“I am,” Nicholas replied smoothly. “Unless, of course, you have a better idea.”
Violet laughed softly, shaking her head. “Oh, no. I’m just surprised you’d suggest such a thing. It’s not very… well, like… you.”
“Perhaps you don’t know me as well as you think.”
She hesitated for a moment then nodded, slipping her hand into his. “Very well. Let’s dance.”
Nicholas led her toward the center of the room where other couples were beginning to gather. As they came together, Nicholas’ hand rested lightly on her waist while her gloved hand settled on his shoulder. The first steps were measured, their movements gliding effortlessly across the polished floor. Violet’s posture was perfect, her head held high, but Nicholas could feel the slight tension in her frame.
“You’re stiff.”
“I’m fine,” she replied quickly though her tone betrayed her nerves.
“Relax, Violet. It’s just a dance.”
She sighed quietly, her grip on his shoulder easing slightly. “That’s easy for you to say. You’ve likely done this hundreds of times.”
“And yet,” he said, guiding her into a gentle turn, “I find myself enjoying it more tonight than ever before.”
Violet blinked, startled by his words, but before she could respond, he continued, “Why don’t you tell me something, to distract yourself? Something I don’t know about you.”
Her lips parted slightly, and she hesitated, her gaze flickering down to where their hands were joined. “There isn’t much to tell,” she said finally. “My life before this was… ordinary.”
“Ordinary? I find that hard to believe.”
“I suppose there is one thing,” she said softly. “The night of the garden party—the night of our…scandal—I ended up in the gardens because I was desperate.”
His steps slowed slightly. “Desperate?” he repeated. She hadreallypiqued his interest now.
Violet nodded, her gaze distant. “I had just been rejected by someone I thought I wanted to marry. I felt foolish and humiliated, and I needed to escape.”
Nicholas’ jaw tightened though he kept his expression composed. “I see,” he said, his voice carefully neutral. “And this man… do you still feel that way about him?”
Violet shook her head quickly, her blush deepening. “No. I’ve realized since then that I wasn’t in love with him. It was more…the idea of him. The idea of being with someone who fit the life I thought I wanted.”
Nicholas felt something shift inside him, a faint, simmering unease that he couldn’t quite name. He didn’t like the idea of another man occupying her thoughts, even if she claimed she no longer cared for him. The thought of her feeling desperate, rejected, because of someone else stirred something deeper—a protectiveness.
“I see,” he said again, his tone softer this time. “And what of the life you thought you wanted? Do you still long for it?”
Violet hesitated, her gaze lifting to meet his. “No,” she said finally. “That life wasn’t meant for me. I see that now.”
Nicholas nodded, his grip on her waist tightening slightly though his touch remained gentle. “Good,” he said quietly. “Because you’re far better than that.”
Violet blinked, startled by his words, and for a moment, the tension between them grew palpable. Nicholas could feel her gaze on him, questioning, searching, but he didn’t look away.
The music swelled, and Nicholas guided her into another turn, his movements steady and deliberate. He couldn’t quite explain the knot in his chest or the way her words lingered in his mind. All he knew was that, as they moved together across the floor, she felt entirely in sync with him.
And for the first time, he wondered if perhaps their performance tonight wasn’t entirely an act.
CHAPTER 15
“Is he here tonight?” Nicholas asked. They had just concluded their dance, and Violet was still reeling from all the emotions that it had sprouted inside of her.
Even though it was all an act—he said so himself—it was hard for her not to grow flustered when he spoke to her like this. Like he was someone who was actuallypursuingher. Like their marriage was anything more than just for show.
She felt as though she was treading a dangerous line here.
“Who?” she asked, distracted.
