He had been twenty-two, standing in the drawing room of their country estate. The butler had entered with his unusual stiffness.
Your Grace, I regret to inform you…
Nicholas had stood perfectly still, his hands clasped behind his back, his face impassive. He’d nodded, dismissed the butler, and gone straight to his study. He hadn’t cried. He hadn’t raged. He had done nothing.
It wasn’t that the news hadn’t struck him. Of course, it had. His father, for all his flaws and coldness, was still his father.
But Nicholas had understood instinctively that to crumble under the weight of grief would achieve nothing. Feelings were messy, unpredictable. They clouded judgment. And a duke could not afford to be clouded.
Instead, he had sat at his desk—just as he was doing now—and written the necessary letters, arranged the funeral, and resumed his responsibilities.
Thatwas the extent of how deeply he felt things.
He could not be that man Violet spoke of. He did not know how. And the last thing he wanted was for her to fall into some misguided notion of love, only to find herself disappointed. Hewould ensure that she never fell for him, never mistook his fleeting moments of softness for something more. It was kinder this way. Better for both of them.
And yet, even as he resolved this, the memory of her smile lingered in his mind.
God.What was happening to him?
Nicholas shook his head, standing abruptly. He needed air. What he didn’t need was Violet occupying every corner of his mind, weaving herself into places he’d long since closed off.
But as luck would have it, as he stepped toward the window and gazed out at the expanse of the estate, he spotted her again.
Violet was on horseback. She had mentioned her plans at breakfast, of course, but seeing her like this was something entirely different.
She looked carefree, and he found himself staring again. There was a freedom in her now, an unguarded joy that left him transfixed.
And then, in an instant, her horse reared. He watched in horror as Violet’s grip faltered, and she tumbled down to the ground.
Before he realized what he was doing, he was already moving towards the door.
CHAPTER 21
“Violet!”
Nicholas scanned the scene frantically until his gaze landed on her—Violet, crumpled in the grass, her pale riding dress spread around her.
She stirred slightly at the sound of his voice, propping herself up on one elbow with a wince. “I—I’m fine. I just had a fall.”
“Fine?” he barked, dropping to his knees beside her. His hands hovered uncertainly, unsure where to touch without causing her pain. “You fell off a rearing horse, Violet.”
“I lost my balance,” she admitted, her tone apologetic as she tried to sit up straighter. “Perhaps my riding skills have gone a little rusty.”
Nicholas clenched his jaw, his eyes scanning her for any visible injuries. His gaze lingered on her ankle which was bent at an oddangle beneath her. “Don’t move,” he ordered, his voice sharper than he intended. “You could have broken something.”
“I told you, I’m fine,” she insisted though her wince betrayed her again as she attempted to shift.
He could not believe how calm she was being about this when he felt on the verge of losing his mind. Exhaling sharply, he raked a hand through his hair before softening his tone. “Just—let me check.”
She nodded reluctantly, allowing him to gently inspect her limbs for any breaks or swelling. His touch was firm but careful, his large hands surprisingly tender as they worked. When he pressed lightly on her ankle, she hissed in pain.
“People who are fine wince like that?”
“It’s just a sprain,” she tried to argue, albeit weakly.
Nicholas didn’t dignify her protest with a response. Instead, he rose to his feet and extended his arms toward her.
“What are you doing?” she asked, blinking up at him.
