Page 23

“ Y ou missed the ball last night.”

Nicholas adjusted the reins of his horse, urging it into a steady trot as the expansive fields stretched out before him. He had come out early this morning to meet his dearest friend Ambrose, who rode alongside him at an easy pace.

Ambrose shrugged lazily, brushing a speck of imaginary dust off the sleeve of his riding coat. “I cannot imagine I missed anything interesting.”

Nicholas hesitated, his gaze fixed on the path ahead. Memories of the night before flooded back to him. Violet in that gown, the sound of her laughter, how they had danced together. It was seared into his thoughts. For the briefest moment, he considered telling Ambrose about it.

But he dismissed the thought just as quickly.

“Nothing of note,” he said finally, his voice even but his grip on the reins tightening slightly.

“Now that’s a curious answer,” Ambrose replied, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I know you too well, Nicholas. Something definitely happened.”

Nicholas let out a short laugh. “You’re imagining things. It was the same as any other ball.”

“Right,” Ambrose drawled, unconvinced. He adjusted his hat against the sun, his grin growing.

“And nothing of interest at all? Not even your first public appearance with your duchess? Considering the circumstances within which you married, it is hard to believe that there was not interesting chatter at the sight of you both at the very least.”

Nicholas sighed, rolling his eyes. “If you must know, the ton behaved exactly as one would expect. But I hardly gave them a second thought.”

Ambrose’s brow lifted, a sly grin spreading across his face. “Ah, of course. That’s because all your attention was elsewhere—on the Duchess. Am I correct?”

Nicholas’s jaw tightened at the question, but he maintained his composure. “Violet was… pleasant,” he said carefully.

“Pleasant? I hope you don’t describe the rest of your marriage with such enthusiasm.” Ambrose shook his head as though the conversation was serving his fill of amusement for the day. “Tea cakes are pleasant. She is your wife. ”

“And wives can be pleasant,” Nicholas asserted. “I don’t see why you expect me to speak of her as though I’m composing a love sonnet. Ours is a marriage of convenience after all.”

“They often start off that way. But somehow, I always got the notion that you would make for a more…” He trailed off deliberately, clearly enjoying Nicholas’ faint glare as he waited. Finally, he finished, “Well, shall we say, spirited husband.”

That nearly drew a chuckle from Nicholas. “Spirited? Explain yourself.”

“You’ve always been passionate about everything you do,” Ambrose said matter-of-factly. “No half measures. No indifference. So, forgive me for finding it hard to believe that you’re simply ‘pleasantly’ married, of all things.”

“Are you suggesting I’ve failed to apply that same… enthusiasm to my marriage?”

“More of an observation than a suggestion, I would say.”

Nicholas drew in a breath, his mind wandering over to Violet again. Pleasant. Yes, that was one way to describe it—simple enough. He wasn’t sure if he was ready—or even willing—to venture beyond the safety of such simplicity.

“It was an evening well spent,” he remarked. “I realize that I am growing to like her as a friend.”

Nicholas made sure to emphasize the last part of that sentence so as not to give his friend any ideas.

“A good start,” Ambrose teased. “One can hope that love will follow.”

Nicholas shot him a glare. “ Love has nothing to do with it.”

But even as he said the words, he found his mind immediately drifting. Violet had charmed him. Not intentionally, he was sure, but the effect was undeniable. She had held her own at the ball, made him laugh—truly laugh.

“I admire her,” Nicholas added, his voice quieter now. “She’s adjusting well to her role, and she handled herself impeccably last night.”

Ambrose’s grin softened into something more thoughtful. “High praise, coming from you.”

“She exceeded expectations, that’s all.”

“Ah, I have to say it is rather endearing hearing you speak about her. Great progress, might I add. For someone who was just a stranger to you only weeks ago, she seems to be growing on you.”

Nicholas shot him a sharp look, but Ambrose only laughed again, the sound infuriatingly carefree.

“Imagine my surprise.”

“Speaking of surprises,” Ambrose dropped the subject, steering the conversation in a different direction, “Evan Marwood will be in London soon.”

“The Duke of Devonshire?” Nicholas repeated, grateful for the change in subject.

“Yes,” Ambrose said with a nod.

The man had recently inherited his title, but unlike the rest of the ton, he hadn’t been molded by the rigid structures of high society.

He wasn’t one of them—not really. Yet, despite his outsider status, Evan possessed a sharp mind for business that was difficult to ignore.

It set him apart from most of their peers, and for that, Nicholas respected Evan.

“I wonder how that will go. I imagine he’ll find the ton more of a nuisance than an asset.”

“That’s likely,” Ambrose agreed. “But he’s sharp. I think he’ll manage just fine. Though he will have to attend more balls than he’d like.”

At the mention of balls, Nicholas found his thoughts drifting back to Violet despite himself.

She had conducted herself so brilliantly, but there had been glimpses of her vulnerability.

The way she had glanced at him for reassurance, the faint blush that had crept up her cheeks when he had complimented her. It had all felt… different.

“Still thinking about her?”

Heat rose to Nicholas’ cheeks, and he hurried his horse to the front to avoid his friend from seeing. He knew him a little too well.

“You’re insufferable.”

“That means yes.”

Nicholas didn’t answer. Instead, he spurred his horse ahead, leaving Ambrose laughing in his wake.

This is all new to you. That is why you are thinking of her.

For now, Nicholas was content with that explanation.

Violet was having trouble sleeping.

She lay on her back, staring at the ornately carved canopy above with only the stillness of the night to keep her company. No matter how tightly she closed her eyes or how many times she shifted her position, sleep refused to come.

With a soft sigh, she sat up, her fingers brushing against the silk hem of her nightgown as she swung her legs over the edge of the bed. A restless energy coursed through her, one she couldn’t quite place.

Some company would be nice.

Back home, whenever she had been faced with a sleepless night such as this one, she would venture out into the hallways and often find her brother, Leopold, awake, for he was as nocturnal as she. That was no longer an option.

Perhaps a walk might help her settle. A foolish idea, perhaps, but one that tempted her all the same.

It was not the wisest idea to venture out into the garden at this hour, but it felt like her best chance at finding some semblance of peace. She might tire herself out sufficiently to drift back to sleep.

Yes, that was exactly what she would do.

Quietly, she made her way out of her room and into the dimly lit corridor. Careful not to make any noise, she walked on her tiptoes.

When she reached the end of the hallway where she would turn to reach the staircase, she hesitated. A faint glow seeped out from the crack beneath the door.

Someone else was awake. Well, someone could only be the Duke. Who else would be in his study at this hour?

Curiosity prickled at her.

She contemplated on whether or not she should knock, but then something overcame her.

Slowly, she pushed the door open. A faint but surprising scent of paint and turpentine met her senses as she found Nicholas seated in the same spot she had found him just a few nights prior, brush in hand and a look of quiet intensity on his face.

She held her breath, and there was a pause in her step, her mind torn between retreating and announcing her presence.

For a moment, she simply watched him. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing forearms speckled with faint traces of paint.

The angle of his jaw, illuminated by the warm light, looked sharper in his focused state.

There was something almost serene about the way he worked, the usual aloofness that marked his demeanor replaced by something softer.

The Duke was… painting? It was in sharp contrast to his usual imposing presence. She could not make herself look away. Unable to resist her curiosity, she stepped forward.

“I see that you could not find sleep either this night.”

Nicholas’ hand stilled mid-motion, his head snapping up as though he hadn’t heard her approach. His expression was unguarded—genuine surprise flickered in his dark eyes before he quickly composed himself.

“Violet,” he said, startled as he tossed the brush to the side. Then, as if embarrassed by his own reaction, he quickly cleared his throat and straightened his posture. “How long have you been standing here?”

“Oh, not long,” she replied, her tone light as she moved closer. “Mind if I join you?”

The request was very much unlike herself. But somehow, the thought of a walk alone paled in comparison to observing whatever it was he was doing.

He leaned back slightly, still watching. “I didn’t expect company at this hour. Let alone yours.”

Her gaze fell to the canvas, where a landscape was slowly coming to life. “I didn’t know you painted.”

Nicholas glanced at the canvas, his lips curving into a slight smirk. “Oh, this?” he said, waving a hand dismissively. “It’s nothing. Just a way to pass the time.”

“Nothing?” Violet repeated, her brows lifting as she took a step closer to study the intricate details of the work.