Page 102 of More or Less a Countess
Nick cleared his throat. “I had extra tables brought in and arranged in a row so you’d have room to lay out pages side by side if you liked. You can use them as writing desks, too, but I had that one brought in in case you preferred it.” He gestured toward a massive mahogany desk situated in a corner of the room, next to a window. “It gets quite a lot of natural light in that corner.”
Violet took a few hesitant steps toward it. “It’s beautiful,” she murmured, running a hand across the polished surface.
“The shelving is deeper than standard shelving, so you can store whatever you like in it. Your sketches, or books…” He trailed off, watching as she crossed the room to study the floor-to-ceiling shelves against a long wall of the room.
“So many supplies.” Her voice was faint. “Paper of every size, ink, drawing pencils…you had all of this brought in for me?”
“Of course, sweet. I imagined you’d want to write more books, and as fetching as I find your cobwebs, I didn’t like for you to be isolated in some dusty chamber on the third floor. There’s this sitting area, of course, and a place for you to sketch, there by the other window.”
He waved a hand toward another corner of the room, where a smaller table had been set up, and with it a chair covered in a cheerful print of purple violets. Violet drew closer, and a soft gasp fell from her lips when she saw the handsome drawing box sitting on top of the desk. The lid was open, and inside was a collection of brass and ivory drawing instruments.
She traced a finger over the inside of the cover. “You had it inscribed.”
“Violet Balfour, Her Ladyship, the Countess of Dare, a gift from her loving husband Nicholas Balfour, His Lordship, the Earl of Dare, 1817.” Nick recited the inscription as he crossed the room to her. “It’s all very proper, but I like this one better.” He removed the top tray of instruments, then eased out a piece of wood that had been fitted to the bottom of the box.
Violet smiled. “A false bottom.”
“And another inscription. Read it to me, my lady.”
He wrapped his arms around her waist as Violet read quietly. “For Violet. Your love taught me to see again. I am ever yours, Nick.” A sob tore loose from her throat, and she turned in Nick’s arms and pressed her cheek to his chest, her voice breaking. “Oh, Nick. It’s so much. Too much—”
“No. It’s not enough.” He kissed the top of her head. “Open the top drawer of the desk, sweetheart.”
Violet kissed the hollow of his throat, then wiped her eyes. “Oh,” she murmured in surprise when she saw what was in the drawer. “I wondered where this had gone. I thought I’d lost it.” She drew out the small sketchbook she’d started the day after they arrived at Ashdown Park. “Have you had it—”
“The whole time? Yes. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”
She smiled. “It’s all right. I made it for you, as a gift. I always intended for you to have it.”
“A gift only you could have given me. You’re the only person in the world who could ever have understood it was the one gift I needed more than any other. I love you so much, Violet.”
He held out his hand to her, and she flew to him and threw herself into his arms. “Oh, I love you too, Nick. Thank you for my book, and for my writing room. I’ll have to come up with a new project to do it justice.”
“Did you know parts of West Sussex are said to be haunted with ghosts and fairies? That would make an interesting book, wouldn’t it?”
“Hmmm. Yes, but I think I’d like to spend some time on sketches first. I’ve an idea for a new sketchbook, and I’d like to do that before I start anything else.”
He gave her a teasing smile. “Oh? What sort of idea? Horses, or dogs? Flowers? Kittens in a basket, perhaps?”
“No. I have something else in mind. I think you’ll like it.” She took his hand to lead him from the room. “Come with me, and I’ll show you.”
* * * *
Nick was sprawled in a chair beside the fireplace and Violet was sitting on the floor at his feet, her white night rail falling off her shoulder, the only sound in the room the faint scrape of her pencil across the page.
She was taking a sketch of him, but it wasn’t just any sketch. This one was for a private sketchbook, for their own personal pleasure. He was dressed only in his banyan, his legs spread wide, the heavy silk gaping over his bare chest. “What will you call it? ‘The Besotted Husband’? ‘The Satisfied Earl’?”
Her mischievous blue eyes flashed as she peeked at him over the top edge of her sketchbook. “Perhaps I’ll call it ‘The Bluestocking’s Triumph.’”
“A triumph, indeed.” He watched with interest as her hand moved over the page. “Will you write an essay for it, as well?”
She shrugged. “As you know, my lord, I treasure words, and I flatter myself I know a good many of them, but the adjectives that come to mind at the moment hardly do you justice.”
His lips curled into a smile as her avid gaze lingered on his bare chest. “What adjectives are those, my lady?”
“Well, I suppose if Imustmake do…” She cocked her head as she studied him. “Let me see. Broad, powerful shoulders, and a trim waist. A taut, flat belly, and…” She tapped her pencil against the page, drawing the moment out to tease him.
“Yes?” Nick let his legs fall open a little wider, his body hardening with anticipation. “Anything else?”
