Page 70 of More or Less a Countess
Violet’s brow furrowed in confusion, but then she froze, her throat closing as her frantic gaze moved over the familiar papers. A few sketches lay scattered across the top of the table, as if the maid had been studying them, and then tossed them aside in a panic when she heard the door open.
“Wait, my lord—”
But it was too late. Nick was already across the room. He’d picked up one of the sketches and was studying it with close attention, an amused smile curving his lips. “Wapping Old Stairs. A perfectly good pair of boots were sacrificed for this sketch.” He set it aside, then picked up the one underneath. “Cockpit Steps. Ah, now I see the trouble. The housemaid was nosing about your sketches. Impudent chit, but I doubt she’s ever seen anything like these before. It’s not surprising such skilled drawings would catch her eye.”
Violet hardly heard him as she stumbled over her feet in her rush to get to the table before he could see any more of her sketches. Dash it, how had the housemaid gotten hold of her book? The footmen had been directed to bring up the overnight trunks only, but somehow her sketchbook had come up as well, and—
Oh, no. Please, no…
Violet’s throat worked as she realized her private portfolio was there too, open and gaping like a gutted fish, all its contents disgorged and scattered haphazardly across the table like bloody entrails. The girl must have thought she was meant to unpack it, and she’d done a thorough job of it. It looked as if every page of the book had been pulled loose.
Nick was turning the pages over one by one, the smile still twitching on his lips as he paused for a moment to study another sketch. “Bunhill Fields Burial Ground. This is one of my favorites. May I compliment you once again on your excellent rectangles, Lady Dare?”
Violet darted forward and began to snatch the pages up. “The servant has made a mess of them, I’m afraid. Why don’t you warm yourself by the fire, my lord, while I gather them all up and put them away.”
But Nick was studying a page in his hand, and didn’t appear to hear her. “This is your list of sketches? My God, I had no idea there were so many. I haven’t seen even half of these. You’ll have to show them to me, my lady, but not tonight. I have another form of entertainment in mind for us this eve—”
He fell abruptly silent as one of the papers on the table caught his attention. He set the page in his hand aside, grabbed the corner of the sketch, and slid it out from under the pile. Violet saw at once which one it was, and her heart surged into her throat with a nauseating lurch.
Everything seemed to slow down then, much as it did when one was caught in a nightmare from which they couldn’t wake. Violet could only watch in numb horror, her lips moving in a desperate prayer as he studied the page, his brows drawn together in confusion.
Please, please don’t let him see—
But her prayers were destined to go unanswered. Fate had caught up to her again, and she was determined to reveal every one of Violet’s mistakes, every one of her sins.
Violet didn’t want to see his face, didn’t want to watch, but part of her must have known she deserved this, because she couldn’t tear her eyes away. She saw every single moment of it unfold, and as long as she lived she would never forget the look of puzzled hurt in his eyes when his mind could no longer deny what his eyes so plainly showed him.
For a single, frozen moment he seemed to plead with her—to beg her to reassure him what he saw couldn’t possibly be true—but before she could breathe a word, his face hardened.
“The Selfish Rake?”
Violet stumbled the rest of the way to the table and reached out a shaking hand to clutch at his coat. “I drew that sketch the morning after Lord Derrick’s dinner party, after you mistook me for Hyacinth. That was weeks ago, Nick. It was dreadfully unfair of me, and it’s been weeks since I’ve seen you in such a way—”
He shook her hand off. “I’m flattered, my lady, to find I was a subject of your intellectual musings, and not merely an escort. Ah, and look. There’s an essay to go along with the sketch. Shall we see what opinion you hold on selfish rakes?”
“I didn’t…I never meant to…”
But Nick’s gaze was already moving over the page. When he reached the end, his head jerked up and the page fell from his fingers and drifted back to the table. “You heard me with Lady Uplands in Lord Derrick’s library that night. You…watchedus?”
Violet squeezed her eyes closed. “I—I’m sorry. I should never have—”
“Why ever not? Come, Violet, we’re both aware of how curious you are, and I did bring it on myself with such disgraceful behavior. But you must have been thrilled to witness such a salacious debauchery. Tell me, why didn’t you include a description of my cock in your essay? Oh, but wait. Perhaps if I look through the rest of the sketches, I’ll find a drawing of it.”
“Please, Nick. You don’t understand. Once I knew you, I intended to burn that sketch. You must know I don’t feel that way about you anymore—”
“Oh, but I understand perfectly, sweet.” He smiled at her, but it was an ugly twist of his lips, and his eyes remained cold. “The sketch is a good likeness of me, I’ll give you that, and God knows there’s no better example of a selfish rake in all of London. Isn’t that right, my lady?”
“No. You’re not…that’s not true, Nick.”
Her voice was nearly inaudible, no more than a choked whisper, and he ignored her and snatched up the list of sketches again. “Let’s see…no, I don’t see ‘The Selfish Rake’s Cock’ here—rather a waste, since surely a talented artist like you could draw it accurately. But thereissomething else here I didn’t notice before. You have a chapter entitled ‘The Perfect Gentleman.’ Well, I suppose if you’re going to have the rake you need the gentleman as well, for comparison purposes. But I wonder, Violet—which sketch goes with that chapter?”
Violet’s blood ran cold. Oh, God, she’d forgotten about that sketch. If he should find it, there was no explanation she could offer he’d ever believe. She dove forward and scrabbled for the remaining pages on the table, desperate to snatch the sketch away before he could see it, but once again fate was determined to have this moment out to the bitter end, because just as she stumbled into him and grabbed the table to steady herself, Nick found the sketch.
“Ah. Here it is.”
She lunged at him to grab it, but he held it out of her reach, and when he saw who it was…
A choked whimper tore loose from Violet’s throat as his face drained of color. When he turned to her his lips were white, and his eyes were shadowed with pain and fury. “Lord Derrick.”
