Page 82 of More or Less a Countess
Nick thought they’d take an easy trot over the grounds closest to the house, and then make a quick visit to the stables. Violet would ask a few simple questions, he’d answer them, and that would be the end of it.
Bloody foolish of him.
This was Violet, after all. He should have known better.
She kept him out for hours, riding across field after field, inspecting the farmlands and assessing the fencing and equipment. She quizzed him about tenants, livestock, turnip and clover crop rotations, nitrogen in the soil, acreage in arable lands, fertilizers, and wheat, barley, and oat yields at length and in such precise detail Nick decided she must have readThe Complete Farmerfrom cover to cover.
Surprisingly enough, he’d retained more than he imagined from his brief time on the estate before he’d left for Italy, and he managed to answer a good many of her questions, though for the life of him he couldn’t have said how many lambs they’d had the previous year.
When they at last returned to the house, both of them soaked to the skin from a sudden downpour, Nick, who’d been fantasizing about a fire and a bottle of whiskey for the past four hours, instantly set off in the direction of his study.
He hadn’t made it more than half a dozen steps before she stopped him. “Where are you going, my lord?”
Nick reacted how one might expect a man with freezing cold water trickling down his neckwouldreact. With irritation. “Why? Are you waiting for me to deliver a report on shearing schedules? The ploughboys’ first and last names?”
She cocked her head to the side, considering it. “No, that won’t be necessary. That is, I’m sure the land steward can answer those questions.”
“Land steward? What bloody land steward?”
“Yourland steward, my lord. Mr. Quarles. I sent word to him this morning asking for a review of estate business. He’s waiting for us in your study. It shouldn’t take more than a few hours.”
Nick’s mouth fell open. “A fewhours?”
Violet shot a cheerful smile over her shoulder as she made her way down the hall to the study. “No more than three, certainly.”
Mr. Quarles was a man of impressive efficiency, but even so, it did take more than a few hours—four, to be precise—and by the time he ushered the man out the door, Nick was ready to collapse with exhaustion.
Violet, however, still looked as lovely as she had when she’d stormed his bedchamber this morning. She’d taken a seat in front of the fire to scribble something in a small book she’d carried with her all day, but she looked up when he offered her a glass of port.
“Industry agrees with you, my lady,” he murmured, taking in the color in her cheeks as he joined her on the settee.
She held his gaze as she parted her lips and sipped at her port. “Repose does not?”
Nick tensed, but he let his glass dangle carelessly from his fingers as if he didn’t follow her meaning.
He did, of course, but what did she want to hear him say? That no matter what she did, whether she were sleeping or waking, he thought her beautiful? That he wanted her, and last night when he’d left her room without taking her he’d cursed himself for his cowardice? All of those things were true, but saying them aloud wouldn’t make any difference. It wouldn’t change anything between them.
Nothing could.
Nick held up his glass to the fire and turned it, watching the dark amber liquid swirl in the bowl. He thought of Violet as she’d been last night, her shadowed blue eyes on his face as he stroked his hands over skin so fine and pale and smooth he could almost believe he was dreaming when he touched her.
“You’re like a dream when you sleep.” He stared at his glass for another moment, then brought it to his lips and tossed the whole of it back, his face expressionless as it burned his throat. “Troublesome thing about dreams, though. One always wakes up.”
She leaned toward him, her blue gaze steady on his face. “You’re awake right now, my lord, and I’m no dream. I’m your wife.”
“You’re the Countess of Dare.” He dropped his empty glass on the table and rose from his seat. “But you’re not really mine at all, are you, Violet?”
He went to the door, then glanced back at her, but what was there for him to say? For either of them to say?
In the end, he said the only thing he could:
“Good night, Lady Dare.”
Chapter Twenty
One week later…
He was touching her. Every inch of his eager body was pressed against hers, her legs wrapped tightly around his waist as he moved inside her. His mouth was on her throat, her neck—dear God, she had the softest skin he’d ever kissed—and her long, silky hair spilled over his hands. She was murmuring to him, her lips brushing against his ear, breathless words of desire and love broken with quiet gasps as he loved her with slow, steady strokes, careful with her, so careful not to hurt her when he made her his…
