Page 86 of More or Less a Countess
“Who am I, Violet?” His voice was a low growl in her ear. “Who’s kissing you, touching you right now? Say my name.”
“Nick…” The word left her lips on a sob.
He tore his mouth from hers, grasped her shoulders, and held her away from him so he could see her face. “Who do you belong to? Say it, Violet.”
She took his face in her hands. “You, Nick. Only you.”
A low groan shuddered through him, and he took her mouth harder then, as if he sought to punish her with his tongue and lips, but his hands were careful as he touched her, his fingers gentle as he tangled them in her hair, and for one breathless moment she understood him as surely as if she’d caught a glimpse inside his heart.
This man she’d wounded so deeply, whose heart she’d been so careless with—he’d never punish her. He’d never try to hurt her in return. It wasn’t who he was, but she…oh, God, she’d been so unfair to him, so hurtful, and her heart swelled with the need to take that hurt away. She had to make him understand she loved him, had never loved anyone but him.
Words began to pour from her lips in an incoherent rush. “You…you’re more to me than everything, Nick…more than anyone. No one has ever…not Lord Derrick, no one butyou—”
He’d buried his face between her breasts and was sucking at the tender skin there, but her words made him freeze, and in the next moment he yanked her bodice up to cover her, then pushed away from her.
“Nick?” Violet opened her eyes, dazed, her heart thudding in her chest.
“You dare to say his name to me?” His face was white, his voice shaking. “Youdareto say his name to me while I’m holding you in my arms, touching you? While I’m thinking of nothing butyou, you’re thinking ofhim?”
Violet stared at him in horror as it dawned on her she’d made a terrible mistake. “No—Nick, no. I could never…I’m sorry. I only wanted you to know there’s no one else I’ve ever—”
“No one? Come now, Lady Dare. We both know that’s not true.”
She grabbed his arm, her grip frantic. “Itistrue. It’s been true from the moment I met you. Please, Nick.” She curled her fingers into his coat. “The drawings—I don’t see you that way now. I…”
She wanted to tell him she loved him. The declaration hovered on her lips, but his eyes had hardened into cold gray stones, and Violet knew it wouldn’t be enough. He wouldn’t believe her. Why should he? She’d lied to him and hurt him, and a few whispered words weren’t going to change that.
He jerked his arm out of her grasp. “Of course you see me that way, sweetheart. Why shouldn’t you? ‘The Selfish Rake.’ It’s what I am.”
“No! You wereneverthat. I never should have—”
“Not much of a rake now, I grant you. I can’t even make love to my own wife.” He let out a bitter laugh. “Ironic, isn’t it? But even so, I’m not quite the paragon Lord Derrick is.”
There was a long pause while they stared at each other in silence, but then Violet shook her head. “No, Nick,” she whispered. “This isn’t about Lord Derrick. It never has been.”
“No?” He gave a harsh laugh. “Who, then? Are you in love with another man, in addition to Lord Derrick?”
Violet’s gaze never left his face. What she was about to say to him…oh, she didn’t want to say it. It would hurt him, and she’d already hurt him so much.
But it had to be said, and it had to be said byher. His wife.
“None of this is about Lord Derrick, Nick. It’s about Graham. When you say you’re not Lord Derrick, what you really mean is you’re not Graham. But I don’t want a man like Graham, or one like Lord Derrick. I only want you.”
He stared down at her, his throat working, his face growing paler by the second, and then without a word he shoved past her, leaving her alone in the conservatory.
Violet stood quietly for a long time after he left, but she was still shaking when she made her way back over to the bench and sank down onto it. Her eyes slid closed, and her head sank into her hands.
But she didn’t let herself stay there for long.
When she’d wanted to finish her book she’d schemed and plotted and lied to get it done. Would she do less now, when the stakes were so much higher? If she wanted Nick to forgive her—if she wanted him to give up his plan to flee to the Continent, to abandon her for his Italian mistress—she had to do better than this.
She had toshowhim she loved him.
Violet raised her head, and her gaze fell on her sketchbook. She dragged it closer and began to turn the pages one by one, her hands trembling.
It was filled with drawings of Nick. Dozens of them.
Nick, his hair wet and his cheeks flushed, mounted on an enormous black stallion, his expression earnest as he pointed toward some distant fields. Nick, firelight flickering on his face, a glass of port dangling carelessly between his fingers. Nick in his bed, blankets twisted around his hips, his chest bare, his hair disheveled, and dark stubble shadowing his jaw.
