Page 28 of Between a Duke and a Hard Place
“In the gardens, Your Grace,” she answered with a quick curtsy.
Of course, she was. Violet was not the sort to sit in a parlor and weep prettily over terrible news.
Still, Max did not expect to find her on the ground, skirts bunched around her knees, laughing as a small, unkempt mongrel bounded toward her with a triumphant yip, a filthy stick clamped in its teeth.
Max halted mid-step, the breath knocked from his lungs at the sight of her. Not just because she was breathtaking like this—her hair a riot of loose waves where the wind had tugged it from its pins, her laughter unhindered, her guard down—but because she looked… happy. As if, for a moment, she had forgotten everything else.
It prodded at his conscience that he had not put such a look of joy on her face. Not in many, many years.
Watching her, he was taken back to their childhood. While he’d been older than her by several years, far closer in age to James, he had not been so oblivious to her as she might have believed. His awareness of her had been different though. Then, he’d thought of her as a minor but occasionally amusing nuisance. Still, he’d tried to look out for her, to be certain that she never got herself into too much trouble. It was difficult for him to pinpoint when exactly that had changed. Sometime during his marriage to Katherine, when he’d been mired in such deep unhappiness, he’d caught sight of Violet laughing with a kind of innocent abandon that had called to something inside him. And he’d been forced to admit that she was no longer agirl, but a woman, fully and in her own right. A beautiful and desirable one whom he had no right to want.
You have the right now, you pompous ass.
Ignoring his inner voice which urged him to throw caution and ethics to the wind, he forced himself to pay heed only to the scene playing out before him.
The dog trotted toward her, tail wagging wildly, and deposited the stick at her feet. Violet grinned, reaching out to scratch its peculiarly large ears.
Max cleared his throat. “What in God’s name is that?”
Violet looked up sharply, startled, and Max was not at all pleased to see her expression shift into something more guarded, her laughter fading.
“This,” she said, deliberately holding her chin high, “is my dog.”
Max arched a brow. “I see. And has this dog been informed of his new status?”
She huffed a laugh before turning her attention back to the animal. “In truth, I think he informed me… He appeared out of nowhere earlier, skulking near the kitchen, pathetic and terribly hungry.”
“And, naturally, you fed the beast so he will be here forever.”
She gasped in mock outrage. “Of course, I fed him! What else could I do?”
“Not a thing,” he concurred.
She tossed the hideous stick and the dog went loping happily after it. “At any rate, he’s decided to adopt me.”
Max crossed his arms, eyeing the dog as it trotted back, stick dangling from its maw. It was a wretched little thing, a mismatched jumble of fur and enthusiasm, mostly white with a few spots of brown, one overly large ear flopping over while the other stood up straight, as if it couldn’t quite decide what it wanted to do.
It was not a particularly noble-looking creature. But then, neither was Violet’s affection particularly easily earned. And yet, she sat there, stroking its scruffy fur, offering it the sort of tenderness she rarely let anyone see.
Something twisted in Max’s chest.
“Well, far be it from me to interfere in what is clearly destiny. You should keep it,” he said abruptly.
Violet blinked. “What?”
“Clearly there is mutual fondness between you and the wretched beast. Have the servants clean it. Give it a proper name and keep it.”
Violet stared at him as though he had just suggested they house a rhinoceros in the drawing room. “You’re—just like that? You’re allowing me to keep him?”
Max grunted, shifting uncomfortably. “Would you rather I demand his immediate removal?”
She narrowed her eyes, as if trying to uncover some hidden trick. “You detest dogs.”
“I do not,” Max said indignantly.
“You do,” she countered. “You once scowled at Lady Tinsley’s spaniel for a full hour simply because it tried to sit at your feet.”
He shuddered. “That was a deeply unpleasant dog who pis—piddled everywhere.”
