match for her at the age of seventeen.
The empty pill bottle by her mother’s bedside.
Dark humour was definitely the cure for dark memories.
‘In case you can’t see it, I’m giving you the death stare.’
Nate gave a hearty chuckle, letting the serious doctor mask slip for a glimpse of her old friend. ‘Nostrils flaring, mouth puckered up like you’ve just licked a lemon, eyes narrowed to mere slits—I can picture it now.’
Violet flattened her lips back into a thin line with a huff. She could hear the smugness in his voice that he still knew her better than anyone even after all of this time.
They pulled up into the driveway and the sound of the handbrake meant there was no more stalling.
‘Thanks for everything. I can let myself in.’
‘No can do. I told you I’m under instruction to escort Lady Violet inside her ancestral home. Don’t forget, under different circumstances I could’ve ended up as your official errand boy.’
He was being facetious. Violet knew he would never have played the skivvy any more than she would’ve been the boss lady. Still, it conjured up more interesting images if they’d chosen different paths.
She let out a long sigh and admitted defeat. Having a surly Nate here was infinitely more bearable than having Mrs Taylor fussing around her, or setting foot back inside alone. It was one thing going home to an empty flat at night but an entirely different game coming back here where the ghosts of her past roamed the hallways.
* * *
Nate really needed to work on that keeping-at-arm’s-length ethos where relationships were concerned. He’d thought he’d built up a tolerance to all things Dempsey since his teenage heartbreak. One glimpse of those big blue eyes and he was taking on the duties of the whole domestic staff who’d once resided here—the chauffeur, the butler and housekeeper all rolled into one. He told himself his promise to light a fire and see her settled in was the only way to keep his parents at bay and Violet’s discomfort to a minimum. They meant well, their subservient role so deeply ingrained in them the very thought of Lady Violet returning to a cold, empty house brought them out in a cold sweat. He knew this would be difficult enough for her without an audience and he still had a duty of care via her father.
Despite their history, or possibly because of the one they’d had pre-kiss, he still felt an obligation to help her. Perhaps he wasn’t as far removed from his heritage as he liked to think. He’d really been the only one Violet had had to turn to when things had got rough and it would be callous for him to abandon her now for the sake of his own pride. He simply hadn’t been able to leave her for the night in that waiting room, expecting her to bed down where she stood. In a fit of madness he’d even briefly contemplated taking her back to his house rather than expect her to face this place alone.
Ultimately he’d done enough damage to his relationship boundaries already. She was only back in the country five minutes and he’d already landed himself firmly in the friend zone. Not a position he wanted to be in with any beautiful woman. Especially one he already had an emotional history with. One who’d dumped him without a second thought. Then there was the double blow to his ego with the whole gay thing. He knew one teenage fumble probably hadn’t made a long-lasting impact on her but he’d assumed it had been enough to define his sexuality.
Now he’d slipped back into a supporting role there was no way he was ever going to win top billing as Violet’s leading man. If he’d once imagined taking her back into his arms and replacing that inexperienced make-out session with a more confident approach to recover his male pride, he’d stuffed up the minute he’d insisted on staying to talk to her about her father. Friends or lovers—there was no in between for him when it came to the women in his life. He didn’t even want to peek inside people’s personal baggage, never mind help them unpack it, and yet that was exactly what he was doing now. The pressure was on him more than ever to save his patient and return everyone back to their normal status quo. As soon as he’d done the gentlemanly thing and seen her settled in, he could walk away with a clear conscience. He’d proved the better person by not exacting revenge.
‘You put the kettle on and I’ll get the fire started.’ He opened the heavy front door with a reverence the stately home deserved even if the current owner didn’t. It was a beautiful building, full of history and wonder. Unfortunately it also held negative connotations for those entering it tonight. While Violet had been the princess held captive in the tower, he’d very much been the lowly serf kept in his place by his master. He’d dealt with a lot of those issues through hard work and determination but he couldn’t help feeling Violet still had to face hers. Although he still had an axe of his own to grind with her, he wasn’t totally unsympathetic. It was best he try to make this as normal as possible for her. As if they were walking into any other family home and not the country pile of her ancestors. Easier said than done when there was a huge chandelier dominating the space in front of them.
‘We do have modern-day conveniences like central heating.’ She was still resisting his attempts to phase her into her surroundings gradually with his assistance, but he was used to dealing with difficult patients and bolshie family members.
She was more defensive than he remembered. He guessed years of independent living had toughened her up. A definite plus given his aversion to needy people outside the workplace.
‘And kettles?’
It amused him to watch her flounce away the way she used to when his teasing went too far. It was further proof her fiery spirit was very much alive. She was going to need it to see her through the next days, whatever they held.
‘Milk, no sugar,’ he called after her as he headed for the study.
It was the closest and smallest room on the ground floor, and easier to heat. The pale blue walls and ornate white ceiling of the entrance hall were pretty and in keeping with the period pieces dotted throughout but they didn’t make the cool atmosphere any more inviting. Okay, they had no practical need for a fire but there was something homely about a real fire. It was cosy and welcoming, something this house was sadly lacking.
He could sense the disapproving stares of past earls staring down at him from the walls as he trespassed into the inner sanctum. They all had the same stern features of Samuel Dempsey. Nate wondered if not smiling was another one of the house rules Violet had deigned to disobey. Ruling with an iron fist might have worked in the olden days but, as far as he’d seen, all it had succeeded in doing in recent times was shatter the family.
‘Is this where they found him?’
He hadn’t heard Violet enter the room as he’d knelt to set the fire in the hearth. It wasn’t until he turned around again that he understood why she’d sounded so pained.
Her father’s papers littered the mahogany and brass writing desk and spilled onto the floor, his chair toppled over in the corner of the room with a whiskey tumbler lying next to it—the contents of which had seeped into the antique rug long ago.
‘I’m so sorry, Violet. I had no idea. We can move into the drawing room and I’ll get this tidied up.’ Regardless of the painful history between them, he would never have purposely exposed her to this scene. He took the rattling cups and saucers from her shaking hands before she slopped the tea on the expensive furnishings too.
‘It’s all right. It was just a shock.’ She righted the heavy chair and Nate set down the tea things so he could help.
