The Duke of Ice Read online

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  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 b
lushing 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.

  Chapter 12

  The music from the gallery provided a lively backdrop to the hum of conversation filling the Pump Room. Nick hadn’t been here in eight years. His uncle had bought him a commission the fall after he’d met Violet, and away to war he’d gone, joining his brother in the company of Wellington’s newly formed 4th Infantry Division. He quickly shoved those nearly three years from his mind.

  Instead, he focused on yesterday, on Violet. His plan had been executed as perfectly as he could’ve expected. A part of him had feared she would turn away from him, but she hadn’t. No, she’d engaged in his make-believe, and they’d spent a thoroughly delightful afternoon.

  He stood near the windows and watched the women promenade while others sat and drank the waters. His gaze strayed to the door often in anticipation of Violet’s arrival.

  And there she was.

  She wore a fetching walking dress with a light blue spencer and cunning bonnet that perfectly framed her face. As lovely as she looked, he would strip everything away until she was bare. That, he realized, was how he liked her best. And since he hadn’t been able to accomplish that feat at the house party, he was impatient to do so. Assuming she was even interested in rekindling their affair.

  She scanned the room until she found him, her features lighting up. He picked his way along the length of the room as she moved inside.

  “Good afternoon, Lady Pendleton.” He took her hand and bowed.

  She dipped a curtsey and murmured, “I’m Lady Pendleton today?”

  He didn’t answer but gave her a sly grin. “Shall we take the water or promenade? Or both?”

  “Both, I think.”

  He curled her hand around his forearm and led her toward the opposite end of the room.

  “Duke,” she started, drawing him to glance in her direction. The word sounded so strange coming from her. He’d had difficulty adjusting to his title, and this took him back to that time. “I am surprised to see you in Bath.”

  “I imagine so. It seemed after our last meeting that there was perhaps…more to say.” Or do.

  She flashed him a look of surprise. “I should like to know your intentions.”

  He let out a low chuckle. “You sound like a concerned mother. If it isn’t obvious, I thought we might determine if we would suit.”

  She lurched forward, tripping, but he tightened his grip before she went down.

  “Careful there,” he said.

  Now the look she threw him was tinged with exasperation. “You think it’s that simple?” The question was low and urgent.

  “No,
but we have to begin somewhere.” There were eight years and a multitude of unknown feelings and hurts between them. They would need to sort them out, if they could sort them out.

  Two women who were a few years older than Violet stopped before them. They looked at Violet in question before offering curtsies to Nick.

  “Allow me to present the Duke of Kilve,” Violet said. “We were recently acquainted at the house party of a mutual friend.” She turned her head to Nick. “Duke, this is Mrs. Dunweavy and Mrs. Frye.”

  The women stared at him, slack-jawed for a moment.

  Mrs. Frye was the first to regain her tongue. “A pleasure to meet you, Your Grace.” She curtsied again.

  “Have you come to town to see the Queen?” Mrs. Dunweavy asked.

  He hadn’t, but he grasped that excuse since he couldn’t very well tell them he’d come to Bath to seduce his former lover. “Yes.”

  “How splendid,” Mrs. Frye said, smiling. “Everyone is so thrilled she is coming to town. I imagine you’ll be at her audience.”

  Nick hadn’t really thought of it, but of course he would. It was part of being a duke. When the Queen came to visit, you attended her. Violet would also go, given her status as a viscountess.

  “I’m looking forward to it,” Nick said.

  They exchanged a few more pleasantries before parting. Nick and Violet continued to the other end of the room.

  As they passed a table, a portly gentleman well past middle age leaned forward, squinting at Nick. “I say, is that Nicholas Bateman?”

  Nick recognized the man, an old friend of his uncle’s. “It is indeed. How are you, Mr. Eames?”

  “I’m quite fair, quite fair.” His gaze strayed to Violet.

  “May I present my friend Lady Pendleton?” Nick said.

  She curtsied to the older man with the smile that never failed to make Nick’s heart trip.

  Mr. Eames looked back to Nick with a deep chuckle. “I’m afraid I forgot you were a duke, Your Grace.” He inclined his head to Violet. “A pleasure, my lady. Would you care to sit and amuse an old man? I’ve one more cup of water to finish. Don’t want to short myself, not when it keeps me young. But then that is why our Queen is coming, isn’t it? These waters are magic, I say.” He took a long draught, apparently finishing his serving. He handed the empty cup to Nick. “Would you mind refilling it for me, Your Grace?”