Page 32 of More or Less a Countess
Unless one counted lies of omission, and as of this moment, Violet didn’t.
“But what about Lord Dare? What will you tell him? You’ll have encouraged his courtship for weeks by then. Do you expect him to just vanish once you’re finished with him? You’ll have to tell him something.”
“No, I won’t. I won’t need to tell him a thing. He’ll be gone before it can become a formal courtship.” Violet would be shocked if he even lasted the entire two weeks.
“What if he doesn’t give up? What if he comes to care for you? He could have his feelings hurt, or worse, his heart broken.”
The ideashecouldbreak Lord Dare’s heart was so absurd, Violet laughed. “He won’t fall in love with me in two weeks, Hyacinth!” He wouldn’t fall in love with her at all. If there was one thing Violet could be sure of, it was that.
“I don’t know. I don’t like this, Violet.”
“Please, Hyacinth. I’ll do everything I can to make sure no one gets hurt.”
Hyacinth was quiet for a long time, but at last she let out a resigned sigh. “Two weeks only, and then everything goes back to the way it was. Do you promise?”
Violet laced their fingers together. “I do. I promise.”
Chapter Nine
“I see we still don’t understand each other, Gibbs.” Nick glared at his valet through a narrow slit in his eyelid. “Let’s try this again, shall we? You don’t disturb me until I’ve rung for you. Now, did I ring for you, Gibbs?”
“No, my lord.”
“Then what the devil are you doing in my bedchamber? For God’s sake, it’s not terribly difficult. You come when my bell rings, and not one bloody second sooner. Get out, and don’t come back until—no! Damn it, Gibbs, who told you to open those drapes?” Nick dove back under the coverlet before the light pouring through the window could blind him.
“My apologies, my lord, but Lady Westcott sent me to fetch you for tea.”
“That’s the least sincere apology I’ve ever heard, Gibbs. You sound positively gleeful, in your own morose, cheerless way, of course.”
“Yes, my lord. I beg your pardon, my lord, but her ladyship insisted you come down at once.”
Nick threw the coverlet off with a deep sigh. If the truth were told, he was rather relieved to be awake. He’d had the oddest dream. Like most dreams it was fuzzy at the edges, but he had a vague impression of gibbets and headless ghosts, and a fair-haired lady lying in his arms, her long lashes curled against her cheeks.
“Do you know any madmen, Gibbs? Or madwomen?”
Gibbs didn’t pause in his task of pouring hot water into the basin, but a barely discernible hitch in his eyebrow said more eloquently than words he wasn’t entirely convinced of Nick’s sanity. “No, my lord.”
“What, not one? Christ, Gibbs, with all the madness in London, one would think you’d be able to come up with a single example.”
“Yes, my lord. I beg your pardon for avoiding those who suffer from insanity, my lord.”
“Stop ‘my lording’ me, Gibbs. It makes my head ache.”
“Yes, my lord. If I might inquire as to the reason for your lordship’s sudden curiosity regarding madmen, my lord?”
Nick wandered over to the basin to wash. “Nothing, I just…I wondered what they acted like.”
“I would imagine they act mad, my lord.”
“Yes, thank you for that extremely perceptive observation, Gibbs. But what does someone who’s mad act like? What do they do? That is, how do you know if a person is mad or not?”
“Drunkenness, my lord? Indulging in debauchery, or other immoderate behaviors? An excessive amount of time spent in bed, my lord?”
Nick scowled. “I congratulate you on your subtlety once again, Gibbs, but according to that criteria, every aristocratic gentleman in London is mad.”
Gibbs let out a tiny, dignified snort, as if that had been precisely his point. “Yes, my lord. Will the green coat do for today, my lord?”
Nick waved a weary hand in the air. “Green, blue—I don’t give a damn, Gibbs.”
