By the time Nick rode back to Linford’s stables, he was windblown, damp, and cold enough to make his nickname accurate. It felt good. It felt like home, because he spent many a day riding along the windswept coast regardless of the weather. Being outside allowed him to feel untethered; his thoughts as careless as the breeze.

Except today, he’d been thinking. Last night, he’d tossed and turned, hardly able to sleep after his confrontation with Violet. He’d recalled their time together, their happiness and anticipation, when they’d forecast a life and marriage before them. Since then, everything had gone to hell, and he realized now that a part of him blamed her. As if she’d caused all his misfortune.

But he knew that wasn’t true. The curse was his. She seemed content and had maintained her charm, even if she was more subdued than she’d been eight years ago. He remembered a young woman who was quick to laugh, her eyes alight with a constant gleam of excitement and joy—as if every day were a new adventure. And he supposed it had been. For that blissfully short time.

Had that been the happiest period of his life? He wasn’t sure. He wanted to say it was his marriage to Jacinda, but he’d wed her out of duty. Yes, he’d grown to care for her, but he’d never experienced what he’d felt for Violet. And therein lay a part of his guilt.

He shook his head as he dismounted in the yard and handed the reins to a groom. He hadn’t thought of such things in a very long time, if he’d ever considered them so deeply. Normally, he did his best to thrust such thoughts away. It seemed, however, that in the presence of Violet, he wasn’t able to do that.

And if she could somehow resurrect him from the prison he’d created—and yes, it was a prison—shouldn’t he let her?

He stopped short as he approached the house, the wind nearly whipping his hat from his head. What was he saying? Was he thinking of rekindling their affair?

Would that be so terrible? A tiny voice whispered in the back of his mind.

He hadn’t had a lover in ages, and house parties seemed rife with opportunity for just such an endeavor. She was, he now knew, a widow, which was also beneficial. He allowed his curiosity about her to rise. How had she become widowed? Did she have children? Had she been happy?

It felt wrong to care about those things—about her—given what he’d endured, but perhaps it was past time he released his emotions. At least a little.

As Simon and Violet had pointed out, he was here at this party. Perhaps he could try to make the best of it, for Simon if not for himself. He was glad for Simon—he was ready to move forward even if Nick wasn’t. And if Nick could help him do that, he should.

Nick started toward the house once more, a buoyancy to his step that had been absent for far too long.

It was past luncheon—he’d purposely gone for his ride during that time to avoid the gathering, just as he’d broken his fast in his chamber instead of downstairs. The house seemed quiet, and he wondered if people had retired for a respite or had perhaps left on an excursion. If it was the latter, they would’ve done so on foot because the stables hadn’t reflected any sort of activity that supported transporting guests. He supposed he ought to pay attention to what the devil was going on at this party if he intended to stay. And since he hadn’t left yet, he had to accept that he’d made his decision.

He ducked into Linford’s library, which wasn’t terribly impressive, to select a book for the afternoon. He stiffened, his feet planting into the carpet, upon seeing Violet perched on a cushioned seat set into the bowed window.

She looked up, and color instantly flooded her cheeks when she saw him.

He wanted to turn and leave, but he didn’t. He could do this. Taking a deep inhalation through his nose, he strolled forward until he was a few feet from her.

She closed the book, keeping her place with her forefinger. “Good afternoon. We missed you at luncheon.”

“I was riding.”

“And you came back.” A smile teased her mouth, but only for a moment.

He was sorry not to see it bloom. “Evidently,” he said wryly. “I’ve decided to stay. It looks as if it will rain.”

She glanced out the window at the darkening sky. “Yes, I’m afraid so. Hannah had planned a walk earlier, but we feared becoming drenched, so they played cards instead.”

“They played cards,” he said knowingly. “While you came here to find poetry.” He glanced at the book in her hand.

“You remembered.” Blushing slightly, she tipped her head back toward the window. “We’ll take the walk tomorrow—if the weather allows.”

A large, fat drop hit the window and slid down the glass. “There it is.”

With her free hand, she traced the water’s descent. Nick had a flash of her forefinger moving down his chest. The memory jolted him.

She turned her head and looked up at him. “I’m glad you’re staying. After last night, I wasn’t sure. I will stay out of your way.”

That would probably be best. She was rousing all sorts of memories and emotions that he didn’t entirely want to face. That voice at the back of his head piped up again. She’s not your enemy.

No, but he’d cast her as a villain for so long, he wasn’t sure he could think of her any other way. Did she really deserve that?

“You…agitate me.” He surprised himself by admitting it.

She stood from the window seat, which brought them closer together. She was so familiar to him and yet a stranger. It was an odd sensation. “I can see that. Am I the reason you’re the Duke of Ice?”

“Partly.” He had the urge to touch her, just a brief stroke of his finger along her jaw, to see if the connection between them was still there.

But he didn’t. This was enough. For now.

“Did you really not know I was a duke?” he asked. “Mrs. Linford is your friend. You could have asked her to invite me. Now that I am a duke, I imagine I’m worthy of your attention.”

Her color turned a bit gray, and he regretted provoking her. “I deserved that,” she said softly, looking him in the eye. “You were always worthy of my attention.” She dropped her gaze to the floor. “It’s me who isn’t worthy. Truly, I didn’t know you were a duke. I purposely ignored anything to do with you—Nicholas Bateman, that is. And I pay little to no attention to the goings-on in Society.”

“That’s something we have in common, then.” Something inside him loosened, like a caged butterfly set free.

She looked back up at him, her eyes the color of grass and earth, basic and elemental. “I was glad to see you. I’d always wondered how you were. Simon—the Duke of Romsey—said you were in the army. I was sorry to hear about your brother.”

With that sentiment, he snapped back into his usual self. The ice crept back over him. He grasped for a safer subject. “You’re first-naming Simon?”

“He asked me to. He seems a good man.”

“He is. And since I’m at this infernal party, I’ve decided I should make the most of it—for his sake. He persuaded me to come here so that he could attend. He would like to move on with his life, find another wife. If that’s even possible.”

“I should think so.” The muscles around her eyes twitched, and she glanced away. “Actually, I’m not certain. He’s been treated with reticence since his arrival, though things have improved since yesterday’s events.”

“He said as much.”

“It’s the younger women mostly. Convincing their parents that he’s a good match may be difficult.” She paused a beat to consider him. “You, on the other hand, are highly sought after.”

He grunted, his lips twisting with disgust.

“You aren’t interested in marrying?” she asked.

“I’ve been married,” he said. “I don’t particularly wish to do it again.” He quickly looked away, directing his gaze at the rain streaming down the windows. “But Simon does, so I’ll help him in any way that I can.”

She took a moment to respond, and he was certain she wanted to ask about his wife. When she didn’t, he breathed softly with relief. He never should’ve brought it up. Images of Jacinda and of his son, Elias, flashed in his mind. He briefly closed his eyes to banish them for now.

“I’d like to help,” she said. “If I may.”

He looked down at her, surprised to find himself forging an alliance with her. “I was hoping you’d say that. What can we do?”

“It might be best if you made it clear you are not wife hunting. Then the parents who wish to make a match will look elsewhere.”

“I despise making my business public.”

A smile teased her lips. “Something else we have in common. Well, I have good news. If you continue behaving like a boor, I doubt anyone would have you.” Her breath caught. “Except… I do believe Sir Barnard has his eye on you for his daughter, Miss Kingman, regardless of your temperament.”

“I believe you’re correct. He’s cornered me in conversation after dinner the past two nights and extolled his daughter’s attributes at length.”

“I’ve become friendly with Miss Kingman. I can relate to her that you aren’t interested and that perhaps she should shift her interest to Simon.”

He considered her suggestion but decided he didn’t want to wish the baronet on his friend. “I’m not sure Simon should have to tolerate Kingman as a father-in-law. What are his other options here?”

“Few, I’m afraid. Lady Lavinia and Miss Colton aren’t terribly enthusiastic about marriage. Yet. That doesn’t mean they couldn’t be. Both seem to want to fall in love.” Her cheeks pinked, and she busied herself transferring her book from one hand to the other, careful to keep her place.

Oh, to be young and full of dreams again. Nick pitied them, for it was likely those dreams would be dashed. “Even if he doesn’t find a wife here, making sure everyone in attendance leaves here with an improved opinion of him should be our goal.”

She nodded and looked back up at him, her chin determined and her eyes carrying some of the sparkle he recognized from so long ago. “Agreed.”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to tell me what to do. My social ineptitude is epic in nature.”

The music of her laughter soothed his spirit, and he nearly smiled. “You take care of the gentlemen—do what you can to show them that Simon is a good sort. Leave the women to me.” She wrinkled her nose. “I suppose I’ll have to talk with Lady Nixon and Mrs. Law. If I can gain their support of him, he’ll practically have carte blanche in Society.”

“If you could do that, he—I—would be eternally grateful.”

She stared up at him, her lips slightly parted. He felt a pull toward her, like a bee drawn to a bright, beautiful flower.

“It’s the least I can do,” she murmured. Her fingertips grazed his chest, and he had his answer—the connection was still there. “I’d do anything to help you. Or your friend. I’ll see you at dinner.”

She turned from him and left the room.

He watched her go, his body thrumming with long-suppressed arousal. Well, that had been unexpected. As was the sensation currently tripping through him—an interest in tomorrow.

* * *

He’d been married.

The information had shocked and saddened Violet—because he’d married someone other than her, but mostly because, like her, he’d lost his spouse. Had his union been happier than hers? She hoped so.

Such thoughts had taken over her brain since she’d seen him that afternoon. All through dinner, she’d stolen looks at him down the table where he’d sat beside Simon. Violet had asked Hannah to seat them together in the hope that Nick would be able to support their effort to elevate Simon’s reputation. It had seemed to work since that area of the table had been a source of laughter and general good cheer.

Violet slowly made her way to the drawing room. For her part on Simon’s behalf, she should talk with Lady Nixon and Mrs. Law. She wasn’t looking forward to it.

Hannah caught up to her just before they reached the doorway to the drawing room. Her smile was wide, and her eyes sparkled with joy. “Thank you ever so much, Violet. I don’t know what you did to improve His Grace’s disposition, but I daresay he was a different person at dinner.”

Violet had told her friend that she’d spoken briefly to Nick. She hadn’t elaborated about their past relationship. The habit of keeping that part of her history buried was long and difficult to break apparently. “I think he was just trying to gain his bearing. It’s been a long time since he attended a house party.”

“That makes perfect sense,” Hannah said. “Now, if the weather will just hold tomorrow so that we may have our archery contest.”

“I thought tomorrow was bowls.”

“In the afternoon. Again, if the weather cooperates.” She sighed. “This is what comes from hosting a house party in October.”

“October is a perfectly lovely month, and you aren’t competing with other parties.”

Hannah winked at her. “That was my primary objective, as you know. It does seem as though things are going well. Ice is warming up.” She laughed at her not-so-subtle pun. “And Ruin seems to be far more charming than his dark reputation would have us believe.”

“I agree. I couldn’t be more delighted to see his character redeemed.”

Hannah’s mother approached them. “If you’re speaking of the Duke of Romsey, do not get too optimistic. Lady Nixon and Mrs. Law are not convinced.”

Blast. Violet turned toward the drawing room and suppressed a grimace. “I will go and speak with them.”

“I doubt you’ll gain much ground,” Mrs. Parker said, shaking her head. She looked at Hannah in resignation. “Daughter, I know why you invited them, but I hope after this, you’ll decide it isn’t worth the aggravation.”

Hannah twisted her mouth and gave a small nod. “Yes, Mother.”

If Violet knew Hannah, her friend had no intention of leaving the likes of Lady Nixon and Mrs. Law out of future invitations, not if they gave her their stamp of approval. Accordingly, Violet ought to make sure that happened. “Please excuse me,” she said before taking herself into the drawing room.

A brief survey of the room showed that the ladies were holding a small court in their usual spot. They monopolized the largest seating area, each of them occupying two tall-backed, stuffed chairs. They were surrounded by most of the other ladies of the party, save the younger trio who were in their usual spot. Lady Lavinia looked at Violet in open invitation, and Miss Colton went so far as to beckon Violet with her hand. She smiled at them but shook her head very slightly. Gathering her courage—and patience—she strolled into the lionesses’ den.

“Lady Pendleton, how unexpected of you to join us this evening,” Mrs. Law said. “We’d thought you’d taken on the duty of chaperoning the young ladies.”

Anything to avoid sitting with you lot. Violet smiled blandly, then looked pointedly at Ladies Colton, Balcombe, and Kingman. “They’re lovely girls.”

“We do appreciate your solicitude,” Lady Balcombe said. “One can never have too many examples of grace and propriety.”

Propriety. Violet thought back to her own youth, specifically eight years ago. If they knew how she’d behaved with Nick, it would be an extraordinary scandal.

“Indeed,” agreed Lady Nixon with a sniff. Her pale blue eyes swiveled to Mrs. Law. “Especially when there are questionable individuals about.”

“You’re referring to the Duke of Romsey?” Violet asked rather innocently, hoping she successfully kept the edge from her tone.

“Ruin, yes, of course,” Mrs. Law said, pursing her lips. “I do understand why Mrs. Linford invited him, and since he did coax Ice out of hiding, we must be grateful, I suppose.”

“Yes, but was it really worth it?” Lady Nixon asked. She leaned forward slightly. “I daresay Ice has forgotten how to behave.”

“He was quite charming at dinner tonight,” Lady Kingman rushed to say. “I even saw him smile.”

Lady Nixon arched a pale brow. “Indeed? I must have missed that, surprisingly.” The implication—that she’d been surveying him closely—was clear. But then one had only to watch Lady Nixon to know that her powers of observation were sharp and obtrusive.

Violet had missed his smile too, and she was incredibly disappointed. “I’ve found him to be quite pleasant,” she said serenely.

Mrs. Law narrowed her eyes at Violet. “I find that difficult to believe given the interaction you shared with him the other night. It looked rather…tense.”

“It was not,” Violet lied. “That’s the problem with making an assumption about something when you weren’t actually there.” She gave a placid smile but laced it with some of Nick’s ice. “The same can be said of the Duke of Romsey.” She put special emphasis on his name on purpose.

“There you are wrong,” Lady Nixon declared darkly. “There was an eyewitness to the Duke’s crime. He pushed his pregnant wife down the stairs.”

A few of the women gasped.

“I hadn’t heard that,” Lady Colton said, her brow creasing with distress. “He truly seems like such an affable gentleman.”

“He is.” Violet still didn’t believe he was capable of such an act. There had to be an explanation. She blinked at Lady Nixon. “It seems this is news to many people. Who is this eyewitness?”

Lady Nixon’s gaze frosted. “One of his retainers. All of them left his employ afterward. What more do you need to hear to know that he’s guilty?”

“If he’s so guilty, why wasn’t he prosecuted?” Violet asked. She looked around at all the women, most of whom lowered their gazes to their laps.

Mrs. Law lifted her chin and shifted her gaze from one side of the group to the other, settling on Violet. “Because that retainer disappeared and was never heard from again. Unfortunately, there wasn’t sufficient evidence.”

Violet straightened in her chair. “Well, I, for one, refuse to find him guilty of a crime for which he hasn’t even been accused or tried. I think he’s charming and kind, and I am quite grateful for his assistance in the lake yesterday.”

“Oh yes, that was excellent of him to help the Duke of Kilve with his rescue,” Lady Kingman said.

Violet noted that she made it seem as if it had been Nick’s rescue, and while Nick had been the only gentleman to dive into the lake, Violet gave Simon full credit for his fast thinking. He’d had to dash around the lake—faster than anyone else—and quickly put out a boat to get to her. “He was most solicitous as he walked me to the house,” Violet added.

“You were nervous to be escorted by him?” The query came from Mrs. Stinnet, whose arsenal possessed less vitriol than that of Lady Nixon or Mrs. Law.

“Goodness no. I would do so again, in fact.” Violet seized the opportunity to be plain in her advocacy. “And if I had a daughter, I wouldn’t find fault with him courting her.”

“You’re still young, Lady Pendleton,” Lady Nixon said slyly. “Perhaps he’ll court you.”

Violet couldn’t agree without making it seem like she was interested in him—and she wasn’t. Instead, she orchestrated a neat maneuver. “I am past courtship, but if I were younger and on the Marriage Mart, I would be flattered by his attentions.”

“You must admit he’s handsome.” This came as a whisper from Lady Balcombe to her neighbor, Lady Colton. When she realized others had heard her, her cheeks blushed the color of Violet’s favorite dark pink peony.

“Well, I wouldn’t want him courting my daughters,” Mrs. Law said haughtily. “If they weren’t already well married, that is.” She exchanged a superior look with Lady Nixon, and Violet couldn’t control her irritation another moment.

“That’s ridiculous. You’re ridiculous.” She stood abruptly just as a handful of the men strode into the drawing room.

Spinning about, she nearly collided with Nick. He caught her arm before she barreled into him. His touch streaked through her like the lightning in the sky on the first day of the party—hot and electric.

“In a hurry?” he murmured. “Walk with me.” He offered her his arm and escorted her from the room. “They’re setting up card tables next door.”

“I don’t want to play cards.”

“I know. But given the malevolent stares cast in your direction by Lady Nixon and Mrs. Law, I thought it best to remove you from the drawing room.” He guided her past the sitting room where the card tables were being set.

She tipped her head to look at him and drank in his handsome profile. His ivory cravat stood in sharp contrast to the darker cast of his skin. “Malevolent?”

“Perhaps that’s a bit hyperbolic, but not by much. They’re dangerous—from what I hear. What did you say to set them off?”

“I called them ridiculous.” She winced. “It wasn’t well done of me. But they were being incredibly insulting toward Simon.” She glanced about. “Where is he?”

He inclined his head to the side and back—toward the room they’d passed. “In the card room helping to set up, which was most fortuitous, I think.”

“Yes, his arrival in the drawing room might have caused a scene.” Her shoulders sagged. “I was trying to help him. I’m afraid I made things worse.”

When they reached the entry hall, he pivoted and led her back the way they’d come. “I doubt that’s possible. What’s worse than them thinking he’s a murderer? They already think that.”

“Lady Nixon said there was an eyewitness to the crime. I can’t believe it. He would’ve been prosecuted.”

Nick drew her to a stop and turned slightly toward her, keeping her hand over his arm. “There was, in fact, a witness, but she disappeared.”

Apprehension seized Violet’s chest. “They said as much. I still can’t believe it.”

“Nor can I, but he doesn’t remember what happened. He blames himself, whether he pushed her or not.”

“But he shouldn’t. Not if it was an accident.”

“That wouldn’t matter.” He turned and started walking once more, his gaze focused straight ahead. “Trust me.”

Something in his tone told her there was a wealth of rationale—and emotion—behind that entreaty. She looked up at him and said simply, “I do.”

He cast a glance at her, and she caught maybe a hint of surprise in his eyes. She didn’t expect him to return the sentiment—his trust was something she’d have to regain. If she even could.

“I do think Simon is making progress,” she said as they neared the card room. “Lady Balcombe said he was handsome. And Lady Kingman said his rescue of me was excellent. I still sense some hesitancy, but they aren’t maligning his character like Lady Nixon and Mrs. Law.”

He stopped again before they got to the card room. “Hmm. We’ll need a plan to win them over.”

She reluctantly took her hand from his arm. It felt so good to touch him. Familiar and exciting too. Her body wanted to lean into his, but she masked her reaction. “What sort of plan?”

“I’m not sure yet. For now, I suppose I’ll have to try to charm them.” His face took on a decidedly sour expression, reminiscent of how he looked when he brooded in the corner.

She laughed softly. “Careful. That’s the haughty Duke of Ice. I think you need to dig out the charming Nicholas Bateman I met.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, and she feared she’d overstepped. They’d reached such a nice truce. She hated to go back to him hating her. Or maybe he did still hate her, and he was simply putting that emotion aside so they could help his friend.

“They won’t care.”

“How can you be so sure?”

He arched a brow at her. “I’m a duke—made of ice or not.”

His tone was so droll, his expression so wry, she couldn’t help but laugh. She also couldn’t help thinking this was the Nick she’d met. The Nick she’d dreamed of. Her heart leapt and threatened to take flight from her chest.

“Dukes are magic?”

“To people like Lady Nixon and Mrs. Law, yes.” He pivoted toward the card room. “I’m going to play. Will you watch?”

She couldn’t tell if his question was polite or if he wanted her to join him. She hoped it was the latter and decided she didn’t care. She would enjoy this conviviality with him for as long as she could.