The sight of her across the drawing room made Nick’s blood run cold. His vision tunneled until he feared it would fade altogether. He’d immediately turned his attention to the Linfords and Simon and kept it there. Nevertheless, he was acutely aware of her presence.

Violet Caulfield was as achingly beautiful now as she’d been eight years ago. But no, she wasn’t Violet Caulfield. She was Lady Pendleton. He wondered where her husband was.

The ice he was known for slid through his veins. He never should have come here and would leave immediately.

Light spilled into the drawing room as the storm raged again. Thunder clapped nearby as rain sluiced down the windows, and he realized he wasn’t going anywhere.

“Hopefully, this storm won’t last,” Mrs. Linford was saying. “But if it does, we’ll have plenty of inside activities tomorrow. Would either of you care for refreshment?” She gestured toward a table that was thankfully nowhere near Violet.

Violet.

He couldn’t call her that, nor should he think of her in such familiar terms. Yes, they’d known each other as intimately as two people could, but that had been a long time ago. A lifetime ago.

Elias’s lifetime.

“That sounds excellent, thank you,” Simon said. He nudged Nick’s arm and darted his eyes toward the refreshment table.

Nick didn’t want any bloody refreshments. Actually, he did. Whiskey, preferably. Instead, he moved toward the table with Simon without saying a word to his hosts.

“Could you manage a smile?” Simon asked. “Or at least a less murderous glower.”

“I’m not glowering,” Nick muttered. He was intensely aware of the eyes turned toward him, of the air of expectation. “I never should have let you talk me into this.”

“Perhaps,” Simon murmured. “However, we are here. It’s too late to run.”

“No, it isn’t. I’ll be doing just that at the earliest opportunity.” He looked toward the windows as he reached the table. “I’d leave now if not for the storm.”

“Storm or not, you promised me you’d stay one night.”

Nick eyed the cakes and biscuits but didn’t pick any of them up.

Simon’s brow darkened. “Hell, someone’s coming this way. Could you at least endeavor to look bored? Or maybe ill?”

That wouldn’t be too difficult, Nick thought. Being the center of attention, even for such a relatively small gathering of what, thirty or forty people, made him feel unsettled. He hadn’t been raised to be a duke, and though he’d carried the title for five years now, it still felt odd, particularly around others.

The man who’d approached cleared his throat. “Don’t know if you remember me, Duke, but we met several years ago in London.” He spoke directly to Nick, clearly indicating which “Duke” he meant. “I’m Lord Colton.” He gestured to the woman at his side. “This is my wife, and allow me to present my daughter, Miss Colton.” He made the introduction with clear intent: Miss Colton was on the Marriage Mart.

Nick offered a bow to the young lady. “A pleasure to meet you, Miss Colton.” He noticed the viscount didn’t introduce his daughter to Simon, which only soured Nick’s already dismal mood. “This is my dear friend, the Duke of Romsey.”

Simon bowed, and Miss Colton offered a curtsey. Lady Colton’s face pinched and Lord Colton’s cheeks lost a bit of their robust color. Nick wanted to turn and stalk away, effectively giving them the cut direct. How dare they insult Simon?

As if reading Nick’s mind—and maybe, probably, his outrage was evident on his face—Simon briefly clasped Nick’s elbow. “Shall we move on?” he murmured.

“Please excuse us.” Simon gave them an undeserved smile and guided Nick away. When they were out of earshot, he said, “You’re going to have to do better than that.”

“Why? I don’t want to be here, particularly if people are going to be rude to you.”

“They weren’t rude. They were reticent. I do want to be here, and you promised me one goddamn night.” Simon took a deep breath. “Compose yourself and let us continue.”

“For how long? I need a drink.” He cast Simon an apologetic glance.

Simon shook his head imperceptibly—their friendship was long enough and close enough that Nick didn’t need to censor himself. Still sometimes, particularly in moments of stress like this one, he tried to be more mindful. “You do need a drink,” Simon said. “But first, we circuit the room. I promise it won’t take long.” He looked ahead. “We’ll start with that woman. She looks quite harmless.”

Nick stopped moving and dug his feet into the carpet. “No.”

Simon halted alongside him. Nick angled his body so he couldn’t see Violet. They stood near the windows, and another flash of light brightened the sky. “Why not?” Simon asked.

“I don’t want to speak with her. You may take me anywhere else. Anywhere.”

Simon dashed a glance toward her, his brows gathering together in consternation. “You know her? I don’t think I’ve ever seen her before. How do you know someone I don’t?”

“Leave it,” Nick growled low in his throat. The urge to stalk from the room was nearly overwhelming.

“Calm yourself,” Simon said soothingly. “We’ll discuss it later.” He gave Nick a look that clearly communicated he wasn’t going to forget the topic.

They spent a half hour—or maybe it was a lifetime—meeting everyone else in the room. There were several unwed ladies, all of them interested in meeting Nick and nervous about having to meet Simon too. By the time they’d finished, Nick was ready to walk directly into the storm and hopefully be struck by lightning.

“You’ve one more person to meet,” Mrs. Linford said brightly as Nick and Simon made their way toward the door. “Come.” She lightly touched Nick’s arm, and Simon inclined his head to go along.

A moment later, Nick stood three feet from the woman who’d broken his heart.

“Violet, may I present Their Graces, the Duke of Kilve and the Duke of Romsey.”

Violet offered a rather deep curtsey. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” She inclined her head to both of them, and Nick acknowledged that she was the first and only person in the room who’d given Simon the same deference and courtesy she’d given him. Perversely, that didn’t improve his disposition.

“Violet is Lady Pendleton,” Mrs. Linford said.

Simon took her hand and bowed. “The pleasure is mine, my lady.”

Nick forced himself to make a curt bow. He said nothing and avoided looking at her. Except he couldn’t. She was even lovelier now than in her youth. Her eyes were still full of warmth and intelligence—moss-green irises that melted to rich brown at the edges. She had more curves now and a set to her chin that suggested experience and confidence. Her dark pink lips were as full and lush as he remembered. That mouth had drawn him in from the start, especially when she’d laughed. He’d compared it to music.

He’d been a foolish boy.

Mr. Linford cleared his throat loudly, drawing everyone to turn toward the doorway. “Gentlemen, if you’d care to repair to the billiards room with me, you are most welcome.”

Hell yes. “If you’ll excuse us,” Nick said, turning. He didn’t wait for a response before stalking toward his host.

A few minutes later, he entered the billiards room on Linford’s heels. A footman stood at a sideboard and offered spirits. Nick accepted a glass of whiskey and took a welcome drink as he made his way to a corner.

Simon joined him there, his eyes dark and his lips pressed together. “You were incredibly rude.”

“Not incredibly.” He took another sip of whiskey. “It’s not as though I gave her the cut direct.”

Simon exhaled sharply. “I know you’ve a name to live up to, but must you be a beast?”

“You insisted on dragging me here. You may not complain about how I comport myself.”

A groan of frustration vibrated low in Simon’s throat. “Who is she?”

“I met her several years ago. Before my uncle bought my commission.” He and Simon hadn’t been as close during that period after Oxford. While Nick, a mere mister at the time, had gone home to Bath, Simon had been a marquess with a penchant for gaming and drink. And women. He’d done his best to become the most notorious rake in London.

“You never told me about her.”

“There’s nothing to tell.” That was an egregious lie, but the story was ancient history. Surely it didn’t matter now.

Except she was here. And the past was playing merry hell with his well-ordered life. No, Simon had played merry hell with his well-ordered life. “I never should’ve allowed you to persuade me to come here,” Nick said before taking another drink.

“Perhaps not,” Simon said with resignation. “But you are here. Can we not try to make the best of it? If the weather clears, there will be fishing tomorrow. Linford’s lake is excellent, I hear.”

Nick did love to fish. And there wouldn’t be any women there. Perhaps if he kept to this room as well as his own chamber, he could suffer through this infernal party. “How long are we supposed to be here?”

“A week,” Simon said. “Dare I hope you are reconsidering your desire to flee?”

“As you said, we are here, and there is fishing.”

Simon grinned. “There are also several marriageable females. You can also reconsider your decision to avoid matrimony.”

Nick grunted before sipping his whiskey.

“I think there are several candidates. And you’ve an excellent chance with any of them.”

“I’ll leave the courtship to you,” Nick said.

“Oh no, everyone is interested in you,” Simon said cheerfully. “You didn’t kill your wife.”

Nick looked at his friend sharply. He joked about the rumor sometimes, and it was the nearest they came to discussing it. There were just some things you didn’t share with anyone, not even those closest to you.

Such as the fact that Nick had killed his wife. If not for him, she would still be alive. Nick was cursed. Indeed, perhaps if he removed himself from Simon, his friend might begin to emerge from the cloud of fear and distrust that surrounded him wherever he went.

Nick swirled the whiskey in his glass before downing the rest of the amber liquid. “You should find a better friend.”

Simon snorted. “No one will have me. So I’m afraid you’re stuck.”

“Perhaps your luck would improve without me.”

“Is that what you think?” Simon let out a huff of laughter. “Right now, you’re the only luck I have. Without you, I wouldn’t even be here. So you’re not getting rid of me. Let us try to enjoy ourselves this week, and if the future presents itself, you ought to embrace it.”

Nick felt suddenly contrite. If Simon could be optimistic, Nick owed it to him to try. Still, there were limits to what he could do. What he was capable of. “I’m not going to fall in love.”

“You sound quite adamant.”

“If there was a marriage—and I’m not saying there will be—she would have to agree to an arrangement in which love played no part.” That was essential. For her own well-being.

“How cold, but then you are—”

Nick glared at him. “Don’t say it.”

Simon raised his hand in self-defense. “I won’t.” He eyed Nick intently. “Could you do that? Take a wife without emotion.”

“I do everything without emotion.”

“Mostly, yes.” Simon let out a breath and turned to look at the windows. The lightning had died down, but a sudden sharp bolt rent the sky. “Sometimes, however, there’s a glimmer of hope.” He slid a look at Nick and the corner of his mouth ticked up. “I’ll cling to that. And so should you.”

No. Nick had long given up on that particular emotion. Hope was for people who believed in happy endings.

Nick most certainly did not.

* * *

Later that evening, Violet entered the drawing room after dinner. Most of the ladies sat down to play cards, but she’d never particularly cared for cards. Instead, she made her way to a seating area in the corner where she could have a good vantage point of the activities. She’d also be able to see when Nick came into the room.

She mustn’t think of him so familiarly. He was the Duke of Kilve now. The Duke of Ice.

How he embodied that nickname. The frigidity in his gaze had been matched only by the frostiness of his tone and the chill of his overall demeanor. At dinner, he’d sat at Irving Linford’s right with Mrs. Linford, Irving’s mother, on his other side. Violet had watched him covertly throughout the meal, but he hadn’t once looked in her direction. He’d seemed to engage in conversation with Irving and his mother, but they’d done the majority of the talking as far as Violet could tell. Nick had sat stiff and tall, like an icicle frozen in place and absolutely impervious to warmth.

That wasn’t the Nick she’d known eight years ago. What had happened to him? Curiosity ate through her, but she wasn’t going to ask about him. Although she was certain Lady Nixon and Mrs. Law would tell her everything she wanted to know. If she strained to listen, she’d be able to hear them from across the room. They’d talked incessantly since entering the drawing room and were the primary reason Violet had chosen to remove herself from the card playing.

The younger set of women, a trio of bright-faced young ladies, made their way to Violet’s seating area. “Do you mind if we join you?” one of them asked. She was a petite, almost fairylike creature with large blue eyes, glowing ivory skin, and dark, nearly black hair. Her name was Miss Diana Kingman. Her father was a baronet and, from what Violet could tell, a bit of a braggart. He believed his daughter to be the most beautiful and the most charming young woman on the Marriage Mart, and he made sure everyone knew it.

“Not at all,” Violet said warmly. “Please sit.”

Miss Kingman took the chair near Violet, while the other two—Lady Lavinia Gillingham and Miss Sarah Colton—lowered themselves to the small settee.

“We hope you don’t mind, but we thought we might ask your advice,” Miss Colton said tentatively.

Violet wasn’t sure she was in a position to advise these young women. “If I can help, I certainly will. What do you wish to know?”

Lady Lavinia smoothed the back of her dark red-brown hair and glanced between the other two, as if seeking courage. “It’s our first house party.” She squinted at Violet, making her wonder if the girl needed spectacles. “What do we need to know?”

Violet thought back to her first house party. She’d been wed to Clifford for nearly a year, and, newly with child, she’d been rather ill. He’d taken that opportunity to do what many gentlemen did at such events—philander. But she wouldn’t discuss that with these young ladies.

“I daresay there isn’t anything you need to know. Mrs. Linford has planned a great many diversions for everyone, so there is bound to be plenty for you to keep busy.”

“I’m eager for the excursion to see St. Andrew’s Cathedral in Wells,” Lady Lavinia said.

“I’ve seen it and it’s stunning.” Miss Colton’s blue eyes sparkled with anticipation. “I’m looking forward to shopping.”

When Miss Kingman didn’t contribute her opinion regarding the scheduled activities, Violet turned to her and asked, “And you, Miss Kingman?”

“The cathedral will be excellent, I think. But I’ll only be allowed to go if certain other guests go too.” However she felt about this was carefully guarded by her placid demeanor.

The other two women gazed sympathetically at Miss Kingman, and Lady Lavinia leaned toward Violet. “Her father is keen to marry her off.” She kept her voice low.

Violet studied Miss Kingman to see her reaction, but her features were remarkably impassive. The young woman was a study in reservation. Violet completely understood. She’d quickly learned to repress most of her emotions after marrying Pendleton, and though he’d been dead nearly three years, she still kept things close. Or perhaps that was maturity, as her mother often noted.

“I should like to be married,” Miss Kingman said evenly. She glanced around at the other two young ladies. “Wouldn’t you?”

Miss Colton’s shoulder twitched. “I suppose. My parents certainly want that.”

“I do want to marry,” Lady Lavinia said. “But perhaps not immediately.” She winked at Miss Kingman before turning her gaze to Violet. “How old were you when you wed, Lady Pendleton?”

“Not quite twenty.” She hadn’t even had a season. That had been the intent, but after Nick, her parents had married her off at the earliest possible opportunity.

Lady Lavinia wrinkled her nose. “I’m two years past that, and I’m not certain I’m ready to be leg shackled.”

Violet hadn’t been ready either, but that was due to the choice of groom. If she’d been allowed to follow her heart… Well, that hardly mattered now.

Tracing a small flower embroidered on her skirt, Lady Lavinia exhaled. “Still, there are several eligible bachelors here this week, and my father will undoubtedly assess their worth.” She shot Miss Kingman a look of commiseration. “I daresay our fathers will put us in direct competition for the Duke of Ice.” She laughed, but it was edged with uncertainty. Or perhaps nervousness.

Miss Colton smiled happily. “I doubt my father will bother trying to match me to an Untouchable, thank goodness. For me, they are truly untouchable.”

“Are you sure?” Lady Lavinia asked. “No one would dare touch the Duke of Ruin, and for that reason, he may be quite available. If someone wished to take the risk.”

The smile crashed off Miss Colton’s face, and her eyes widened with horror. “You would wish that on me?”

“Of course not!” Lady Lavinia’s cheeks turned a bright shade of pink. “It was a poor jest.”

“What is wrong with the Duke of Ru—the Duke of Romsey?” Violet didn’t want to use their nicknames.

All three young ladies swung their heads to stare at Violet.

“How can you not know?” Miss Kingman asked.

“I’m afraid I don’t pay much attention to gossip.” How many times had she stopped Hannah from sharing the latest on-dit? Too many to count.

“It’s quite a lurid tale.” Lady Lavinia lowered her voice and glanced about before fixing her stare on Violet. “It is said he killed his wife—pushed her down the stairs.”

Violet was instantly outraged for the man. “What a horrid rumor.”

“It’s not a rumor,” Miss Colton said softly. “He has said himself that he doesn’t remember what happened.”

“Are you saying he doesn’t dispute it?” Violet asked.

“That is the rumor,” Lady Lavinia said.

This was a prime example of why Violet despised rumors. “Was he formally accused of this crime? Or tried for it in the court?”

“Charges were never brought,” Lady Lavinia said, her eyes narrowing slightly. “But everyone knows what truly happened. Such a tragedy. She was apparently expecting their first child to boot.”

Violet’s gut clenched. She’d lost several children—three—but not because she’d fallen down the stairs. No, her body was simply not able to carry a child, a defect her husband pointed out at every opportunity. “How awful.”

“I have to admit that he doesn’t look like a murderer.” Miss Colton shrugged. “I thought he was rather handsome, to be honest.” Color flooded her cheeks, and she looked down at her lap.

Lady Lavinia giggled softly, then reached over and patted Miss Colton’s hand. “I did too.”

Miss Colton looked up at her and joined in with soft laughter.

“It’s his eyes,” Miss Kingman said, her lips quirking into a half smile. “Such a rich brown, like velvet. And little gold flecks that make them glimmer.”

Lady Lavinia looked at her sharply. “Do you have your sights on him?”

Miss Kingman’s gaze cooled. “Of course not. Finding someone attractive doesn’t mean they would be a good match.”

It was precisely the same sentiment Violet’s mother had repeated eight years ago. Violet’s “love” for Nick hadn’t been real. Finding someone handsome and being drawn to them physically were not nearly as important to a marriage as placement in Society. She’d convinced the young Violet of that truth, that what her heart wanted didn’t matter. It seemed Miss Kingman had been schooled in the same manner.

“My mother tells me that all the time,” Miss Colton said with a sigh. “I argue with her—love is important.”

“Companionship at least,” Lady Lavinia put in. “I can’t imagine marrying a man I didn’t even like.” She gave a delicate shudder.

Miss Kingman showed no outward reaction to the other girls’ commiseration. “We must trust that things will work out.”

Violet couldn’t tell if the young woman believed that or was merely reciting what had been drilled into her head. In her own experience, things hadn’t worked out—at least not with regard to her marriage. But now she was a widow and blissfully independent.

Violet coughed delicately. “So the Duke of Romsey isn’t someone any of you wish to pursue.” All three women shook their heads in the negative. “Well, there are several other eligible bachelors here. Mr. Adair’s father is a baron. And I believe Mr. Woodward is heir to a viscountcy.”

“Mr. Seaver is quite charming,” Miss Colton said.

Violet didn’t know him. “Excellent. I think you’ll all be quite entertained.”

“I hope the weather clears so that we may fish tomorrow.”

Violet turned to look at Miss Kingman, who’d spoken the surprising statement. “You fish?”

She nodded. “Though I won’t be allowed tomorrow, I suppose. I shall have to suffer with only watching.”

“How unfortunate,” Violet said, her mind working. “I can speak to Mrs. Linford. I’m sure she can arrange something.”

Miss Kingman went a bit pale. “No, thank you. I wouldn’t want to cause a fuss. Truly. I am quite content to watch the men fish.” She gave them a serene smile, but Violet wasn’t entirely sure she meant it.

“I heard we will be allowed to take the boats out,” Lady Lavinia said to Miss Kingman. “Surely that will be diverting.”

Miss Kingman’s eyes lit with true anticipation. “Indeed it will.”

For some reason, it made Violet happy to see Miss Kingman’s enthusiasm. Perhaps the young woman reminded her of a past she’d tried to forget, of being a young woman with no choices. Violet would keep an eye on Miss Kingman for the duration of the party.

The gentlemen joined them then, filtering into the drawing room. The air in the space changed, becoming thicker and more charged as the volume climbed. Violet hadn’t meant to look for him, but there he was, one of the last to enter. He lingered by the door.

Nick didn’t look her way as he stood with the Duke of Romsey for a few minutes. Romsey left his side and made his way to another pair of gentlemen. Nick gravitated to the corner, where he gazed out over the drawing room with heavy-lidded eyes and his mouth pressed into a thin line of dispassion. There was only one word for what he was doing: brooding.

When—and more importantly why—had he learned to brood?

The young women had continued their chatter while Violet had taken on the role of observer.

“You should go talk to him,” Miss Colton urged.

“Who should?” Violet asked.

“Either of them,” Miss Colton said with a wave of her hand. “Lavinia probably. She’s the most vivacious, I think.” She darted a look toward Miss Kingman, who kept casting surreptitious looks in Nick’s direction. “But Diana seems as though she wants to…” Miss Colton’s voice trailed off.

“I’m going.” Lady Lavinia stood up, her mouth set with determination and her spine straight. She was a bit taller than average, and her pale yellow dress draped her slender frame to perfection. She smoothed the silk, perhaps nervously, before embarking to the opposite side of the room.

“We mustn’t stare,” Violet said, despite following the young woman’s progress. Violet’s breath caught as Lady Lavinia stopped in front of Nick. His pale gaze swept over her, but his features registered nothing resembling interest. In fact, they didn’t register anything at all.

Miss Colton swung her head back around toward Violet. “I can’t watch.”

Violet tore her gaze away. “Perhaps you should go speak with Mr. Seaver,” she said encouragingly to Miss Colton. Since everyone had been dutifully introduced after arriving earlier, it was perfectly appropriate for her to do so.

The young lady’s attention pivoted to the man in question. He stood near the windows in conversation with Mr. Stinnet, an older fellow with an entirely bald pate. “I don’t think I’m brave enough to interrupt them.”

“I could go with you,” Violet offered. She could see herself guiding these young women over the next week and decided that might be rather nice.

“Lavinia is coming back,” Miss Kingman said.

Violet and Miss Colton snapped their heads in that direction. Lady Lavinia was indeed returning, her face flushed and her eyes a bit wide. When she sat down in her vacated seat, it was clear she was flustered.

“What happened?” Miss Colton asked in alarm.

“He was rather…abrupt.” Lady Lavinia seemed to take great pains not to look in his direction.

“What did he say?” Violet asked, curiosity burning inside her. The Nick she’d met eight years ago in Bath had been charming and witty. Absolutely irresistible.

“Barely anything. I asked if he liked to fish.”

Violet recalled that he did. Very much, in fact.

“He said the only fishing he cared to do was in the lake tomorrow.” Lady Lavinia blinked at them. “I said, ‘Of course. What other fishing would there be?’ He snorted then, and asked if I wasn’t fishing right then. He told me to swim back to the shallow end.”

Violet snapped her head toward Nick. He was staring at her, his pale eyes familiar and yet unrecognizable. He shifted his gaze away. Slowly, as if he didn’t care that she’d caught him staring. She looked back to Lady Lavinia. “Are you all right?”

She nodded and pressed a hand to her cheek. It was still a bit pink and likely warm. “Yes. I daresay I won’t be doing that again.” She laughed nervously. “When he said I was fishing, what did he mean?” she asked Violet.

Violet suppressed a frown. “I’m not certain, but I believe he was referring to husband hunting.”

Miss Colton’s shoulders twitched. “I’m ever so glad I didn’t go with you!”

Miss Kingman cast him a look tinged with curiosity. “He is the Duke of Ice. What did you expect?”

Violet was more eager than ever to know how he’d attained that nickname. Whatever the reason, it didn’t give him permission to behave in such a boorish manner. Without thinking, she stood and stalked toward his corner.

His gaze strayed to hers as she approached, and she wondered if he’d gained the sobriquet purely by the way his eyes made one feel. She shivered as she came to stand before him. “Duke.”

“Lady Pendleton.” Or perhaps it was his tone. It fairly dripped with ice.

Words stalled on her tongue. What could she say to this man after eight long, lonely years?

He arched a dark brow at her. It was the prodding she needed.

“Why were you rude to Lady Lavinia?”

“I wasn’t rude. I was plainspoken.”

“It sounded rude to me.”

“And Lady Lavinia would be the first young woman to speak the absolute truth? I find that impossible to believe.”

He was referring to her and the promise she’d made to him. The promise she’d broken.

“She said you told her to swim back to the shallow end. That’s hardly polite.”

“It’s honest.” He glowered past Violet. “She’s in over her head with me.”

Words failed Violet again for a moment as she struggled to reconcile the cold man in front of her with the Nick she remembered. “What happened to you?”

His frigid eyes bored into hers. “Haven’t you heard? I’m the Duke of Ice now.”

“Just today in fact.” She searched his face, looking for a trace of the young man she’d fallen in love with. “I’d no idea you were a duke or that you were even in line for a title.”

His lips spread into a humorless smile. “Of course you didn’t. You wouldn’t have thrown me over. A duke surely trumps a viscount.”

Of course he was angry with her—he’d every right to be. What had she expected? Eight years hadn’t washed away her emotion for him. She had to assume it was the same for him.

“I am still so very sorry about what happened, as I explained then.”

His brow shot up briefly. “Explained? I had no explanation from you.”

“I wrote you a letter.” Panic bubbled in her chest as she realized he’d never received it. She’d asked her maid to post it—had her parents somehow intervened?

His face settled back into its stoic mask. “Would it have changed anything?”

Defeat, as heavy as it had been then, weighed on her. She would still have married Pendleton. She’d had no choice. “No.”

Horror dawned, and her lips parted as she looked up at him. “Is this… Are you like this because of me?”

He let out a sharp snicker. “Don’t flatter yourself, Lady Pendleton. You were one disappointment among many, and I daresay you weren’t the worst. Not by a great deal.” His gaze hardened. “Do not presume to know me. Our brief and ancient association is long dead. I prefer it to remain that way.”

He turned and strode from the room, moving much faster than a glacier, but with precisely the same temperature.

As Violet pivoted to return to the trio she’d left, she realized the volume of conversation had dipped. Heads were turned in her direction. Her gaze found Hannah’s a few feet away. It looked as though she’d been on her way to Violet—perhaps to intervene in her conversation with Nick. A conversation it seemed, judging by the attention currently directed toward her, everyone had been aware of.

Color leapt up her neck and spread through her face. She spun on her heel and fled the room.