Page 108 of Stolen By the Duke of Ice
“What are your plans for the day?” he asked, trying to make conversation.
How quiet the meal is. How quiet the castle is.
“Nothing exciting. I shall be trimming my bonnet,” Mary said, trying her best as well.
When Claire did not answer, Peter tried again.
“And you, Claire?”
“Ouch!”
Peter knew Mary kicked her under the table. She gave her sister a dirty look.
“I shall be in the hothouse.”
Apparently, that was all that Peter was going to get. And so, the meal finished with nary another word uttered between them.
Dinner was not any better. But there, they dropped all pretense of politeness and simple finished their food and said good night.
He found no one in the sitting room that night. Peter could not bear looking at the empty room, so he had gone up to his chambers instead.
He crouched by the fire and stoked it, remembering the night that he had built Dahlia a fire in her chambers. That was the first time that the doors between their rooms had been opened.
“And then you went ahead and locked them.”
He sighed. Standing up, he went to the said doors and opened them. He had found them just like that when he returned to his chambers.
“Did you open the doors, Dahlia?” he asked her shadow.
In his heart of hearts, he wished that she had opened them even before. He saw her, in his mind’s eye, going to him. Telling him that she wanted the genuine thing.
Kiss me because you care for me as I do you. Because your heart tells you to as mine does.
No! He was right not to do so. He knew why.
It was like watching his father fade before his eyes after Peter’s mother died. His father had let go of all his responsibilities, including his children. Peter had no choice but to take over the running of the estate. He became the Duke in all but name. And then, not too long after that, his father left them as well. He had become wasted and deeply sad; it was as if he simply willed his heart to stop beating.
Neither would he be manipulated into doing what he did not want to do. Others had tried before, especially when he had just inherited the dukedom. Leering at him, waiting for him to fail, all the while giving him advice, claiming friendship with his family. How could he trust anyone?
And yet… and yet he trusted Dahlia. Everything she said, every word she told him since they had come to matter to each other was the truth. With her, he felt… free.
But what did all of it entail? What was asked of him? His surrender.
“I cannot!”
To give himself wholly was to take away whatever control he had. That was love. And love ran a man aground until there was nothing left but the shell of what he used to be. It took everything and gave nothing. No, he would not let that happen. He knew he could not let that happen.
He could not be like his father. But what was it like to behim? Peter. In control, powerful, safe—alone. Was this what he really wanted? For the longest time it was. And now?
Chapter Twenty-Two
Celine, now heavily pregnant, insisted that she see Dahlia on the very morning after her return to Bolton House. Her husband, Rhys, and Helena arrived with her.
Upon seeing her, an alarmed Dahlia had launched into a lecture.
“Of all the idiotic ideas, Celine Harken! And you two!” She pointed at Rhys and Helena. “Why on earth did you let her?—”
“I am very happy to see you too, Dahlia.” Celine embraced her, swollen stomach and all.
