Page 15 of Between a Duke and a Hard Place (The Honeywells #1)
Chapter Fourteen
I t was nearing dusk, and Max had been consumed with his thoughts of the visit from Major Smythe that afternoon. He had returned to his study, where he’d sat brooding in front of the fire, but no amount of whiskey or logic had succeeded in driving away the image of Violet’s face—drawn, uncertain, and more vulnerable than he had ever seen it.
It unnerved him.
Not because he believed she was fragile—Violet Honeywell, now Violet Able, had never been fragile. But because he had always thought of her as impervious. She had been born into a world that far too often condescended to women, yet she had always fought back, always laughed in the face of men like Nigel, and always wielded her wit like a blade. He’d watched her face and overcome so many obstacles by sheer force of will.
And yet, in that drawing room, when confronted with the possibility of James’ death…
She had been undone.
It had cracked something open inside him. Something that prompted him to set aside the distance he’d been trying so desperately to keep between them. He needed to see her, as much to reassure her of James’ continued well-being as to reassure himself of hers.
Max left the study, moving through the meandering corridors of Alstead Manor with purpose, stopping only to demand from a passing maid, “Where is my wife currently?”
“In the gardens, Your Grace,” she answered with a quick curtsy.
Of course, she was. Violet was not the sort to sit in a parlor and weep prettily over terrible news.
Still, Max did not expect to find her on the ground, skirts bunched around her knees, laughing as a small, unkempt mongrel bounded toward her with a triumphant yip, a filthy stick clamped in its teeth.
Max halted mid-step, the breath knocked from his lungs at the sight of her. Not just because she was breathtaking like this—her hair a riot of loose waves where the wind had tugged it from its pins, her laughter unhindered, her guard down—but because she looked… happy. As if, for a moment, she had forgotten everything else.
It prodded at his conscience that he had not put such a look of joy on her face. Not in many, many years.
Watching her, he was taken back to their childhood. While he’d been older than her by several years, far closer in age to James, he had not been so oblivious to her as she might have believed. His awareness of her had been different though. Then, he’d thought of her as a minor but occasionally amusing nuisance. Still, he’d tried to look out for her, to be certain that she never got herself into too much trouble. It was difficult for him to pinpoint when exactly that had changed. Sometime during his marriage to Katherine, when he’d been mired in such deep unhappiness, he’d caught sight of Violet laughing with a kind of innocent abandon that had called to something inside him. And he’d been forced to admit that she was no longer a girl, but a woman, fully and in her own right. A beautiful and desirable one whom he had no right to want.
You have the right now, you pompous ass.
Ignoring his inner voice which urged him to throw caution and ethics to the wind, he forced himself to pay heed only to the scene playing out before him.
The dog trotted toward her, tail wagging wildly, and deposited the stick at her feet. Violet grinned, reaching out to scratch its peculiarly large ears.
Max cleared his throat. “What in God’s name is that?”
Violet looked up sharply, startled, and Max was not at all pleased to see her expression shift into something more guarded, her laughter fading.
“This,” she said, deliberately holding her chin high, “is my dog.”
Max arched a brow. “I see. And has this dog been informed of his new status?”
She huffed a laugh before turning her attention back to the animal. “In truth, I think he informed me… He appeared out of nowhere earlier, skulking near the kitchen, pathetic and terribly hungry.”
“And, naturally, you fed the beast so he will be here forever.”
She gasped in mock outrage. “Of course, I fed him! What else could I do?”
“Not a thing,” he concurred.
She tossed the hideous stick and the dog went loping happily after it. “At any rate, he’s decided to adopt me.”
Max crossed his arms, eyeing the dog as it trotted back, stick dangling from its maw. It was a wretched little thing, a mismatched jumble of fur and enthusiasm, mostly white with a few spots of brown, one overly large ear flopping over while the other stood up straight, as if it couldn’t quite decide what it wanted to do.
It was not a particularly noble-looking creature. But then, neither was Violet’s affection particularly easily earned. And yet, she sat there, stroking its scruffy fur, offering it the sort of tenderness she rarely let anyone see.
Something twisted in Max’s chest.
“Well, far be it from me to interfere in what is clearly destiny. You should keep it,” he said abruptly.
Violet blinked. “What?”
“Clearly there is mutual fondness between you and the wretched beast. Have the servants clean it. Give it a proper name and keep it.”
Violet stared at him as though he had just suggested they house a rhinoceros in the drawing room. “You’re—just like that? You’re allowing me to keep him?”
Max grunted, shifting uncomfortably. “Would you rather I demand his immediate removal?”
She narrowed her eyes, as if trying to uncover some hidden trick. “You detest dogs.”
“I do not,” Max said indignantly.
“You do,” she countered. “You once scowled at Lady Tinsley’s spaniel for a full hour simply because it tried to sit at your feet.”
He shuddered. “That was a deeply unpleasant dog who pis—piddled everywhere.”
Violet’s lips twitched, but she was still watching him carefully.
Max exhaled sharply, shifting his weight. “You like him. That is enough.”
And that was the crux of it, wasn’t it?
He had seen her pain today. And if some half-wild mongrel could bring her even a sliver of comfort, then it could stay.
Violet studied him for a long moment before murmuring, almost to herself, “You’re being kind.”
Max’s brow furrowed. “I am frequently kind.”
She snorted delicately. “No, you are frequently polite. But this… this is different.”
Max bristled. “You make it sound as though I have committed some great and terribly out-of-character act of charity.”
She tilted her head, her gaze thoughtful. “I simply did not expect it.”
There was a pause, charged and heavy. Max realized—for the first time in their long and complicated acquaintance—that they were alone. Truly alone. Save for the dog, of course. But there was no human audience to witness their usual sparring. No meddling servants, no prying relatives.
And they had not traded a single sharp remark.
It was disconcerting. Which was precisely why Violet chose that moment to look directly at him and ask, softly, “Why did you kiss me this morning?”
Max stilled.
She had never been one to avoid confrontation. But he had hoped—foolishly, apparently—that she would let this particular matter rest.
He could lie. He could laugh it off, deflect with some quip about the heat of the moment, about wanting her to stop arguing with him. But he had never been a liar. So he took a step closer, closing the distance between them, and said, simply, “Because I wanted to.”
Violet exhaled sharply, her green eyes darkening.
Max kept his voice even, steady. “Because I have always wanted to.”
A faint flush crept up her neck, and she looked away, as if she needed a moment to collect herself.
Max was momentarily stunned. Violet never looked away. She had never shied away from anything in all of her life, to his knowledge.
She was always the one to meet his gaze head-on, to match him quip for quip, to argue until one of them stormed away in frustration.
And yet, here she was, hesitating. Which meant…
She felt it, too. That dangerous, undeniable pull between them.
Max’s stomach tightened. “Violet,” he said, low and serious.
She inhaled sharply, lifting her chin, meeting his gaze once more.
There was a beat of silence, thick with everything they had never acknowledged, never spoken aloud. And then, before either of them could say another word, the mongrel yapped excitedly, darting between them and sending a shower of dirt onto Max’s boots.
Max closed his eyes briefly, exhaling through his nose.
Violet, of course, laughed.
And just like that, the moment was gone.