Page 23 of Between a Duke and a Hard Place
Eddington laughed, low and dark.
And Nigel, for the first time in his miserable life, felt truly afraid.
The afternoon air was crisp, scented with damp earth and the lingering chill of dawn, yet Violet barely noticed as she urged her mare forward, faster and faster, across the dew-laden fields. Her heart thumped heavily in her chest—not from exertion, but from something far more irritating.
She was angry.
Furious, in fact.
But the worst part was that she wasn’t even sure at whom.
Max, for choosing the damned floor rather than sharing the bed? Herself, for caring? For waking up, heart pounding, expecting him to be beside her, expecting something—anything—and instead finding herself achingly alone? Or was it Nigel, Ethella and Eddington for putting her in this mess to start?
Regardless, she was in a foul mood and needed a bit of solitude to sort herself out. Riding had always been her outlet, the thing that calmed her nerves and soothed her spirit. It wasn’t working so far.
Violet scowled, pressing her knees into her horse’s sides, urging the mare into a gallop. She told herself she’d gone riding simply to clear her head, that it had nothing at all to do with Max, and that she certainly wasn’t obsessing over the implications of his actions.
The man had made his position perfectly clear, had he not?
A marriage of convenience.
A union of practicality.
The only thing between them was necessity.
And yet?—
Her stomach twisted.
That could not explain the way he had looked at her at breakfast, as if his every muscle was coiled, as if he were at war with himself. It could not explain the tension that had crackled between them, invisible but undeniable, like the air before a storm.
And it certainly did not explain why she felt this ridiculous, stinging rejection, as though she had been cast aside.
She was not some lovesick fool, pining over her husband’s disinterest.
Except, a small, traitorous voice whispered—wasn’t she?
Violet gritted her teeth.
It did not matter.
She had never needed anyone before, and she certainly did not need Max now.
So why did it feel as though her chest was tightening with every breath?
The wind whipped through her hair, snatching at the loose tendrils that had come free from her braid as she thundered across the open field. The estate stretched wide around her, the distant tree line marking the edges of Alstead’s land, a great, untamed expanse that felt both freeing and isolating all at once.
She did not slow until she reached the small clearing near the old hunting lodge, a place she had visited countless times as a girl, always trailing after James and Max, much to their exasperation.
Pulling up her horse, she swung down from the saddle, tossing the reins over a low-hanging branch. She took a deep breath, pressing her hands to her temples.
This was not about Max, she told herself again.
This was about escape.
About control.
About—
