then?” she asked quietly.

“I think it has to be, don’t you?” He swiped his hand across his mouth and briefly pulled on his chin. “We’re different people now. Surely you recognize that.”

Yes, she did. That had been wonderful and indeed reminiscent of what they’d shared. But it had been different too. There’d been an element of need and desperation, of something lost that couldn’t be found. “We can’t go back.”

He shook his head. “No matter how much we may want to.”

She understood. And she was grateful for this. Maybe now she wouldn’t think of him with searing regret and abject guilt. Maybe now she could think of him and smile.

He picked up her shoes and slipped them onto her feet as if she were Cinderella. Except this was no fairy tale. There would be no happy endings and no ever after.

She stood up and shook out her skirts. She gave him a smile and said, “I will always cherish you, and I wish you well.”

Then she walked softly from the room, careful to close the door behind her.