Page 36 of Stolen By the Duke of Ice
Dahlia was unable to move. She almost could not believe her eyes. Peter stood just outside the carriage door, snow falling heavily around him. From behind him, she could see Matteo, who grinned at her.
When Dahlia remained still, her mother nudged her.
“Dahlia!” she whispered fiercely.
Shaking herself, Dahlia spoke, “Y-your Grace, you are here.”
“It would appear so, Lady Dahlia.” He smiled at her and held out his hand for her. “Come, My Lady, the carriage will be of no use to you in this weather.”
His smile confused Dahlia. He was not angry, not even annoyed.
Managing a weak answer, Dahlia nodded.
“Yes, of course.”
He lifted her from the carriage and carried her in his arms as he walked towards his steed.
“Truly, My Lady, we must stop meeting like this before major life events.”
“I seem to have no control over these meetings, Your Grace.”
“I beg to differ; you are always the catalyst, My Lady,” Peter said with a grin as he stopped beside his horse.
Before Dahlia could reply, Matteo approached them and bowed to her.
“A fine day for a wedding, My Lady!”
“Oh, is fine what you would call it?”
“Snow on a wedding day is a good omen, My Lady! Ask any of your dear old aunts!”
“Oh, so Peter has told you about them then.” She grinned.
“Yes, and I look forward to meeting them at the wedding breakfast.” He bowed to her once again then turned towards the Marchioness.
Dahlia’s feet never even touched the ground as Peter carried her from the carriage to his horse. She felt as if she were in a dream. The snow turned everything white around her, adding to the dreamlike quality of her feelings. Behind her, she vaguely knew that her parents were being helped up onto the horses that would carry them to the church.
She woke up to the reality of her situation when she started to feel cold even in her winter clothes. But before it could properly take hold, Dahlia felt herself enveloped in warmth. A warmth which curiously smelled of soap, of the outdoors—of Peter.
I am wearing his greatcoat. He has wrapped me in his greatcoat. And why do I know his scent?
Unconsciously, she breathed in deeper.
Dahlia felt him climb atop his horse and settle behind her; despite herself, she gasped. She straightened her spine, holding herself as erect as she possibly could.
Why am I surprised that he will ride with me? Of course, he could not have known whether I am a horsewoman or not, so of course, he had not expected me to ride alone.
Peter reached around her to handle the reins, and Dahlia stiffened even more. When the horse moved, she realized that her efforts were in vain for the movements of the horse only swayed her towards Peter. She fought against this and would have slipped if not for the arms that wound around her. Behind her, she could hear him chuckling.
“Dahlia, if you do not relax, I shall soon be fishing you out of the snow. And goodness knows that I do not wish to marry a frozen statue.”
She let out a breath and tried to relax her spine. Slowly, she felt her side touch Peter’s chest. They remained silent for some time. Dahlia could feel the rise and fall of his chest; without conscious thought, their breathing matched each other’s rhythm. How was it that she could feel his warmth despite the layers of clothing? If she closed her eyes, Dahlia could almost imagine that she had found—no! She would not imagine that. That would only complicate her already complicated situation.
“Have you fallen asleep, My Lady?”
“No, Your Grace.”
“Are you cold, Dahlia?”
