Page 32 of Stolen By the Duke of Ice
She drew out a long breath.
“Yes.”
“I have no wish to hurt you.”
Dahlia looked at the night sky. She felt her conscience prick at her a little. Letting out another breath, she looked at Peter.
“I am being unfair.”
She went closer to him, and for the first time, she saw that he held her cloak. She hadn’t even realized that she was cold. He swung it around her until it covered her shoulders. Warmth that she had not known she needed flooded her body.
She sat down on a garden bench and beckoned him to follow. When he did, Dahlia spoke to him freely like she had never done before.
“I know that I agreed to this whole arrangement. I did not want it, but I agreed to it all the same. But…”
“But?” Peter was still but for his breathing.
“It hurt me, you see.”
“Because you could not marrythe one?”
“Yes, but more than that.” She clutched at the sides of her cloak. “I have always stood out among my family. You have seen them; you have heard the stories. Those stories are all true. In all of the ton, here is a family made from love, literally. All the of them were conceived in love. All of them found their love match. Except for me.”
“Dahlia, life is not a fairy tale.”
“Do not tell me that love stories are fairy tales! I can give you dozens of living examples that they are not!”
Peter was silent.
“I have tried my best to find love, I have; that is why I stayed unmarried for five seasons. But it seems that every family must have its black sheep.”
“You are not a black sheep.”
“Well then perhaps, it is me, physically, that is repellent. My family certainly agrees that I could do better with my appearance. I acknowledge that I shall never be considered a diamond of the first water, never the delicate English Rose. Perhaps this marriage of convenience is the best that I can really get. I know they talk of how lucky I am to have secured a duke. How surprised they all are that I should have managed to be engaged at all!”
Tears fell again, and she used her cape to wipe them away before she felt Peter gently pushing his handkerchief to her.
“It hurts, you see, to be the considered the failure. I was already the black sheep of the family because I was a spinster, but now, I shall stand out more for being married yet not having love.” She gave Peter back his handkerchief. “Don’t worry, I do not blame you at all. You have been nothing but straightforward with me. Please do not feel that you are responsible for these feelings, I am afraid that they have been here even before your arrival.”
It was strange that she found some comfort in his presence. He, the Duke of Ice, who neither consoled nor sympathized with her, made her burdened heart feel lighter.
“Dahlia.”
When she turned to him, he lifted her chin gently with his fingers.
“Whoever said that you are not beautiful knows not of what they speak,” Peter said quietly. He held her gaze for a long time. She saw his throat work, as if he struggled for words, but after a silent moment he said only, “The Marchioness is here.”
He gestured towards the path leading back to the house where, indeed, her mother stood, worried.
“I shall call again in the morning.”
Dahlia nodded. He stood and bid her a good night.
If he stayed a minute longer, Peter felt that he would lose his mind. Indeed, he felt that he had lost some of it already. As he sat in the garden bench listening to Dahlia speak about herself in those ways, he felt a great inclination to call out every person in her family who had passed some form of judgement on her. Indeed, he felt a great inclination to hit something—or someone.
“Not beautiful enough? A black sheep?” he muttered darkly as he walked back towards the front door.
Could they actually see? Did they not have eyes? Dahlia was stunning. He remembered the first time he opened the carriage door, and there she sat, Pandora waiting to unleash trouble on him. He still could not fully explain her reaction—more precisely, he did not want to explain his reaction to her.
