Page 98 of More or Less a Countess
No doubt Nick’s mistress—Catalina—was as beautiful as her name, dark-haired and passionate, and of course she must be in love with Nick, madly so, because why wouldn’t she love him? Any woman would love Nick, any woman would want to keep him for her own.
There were very few words on the page, but what was there made Violet gasp from the pain slicing through her heart.
My dear Catalina,
It feels as if years have passed since I last saw you, but it won’t be long before—
That was it. The last word trailed off in a smear of ink, but once again, it didn’t matter.
She’d seen enough.
She dropped the papers onto the desk, not bothering to replace them in the drawer. Let Nick find them there. Let him know she’d seen them when he returned—
If he returned.
When she rose from the chair at last, her limbs felt heavier than they ever had before, but no tears came this time, and why should they? She’d known all along she wasn’t destined for a great love, so she really hadn’t lost anything, had she?
Her hand went instinctively to her belly then, and she pressed her palm protectively over the flat surface. No, she’d gained something. Someone, and it was more than she’d ever hoped to have. That someone was already so precious to her, crying self-pitying tears would be nothing less than blasphemous.
Violet left Nick’s study without a backward glance. She spoke to Lady Westcott first, then went in search of Bridget. Not more than two hours later her trunk was packed, and she and Lady Westcott were bundled into her ladyship’s carriage and on their way to London.
* * * *
Nick’s only thought when he burst through the door of Ashdown Park later that evening was Violet. He was so anxious to see his wife he didn’t even notice Gibbs hovering in the entryway, wringing his hands like some kind of morbid gatekeeper waiting to announce the arrival of doomsday.
“Lord Dare, a word, if I may—”
“Not now, Gibbs.” Nick took the stairs two at a time. Dear God, an entire day away from Violet had felt like a lifetime. The gift he’d brought her weighed down the leather satchel slung across his back, and he couldn’t wait to see her face when she opened it.
“My lord, I beg you to—”
“I really must speak to Lady Dare about hiring a butler. We can’t have you hanging about in the entryway in this ghoulish manner, Gibbs. You’ll frighten the visitors away.”
“That’s what I wish to tell you, my lord. Lady Dare is—”
“Lady Dare iswhat, Gibbs?” Nick paused on the landing and waved an impatient hand at his valet. “For God’s sake, get it out, would you? Or better yet, whatever it is, let Lady Dare tell me herself. I’d much rather stare at her lips thanyours.”
“Lady Dare’s lips aren’t here—that is, Lady Dare, my lord. Lady Dare isn’t at Ashdown Park.”
Nick blinked. “Not here? What the devil do you mean, Gibbs? Of course she’s here. Where else would she be?”
“London, my lord. She left early this afternoon with Lady Westcott, in her ladyship’s carriage.”
The first shiver of foreboding darted down Nick’s spine, and he descended a few stairs, his full attention now fixed on Gibbs. “Why, Gibbs,” he asked, his voice dangerously quiet, “would my wife be in London?”
Gibbs, who prided himself on his unflappability, became as flustered as a debutante at her first ball of the season. “I don’t know what happened, Lord Dare. One moment she was dozing in your study, and the next she’d summoned her lady’s maid, packed her trunks, and set off for London.”
Panic was creeping upon Nick, threatening to send his thoughts scattering in a thousand useless directions. He gripped the bridge of his nose between his fingers and tried to think. It wasn’t at all like Violet to suddenly walk out the door without a word of explanation to anyone.
No, something must have happened.
Nick came down the stairs as quickly as he’d gone up, and rushed down the hallway toward his study, Gibbs on his heels. He threw the door open, expecting to find something awful, but the study looked much as he’d left it this morning. A bit messier, perhaps, with some loose papers flung about on top of his desk, but—
Nick’s gaze landed on a page with a few lines in his handwriting scrawled across it, and he moved closer to the desk, his brow furrowing. What—
Oh, Christ.
He leapt for the desk, understanding slamming through him as he caught the papers in his fist, but there was no need to read them. He already knew what they were, and his heart sank like a lead ball into the pit of his stomach.
