Oberon’s hooves pounded the wet sand, sending salt and spray flying as Nick ran him across the beach. The last two days had been too stormy to ride. Both man and beast were ecstatic to be out, even if the heavens were spitting rain periodically.

The last week had passed at a particularly glacial pace. Since arriving home from the house party, Nick hadn’t been his usual self. The things he typically did to pass his days—working in his office or on the estate, fishing, even riding as he was now—had failed to keep him satisfied. He’d left the Linfords’ feeling remarkably good, his sexual encounter with Violet fulfilling him in a way he hadn’t been in years. That feeling had lasted about a day.

By the time he’d gotten back to Kilve Hall, he’d begun to question everything. Hell, he’d started questioning everything the moment he’d met Violet at the party. She’d awakened him from a long, dismal sleep, and he was surprised to find he didn’t want to reclaim it.

Which left him wondering what the hell to do next.

Simon had disappeared to parts unknown, which had left Nick to query his staff. And damn if they weren’t perplexed by his behavior. Nick nearly smiled at their bemusement. Poor Rand. Nick had asked his valet last night if he ought to marry again. Rand had gaped at him, then assumed he was jesting. When Nick had said he wasn’t, Rand’s eyes had nearly popped from his head. In the end, he’d said he certainly couldn’t offer advice.

So today, Nick was seeking better counsel. He rode up the path from the beach to the small graveyard overlooking the ocean. Dismounting, he let Oberon graze in a familiar spot, then went to Jacinda’s grave. Next to hers was the smaller headstone belonging to their son.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been to visit in a while. I was at a house party.” He bent and brushed sand from her name on the stone. “You would have liked it. There was archery—no, you wouldn’t have cared for that. You would have liked the silly games and the dancing. And the shopping trip.” At the mention of the latter, he couldn’t help but think of Violet and how fortunate he was that she hadn’t taken the excursion.

He’d gone to the sitting room to watch the women leave, never imagining that she would be there. He certainly hadn’t planned to lie with her, but the opportunity was too perfect. And he had hoped that perhaps they could put the past to rest for good. Instead, he feared they’d made it harder to forget.

For him, at least. He’d no idea how she felt. It was entirely possible that she had moved on, and part of him hoped she had. It made it much easier to think of her continuing with her life as opposed to her thinking of him in the same manner in which he was thinking of her.

He dreamed of her. He relived that afternoon. He wanted her.

Looking at his wife’s grave, he tried to bring Jacinda’s image to his mind. She’d been two years his senior, a dark-haired pale beauty with eyes the color of rich, dark earth after a dousing spring rain.

He’d married her after returning from the war and inheriting the dukedom. He’d needed a wife, and she’d been among the first women he’d met when he’d gone to London for the Season. Eager to avoid the social whirl, he’d decided to marry her rather quickly. She was well-mannered, came from an excellent family, and possessed a keen intelligence. He hadn’t been interested in falling love, not after losing Maurice and then his uncle.

“In retrospect, it wasn’t very fair to you,” he said softly. “I know you loved me, and I’m afraid I didn’t deserve it.” He hadn’t loved her, but he’d been fond of her. He supposed he’d been practicing to become the Duke of Ice, a man who didn’t feel. But it had taken one more horrific tragedy, the loss of his son, for him to fully become that man. To love was to hurt, and he’d done enough of that to last him a lifetime.

And he’d been ready to keep himself from that messy emotion forever. Until he’d encountered Violet again. Just as she’d done the first time, she’d cocked everything up.

Still, realizing he didn’t want to be alone wasn’t the same as wanting to fall in love. He could take another duchess under the exact same circumstances he’d married Jacinda. “It wasn’t terrible, was it?” he asked. “You were happy, I think. I tried to make you happy.” As best as he could. She’d been well cared for, and he’d treated her with respect and affection. He could do the same for another woman, say, Miss Kingman. She’d make a serviceable duchess.

Serviceable?

Even he knew that sounded awful. She’d make an excellent duchess.

What about Violet?

His traitorous mind couldn’t stop thinking of her, and his equally perfidious body couldn’t stop wanting her. Instead of banishing her to the past, he was as consumed by her as he’d ever been.

Could they try again?

Simon’s pleas echoed in Nick’s brain. He was so tormented by his wife’s death. Simon wouldn’t have thought twice if presented with the opportunity for a second chance.

It was just so damn difficult to have hope when your entire life had been filled with tragedy and misfortune—from the loss of four younger siblings and finally his mother as she’d delivered the last of those children to his father and then his brother and uncle to his wife and child. And yes, he’d lost Violet too, even if it hadn’t been to death. Which meant of all of them, he could try for a second chance with her.

If he had the courage to risk disaster again.

He looked at his son’s name and thought of his perfect, tiny face. If he could feel that sense of unconditional love and devotion, it would be worth it.

Nick touched each stone, his fingertips lingering over his son’s name. Then he turned and climbed back on Oberon. The rain fell in earnest as they returned to the stables. By the time Nick entered his chamber, he was already peeling away his sodden clothes.

“Let me help you, Your Grace,” Rand offered, rushing to assist Nick with his coat.

“I’ll need a bath,” Nick said.

“It’s already being drawn and will be ready by the time you’re undressed.” Rand set the coat on the floor as Nick perched on the edge of a chair.

He extended his leg so that Rand could remove his boots. “Excellent. Then I want you to pack for an extended trip.”

Rand’s head snapped up, and he paused in tugging at the second boot. “So soon?”

“I know it’s a surprise. It is to me too.”

Rand removed Nick’s stockings as Nick shrugged out of his waistcoat. “Where are we going?”

“To Bath. Please inform Mr. Lovell that I need to meet with him after my bath to make preparations.” Nick’s secretary would likely be just as surprised as Rand.

“Right away.” Rand looked at him as if he wanted to say something but didn’t.

“Out with it.” Nick stood to remove the rest of his clothing.

“I hope you won’t find me impertinent, Your Grace, but you’re changed since you returned from the house party.”

Nick pulled his shirt over his head and handed it to the valet. “So it would seem.”

“For the better, if I may broaden my impertinence.”

“Thank you, Rand.” Nick peeled his breeches down his legs.

“Everyone says so.”

“Let’s not take things too far.” Nick smiled at the man, causing Rand’s eyes to widen. Nick finished undressing, then turned to head to his bath.

He couldn’t help but think of the city where he’d met Violet. And he could hardly wait to get there.

* * *

Violet was surprisingly content as she looked at Bath from the window of her coach. For eight years, she’d lived under the shadow of “if only…” and while she was still sad about how things had turned out, for the first time, she had the sense that she could put Nick behind her.

Oh, it still hurt—she knew she’d always love him—but she had a final happy memory to make her smile.

They hadn’t been alone together again at the house party after their encounter in the sitting room. But before he’d left, he’d taken her hand and bowed, telling her he wished her every happiness in the future. It had felt like a goodbye, and she knew that it was.

Yes, that was what felt different. Eight years ago, she’d simply left with her parents, and since he’d never received her letter, there’d been a raw wound. Hopefully, it was now closed, and they could both move forward without regret or bitterness.

As she traveled along Great Pulteney Street, she wondered what that way forward looked like. Perhaps Hannah would help her puzzle that out. Violet was delighted she’d come to town and anticipated spending a lovely afternoon with her friend.

She departed her coach in front of the Sydney Hotel and swept inside, where she looked about for Hannah. Her neck pricked, as if something was…off. She’d come here a hundred times—more probably—but had never felt this sensation of having done exactly this before. She took in the familiar setting, the windows looking out to the gardens, and then she froze.

As he rose from a table beneath a window, his eyes locked with hers. He was dressed a bit differently, but the colors were the same—a dark blue coat, brown breeches, and the stiffest cravat she’d ever seen. He presented a breathtaking picture of masculine elegance and rugged allure. Even before he’d been a duke, he’d looked ducal, as if he could command the world.

Violet couldn’t move for a moment. The familiarity of the situation was so keen, she almost believed it was a dream. On that day eight years ago, she’d left the table she’d been sharing with her aunt and her aunt’s friend, leaving them to gossip while she took a turn outside. She’d never imagined that such a simple decision would alter her life forever.

Nick had stood, and she’d seen him, their gazes connecting briefly before she’d continued on her path to the door to the gardens, her maid trailing behind her. All the while, her heart had pounded as the handsome stranger stared at her. Following the past, she put one foot in front of the other and walked toward the door.

He rushed to open it for her, just as he had eight years ago. She stepped out into the cool, late October afternoon, her breath trapped in her lungs.

Nick joined her and bowed deeply. “May I escort you through the gardens?”

Unwilling—or perhaps unable—to break the spell that had been cast, she looked back over her shoulder as if she’d see her aunt inside. Back then, she’d been too engrossed with her gossip to pay attention to what Violet was doing, so Violet had seized her chance.

She gave him a curtsey. “Yes, I’d be delighted.”

He offered his arm, and the moment she curled her hand around him, it was as if they’d been transported. The day seemed suddenly brighter, more like July than October, the air full of intoxicating scents of midsummer. Her insides swirled as giddiness swept through her. He exuded charm and magnetism, and he wanted to walk with her!

Violet couldn’t keep from smiling.

Questions crowded her mind—what was he doing here? Why had he come? What was this about? But only one made it to her lips. “Hannah isn’t here, is she?”

He shook his head.

Hannah’s note hadn’t been in her hand, which Violet knew as well as her own. She’d said her husband’s secretary was drafting it because she’d burned her finger. Nick, it seemed, was as cunning as she remembered.

“Would you like to see the canal?” he asked. “There’s a charming bridge done in the Chinese style.”

He was doing everything exactly as he’d done eight years ago. She wanted to do the same. “That sounds wonderful. I’d love to see it.”

He guided her along the path toward the bridge, saying, “We haven’t been formally introduced, which I suppose makes this rather scandalous.”

Violet stifled a laugh. Yes, this endeavor had set the tone for their entire relationship. They’d scarcely followed the rules. They’d been swept up in excitement and love and hadn’t cared about Society’s principles.

“I’m Mr. Nicholas Bateman,” he said.

“Miss Violet Caulfield.”

“Pleased to meet you, Miss Caulfield. You aren’t from Bath, are you? I believe I should know you if you were.”

“I am not; however, my aunt and uncle reside here, and I visit them every summer.”

“I am deeply saddened that we haven’t met before now. I live outside of town with my uncle.”

“I am just coming out,” she said, taking in his profile. She tried to see it as she had then, but it was difficult. Because she knew him, and she couldn’t forget all that had transpired. She could, however, pretend, and she wanted to.

“Does this mean you’ll be attending the fancy ball on Thursday?” he asked. The bright sound of hope threaded through his question now as it had eight years ago.

She nodded. “I will. And I’m allowed to go to the Pump Room.”

“Tell me when you plan to go, and I will be there too.”

They reached the bridge, and she said, “Oh, this is beautiful. Thank you for bringing me.” She looked down at the canal, then turned to face him, her arm still twined with his. “Are there boats?”

He pivoted with her, his face so familiar, so dear. The Duke of Ice was nowhere to be found today. This Nick looked younger, softer, more relaxed. Maybe this was a dream.

“Yes. Would you like to take one out someday?”

“I should ask my aunt and uncle.” She recalled what she’d been thinking then, that she didn’t want to tell them about Nick, that she was afraid they’d tell her she couldn’t see him. She’d been young, just nineteen, and not quite on the Marriage Mart. “They won’t mind,” she said as she had eight years ago, intending to take a boat on the canal with him whether they approved or not. She’d known then that something magical was happening, that this chance meeting would alter the course of her life.

“I shall look forward to it,” he said, looking down at her with such warmth that she wanted to sway into him, as she’d nearly done eight years ago.

Then she’d caught sight of her maid about five yards away and realized she ought to return to the hotel before she was missed.

“I should go back.” She looked up at him but didn’t move. She didn’t want to go back.

She realized she meant that about the past too. After years of wishing she could rewind time, she didn’t want to anymore. She wanted him in the present. She wanted to believe that they were meant to be, even if it had taken a long time to get there.

“I hope you don’t mind me saying so, Miss Caulfield, but you are very beautiful. The most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

“Still?” The word came out as a husky whisper, barely audible as the breeze stirred the leaves from the near-bare trees.

“Always.” He leaned forward, and she anticipated his kiss.

But he only turned and started back toward the hotel, prompting her to quiver in frustration. How had she thought they were finished? That she could move on as if the past were finally resolved? It would never be resolved between them. Not for her. She loved him with all her heart—the gentle, charming man of her youth and the dark, tortured Duke of Ice.

“Tell me, Miss Caulfield, what do you like to do?”

“Embroidery, singing, reading.”

He stopped and looked at her, then laughed. “Really?”

She joined his laughter, recalling this moment as if it had happened yesterday. “Reading, yes. The others, maybe not as much as my mother would like. I love to ride, and I’m rather good at archery.” She remembered blushing and wishing she hadn’t been so self-aggrandizing.

But he’d only laughed more loudly, his astonishing eyes sparkling with mirth. “I should like to see that. Perhaps I’ll find a place for us to shoot.” He leaned closer as he said that, and in her mind, Violet heard the gentle clearing of her maid’s throat.

Oh, Letty. She’d been Violet’s governess and had taken the position of her lady’s maid that spring in preparation for Violet’s come out. She’d loved Violet as a daughter and had seen—and sympathized with—how deeply Violet had fallen for Nick. In hindsight, Violet ought to have entrusted the letter she’d written him to Letty. But Letty had been dismissed when they’d left Bath and installed a new, far sterner maid. Her parents had blamed Letty, in part, for Violet’s behavior. Later, after Clifford had died, Violet had sought Letty out and given her a settlement on which she could retire. She’d passed away last year.

Nick’s brow creased, likely in response to her woolgathering. Violet shook the maudlin thoughts from her head and smiled up at him. “I was just thinking of my maid. I think she would like me to return to the hotel.”

His gaze moved to some indistinct point behind her. He was perhaps thinking of Letty too. “I liked her,” he said, breaking from their eight-year-old script.

“She was a dear woman.”

“Was?”

Violet gave a gentle nod. “She passed last year.”

His eyes shuttered briefly, and for a moment, she saw the Duke of Ice. No, she wouldn’t let him ruin this perfect day.

Violet squeezed his arm. “Come, Letty would want us to enjoy our walk back. She found you quite handsome, you know. But then, I recall all of Bath fell at your feet.” When she’d walked into the fancy ball, she’d heard talk of the spectacular Mr. Bateman and whether he might dance with them. She’d been afraid he wouldn’t distinguish her among all his admirers. And she’d been silly to think such a thing. She was the first person he’d asked to dance.

“I didn’t notice anyone but you,” he said, sweeping her along the path.

She knew that to be true, and yet it still made her shiver.

“Now, stop speaking as if this is the past tense, Miss Caulfield.” His gentle admonishment drew a smile to her lips. He was apparently insistent that they continue this pretense.

She tried to remember what had happened next… Oh! She brought her hand to her mouth and laughed. Collecting her wits, she sobered. “My goodness, will you look at that?” She pointed at nothing, wondering if he would recall what they’d seen.

He sucked in a breath, and she knew he did. “Good heavens, is that Lady Fairhaven, and is she…dancing?” The Countess of Fairhaven had been careening about the lawn, her hands flailing.

“I don’t recall a type of dancing that requires shrieking along with it,” Violet said, grinning. As it turned out, the countess had seen a spider crawling on her skirt—the story had been recounted for days after that. That reminded Violet of the games they’d played at the house party and Mr. Seaver saying there was a spider in Sarah’s hair.

“No, I daresay there isn’t one. Can you imagine?” He lifted his arm and flapped it like a bird taking flight. “Add in the squawking and we should have to give it an ornithological name.”

“Perhaps the bittern,” she suggested.

He cocked his head to the side as if he could actually see Lady Fairhaven and her wild exercise. “Indeed. She does look a bit like a bittern with her neck extended and her long nose. Perhaps we should have several names and base them on the dancer. You, for example, would be a swan.”

She gasped and looked at him sharply, though humor lifted her lips. “Swans can be quite disagreeable.”

“I’m sure you’ll agree they are, without question, the most beautiful of fowl.” He looked at her intently, his gaze soft but seductive. “And I’m confident you wouldn’t know how to be disagreeable if you tried.”

He’d said that then, but did he believe it now? For a moment, reality invaded their charming little play. So much had transpired since this day had actually happened. She’d been more than disagreeable. She’d broken his heart. Was it too late for them to reclaim what they’d lost? She’d thought so. She’d reconciled herself to that outcome, had prepared to move on. But now he was here…

The questions she’d ignored came roaring back, and she wasn’t sure she could keep them at bay. This was a lovely game, but they couldn’t play it forever.

He shook his head, his eyes darkening, as if he read her thoughts. Turning toward the hotel, he escorted her back. “May I meet you at the Pump Room tomorrow afternoon? If you plan to be there, that is.”

“I will now.” Her mind had gone to work planning how she would convince her aunt to allow her to go. It ended up not being difficult as her uncle had insisted she be seen—it had been, after all, the intent that summer for her to gain confidence and poise.

Nick didn’t walk her inside but withdrew her arm, just as he’d done eight years ago. “I should take my leave,” he said. “Thank you for the promenade. I look forward to seeing you tomorrow.” After executing a perfect bow, he left.

Violet stared after him, her earlier banished questions burning her tongue. Ah well, tomorrow she would ask them. Tomorrow, she would ensure they lived in the present. For as much as she loved reliving their idyllic past, she knew how that ended.

And she refused to let history repeat.