Page 114 of Stolen By the Duke of Ice
Peter’s hands trembled as he cupped her face.
“I am proud of you, my love.” he whispered to her.
“Thank you, Peter. I find that I am quite proud of myself as well.”
He handed her a handkerchief; taking it, Dahlia wiped the tears from her eyes.
“A book that finally has my real name on it; oh, Peter, how can I describe what I am feeling at this moment?”
“You can try.”
She nodded and took his hand, her eyes closed. Peter felt her hands tighten in his.
“When we started our life together, I knew that I need not write about romance any longer, for I was already living it; my imaginations had become my reality.”
Peter softly kissed her hand.
“You—our life together—is so much more than I had dreamed of, so much more than I had imagined.
“More exciting than the Duke of Snowdon’s adventures and romance?” Peter teased.
She laughed and cupped his cheek then answered him in a most earnest voice.
“Yes, a thousand times more so. I do not need to dream; I do not need to imagine anymore because I am living it with you.” Dahlia smiled. “And so, I thought that I must convey to the young ladies of society who felt hopeless that love is there if you know where to look. I wanted to show them that there are dangers as well that must be avoided. I wanted them to realize that they are not alone. Whatever they are feeling as young ladies of theton, someone before them has felt it too.”
“A most noble dream,” Peter said sincerely. “You are a remarkable woman, Dahlia Thornscroft. I cannot wait to see what you will further accomplish.
“And will you always be there when I accomplish them?”
“You know I shall,” Peter kissed her again, “for there is nowhere else I would rather be but right here with you, my wife, my Dahlia, my one true love.”
If anyone had told Dahlia a year ago that she would be publishing her books under her real name, she would havelooked at them very doubtfully. After all that she had gone through as an author—with all the difficulties of being an unmarried female author, the subterfuge, the covert meetings with the publisher, and the collusions with Benson, Biddy and John—seeing her newly published book now with her name, Dahlia Thornscroft, proudly and prominently imprinted on the front cover was a dream fulfilled.
And if anyone told her a year ago that the cold and forbidding Duke of Icedale would look at her as he was looking at her now—as if she made the sun shine and the earth revolve—she would surely have laughed at them.
Looking at his handsome face, she sometimes still wondered if all of it were real.
Am I awake? Or is this all a dream?
But the heavy beating of her heart told her that it was not a dream and that indeed, this was her reality—and what a reality it was!
She put her hand over his heart, feeling its rhythm, and kissed him, thrilling at the freedom to do so.
Dahlia stepped back and smiled at Peter.
“And why do smile that way?”
“What way?”
“As if you know something that I do not.”
“Ah, because I do, my dear husband.”
Husband. Would she ever get used to the thrill of claiming Peter as that? Would she ever stop marveling at the love they shared. Indeed, at what they made together.
“And will you make me ask?”
Dahlia put her hands over her stomach and looked at Peter with shining eyes.
