Page 67 of More or Less a Countess
“Your grandmother is looking for you.” The lie rose easily to Nick’s lips. “I promised I’d bring you to her before we leave.”
They found Lady Chase in the dining room, flushed either with victory at having successfully married her granddaughter to an earl, or perhaps from too many glasses of champagne. When Nick and Violet came to bid her goodbye, she heaved herself to her feet with the help of her cane and held her arms out to Violet.
“My dear child. I see your husband is anxious to leave, so I must bid you goodbye. Well, well, Violet, I don’t mind saying you’ve made me proud today. There now.” She patted Violet on the back, and when she drew away her eyes were glistening.
Violet took her grandmother’s hand and held it for a long moment. “I’ll miss you, Grandmother, and my sisters…” She trailed off, and her mouth twisted as if she were holding off tears. “I’ll miss you all.”
Lady Chase raised a hand to pat her granddaughter’s cheek. “It will get easier, child. I promise you that. Your husband will take care of you. Despite what you may believe, Violet, I wouldn’t let you go for anything less.”
Violet nodded and clutched at her grandmother’s hand as her sisters and friends all crowded around her to fold her in their arms and bid her a final goodbye. Then Nick ushered her out the door, handed her into the carriage, and they were on their way.
Lady Westcott had decided to ride in her own carriage, and after the noise of the wedding breakfast and flurry of good wishes, the silence of Nick’s carriage seemed deafening. Violet sagged against the squabs and closed her eyes as if she were exhausted, and she didn’t open them again.
Nick remained quiet, watching her. He might have believed she was asleep, but her tense jaw and the rigidity of her shoulders gave her away. She was nervous to be alone with him again, and given what had happened between them the last time they were in his carriage, Nick couldn’t blame her.
She must know how much he wanted her. Perhaps she thought he’d ravish her as soon as the carriage door closed behind him? He wouldn’t, of course. He was a gentleman, and a gentleman didn’t leap upon his innocent bride like a savage.
No matter how lovely she was, or how breathless she made him.
And shewaslovely—rather pale, yes, and with shadows under her eyes that spoke of sleeplessness—but even so, Nick’s breath had caught the moment he first laid eyes on her this morning, and he hadn’t yet regained it.
For the ceremony she’d worn a silvery gown with some sort of dainty, sheer fabric draped over the top of it that floated around her when she moved. Nick wasn’t versed in ladies’ fashions, but he knew what he liked, and his mouth had gone dry at the sight of the creamy skin of her bosom revealed by the wide neck and tiny puffed sleeves of her gown.
He was going to buy her dozens of such gowns—tens of dozens of them—just for the pleasure of easing those maddening little sleeves down her arms and pressing kisses on her bare shoulders.
She’d changed into a carriage dress and heavy cloak for the journey, and not a sliver of her skin was visible, but even so he couldn’t take his eyes off her, and if he could judge by the nervous flutter under her eyelids, she was well aware of it.
And yet her eyes remained closed.
The moments passed slowly into an hour, then two, until at last they were within five miles from the inn at Guildford, and she still hadn’t opened her eyes, or uttered a single word.
The rain slashed against his window, and as they lurched over every soggy rut of the Great North Road between London and Guildford, Nick could no longer deny the truth to himself.
His aunt was right. His wife was miserable, and he couldn’t bear it another moment.
He still didn’t know what to say to comfort her, but he had to say something—anything—to make her open her eyes and look at him.
“You’re fatigued,” he murmured at last.
He half-expected her to ignore him, but she didn’t. After a moment’s hesitation she opened her eyes and offered him a wan smile. “A bit, yes.”
“You didn’t eat much today. We’re but half an hour’s ride from Guildford. We’ll order dinner once we arrive, and then you can rest.”
Her hands twisted in her lap. “Thank you, but I’m not hungry. I…there’s something I have to say to you, Lord Dare.”
“Not Lord Dare, Violet. Nicholas, or Nick. We’re husband and wife now, and it’s time you called me by my given name.”
“Yes, I—yes, of course. Nicholas. I need to tell you that I—I’m…” She stuttered to a halt, but then she drew a deep breath and met his gaze. “I’m so sorry for deceiving you these past few weeks, and I most sincerely beg your pardon. I wanted to tell you the truth, and I tried to, every day after that night on Cockpit Steps, but I was afraid…”
Nick leaned closer to her—closer than he should have if he intended to keep his hands to himself, because as soon as he caught her warm scent, he was helpless against the urge to stroke the backs of his fingers against her cheek.
“What? What were you afraid of, Violet?”
She stared at him, her eyes huge. “I was afraid if you knew the truth you’d refuse to see me again.”
Nick’s hand stilled on her face.
The night of the rout, when he found out she’d lied to him—he’d burned with humiliated fury over her deception. But there’d been something else there as well, under the fury, and it was worse than wounded pride, and more powerful than anger.
