Page 103 of Stolen By the Duke of Ice
Kiss me because you care for me as I do you. Because your heart tells you to as mine does.
But his heartdidtell him to. His hearthadbeen telling him to for quite some time now. Deny it, block it as much as he wanted to, his heart knew it was there.
His heart, his feeble heart that suffered just by looking at her. There, was that not proof that he should—he must—deny it?
Chapter Twenty-One
The day was perfect—as perfect as a day could get in winter. The sun shone on the snow-covered trees and the white ground. Whatever it touched, sparkled.
Biddy pulled the drapes open; winter sunshine flooded Dahlia’s chambers.
“Happy Christmas, Your Grace!”
“And a Happy Christmas to you, Biddy!”
Dahlia stretched her arms, working the sleep off from her body. Looking outside, she could appreciate the looks of the day that mother nature granted them, as if she too knew it was Christmas.
Biddy went to her mistress. Sitting at the edge of the bed, she handed Dahlia a small box.
“Oh, Biddy,” Dahlia said, beyond touched. “You know you did not have to get me a present.”
“’Tis but a small thing, Your Grace. I made it myself. I hope you like it.”
Dahlia opened the small box. A look of delight crossed her face as she took out a fragile-looking white and silver hairpiece made from gossamer fabric and beads.
“Biddy, it is beautiful!” She rose from her bed and moved to the mirror. Placing the hairpiece against her hair, Dahlia exclaimed in delight.
“You made this?”
“That I did, Your Grace,” Biddy said proudly.
“Thank you, my dear Biddy,” she said softly. “I shall wear it for Christmas dinner!”
“I made Lady Mary and Lady Claire matching ones, Your Grace.”
“Oh, Biddy, you wonderful person!” She hugged Biddy who flushed with pleasure.
Dahlia suddenly raised a finger.
“You must wait there.”
Then hurrying to her desk, Dahlia brought out a package tied with a green ribbon.
“This is for you. Thank you for being a constant presence in my life.”
Biddy took the present with a sniffle.
“Must you make me cry, Your Grace?”
Dahlia chuckled and watched as the gift was opened.
“Oh, Your Grace, no, I can’t possibly accept this!” Biddy shook her head, eyes wide.
An intricate wooden brush made of polished wood and boar hair and a wooden comb of the same quality lay inside a velvet box.
“Oh, but you must. I cannot possibly return it, not after that hard-won fight with Mrs. Daniels.”
“But, Your Grace, this must have cost, well, I am unsure how much, but it must?—”
