Page 12 of Stolen By the Duke of Ice
“Dahlia.”
Are they in earnest? Can they possibly know what they ask of me?
There were low moments in Dahlia’s life when she questioned her parents’ love for her; indeed, she wondered if they even liked her at all.
It certainly feels that way now. How can they ask me to marry the Duke knowing all that I have told them? Knowing all that I feel towards him. Can they not understand? Perhaps they simply do not care, so long as this scandal goes away.
Very rarely did Dahlia go against her parents’ wishes; pleasing them had always been paramount to her, but this was different. This time, she could not simply accept their wishes.
“Oh, I shall never be happy. He is such an impossible man!”
“My dear.”
“And he is most definitely notthe one! The Duke is tall and handsome, he seems intelligent enough—I grant you that—and he did help rescue me, but that is all. Those are the only points he has to even come close to beinghim! He is the last person in the world who could ever make me happy, and I rather doubt that I could make him happy either. Can you not see how ill-suited we are?”
“Ahem.”
Their butler, Mr. Tipping, stood by the study door. Not one of them had noticed that he had been patiently waiting for them for the past few minutes to acknowledge him. When they all stopped to face him, he proceeded, “His Grace, The Duke of Icedale.”
Peter’s lips formed a thin line on his face.
Cold, arrogant, controlling, can order people about, most definitely not the one, the last person in the world who could ever make her happy.
He counted them off in his head. Six points against him.
Oh, but there is also tall, handsome, seems intelligent enough, and I did rescue her.
Four points for him. By this count though, he would not succeed in his business this afternoon.
His thoughts went back to the night before. He remembered her every expression, most of all her determination. Frowning, he muttered under his breath, “She is Penelope Lovelace.”
The thought invoked both wrath and reluctant admiration. He remembered as well how she refused to be cowed by him.
Matrimony was not in his plans as of yet, but circumstances had steered him there. And so, if he must marry, then it might as well be to someone he could admire.
The sudden silence from within the study told him that the family was now aware of his presence.
“The Marquess will see you now, Your Grace.”
Inside the Marquess of Bolton’s study, Peter saw all the faces that matched the voices he had heard while waiting to be announced. They all displayed varying degrees of shock.
“Your Grace.” Displaying the least shock, the Marquess bowed. Following him, in both facial expression and action, the Marchioness curtsied. Peter trained his eyes towards Dahlia. Being the most shocked, she curtsied last.
“Please have a seat.” The Marquess gestured to the chair that Dahlia had earlier vacated. “I had not expected a call from you, Sir.”
“Had you not?” Peter sat down. He could feel the ladies’ eyes on him—Dahlia’s, most particularly, he imagined were as sharp as daggers.
“Well…”
“Let us not waste time, My Lord.” He spoke directly to the Marquess with a businesslike tone. “We all know that last night’shappenings have resulted in a series of events which cannot—should not—be ignored.” He quickly glanced at Dahlia. “As a gentleman, I am bound by honor to do the right thing by your daughter, Lady Dahlia Hill.”
A sharp intake of breath grated on Peter’s ears. He knew it was Dahlia.
Good God, she makes me seem like an executioner; it isn’t a death sentence.
“But even with this, I assure you, as I believe Lady Dahlia has as well, that nothing happened in the carriage that should lead you to question her honor as a lady nor mine as a gentleman.”
“Your Grace?—”
