Page 43 of Stolen By the Duke of Ice
A slight blush appeared on her cheeks. He could hear her thinking.
“What is on your mind, Dahlia?” But no sooner had the words left his mouth then he regretted asking them, for indeed, he knew her answer.
“I wasn’t sure if you would come to me tonight.”
Peter drew in a breath.
“You were tired.”
“Yes, and you must have been as well.”
“Yes.”
“But here we both are.”
“It would appear so.”
Silence followed, only the crackling of the fire disturbing the room.
“Why did you not?”
“Why did I not what?” He knew perfectly what she asked, but because he had no answer for her, he evaded the question.
Dahlia shot him an annoyed look.
“Oh, you know what I am asking!”
When Peter only stared at her, she mumbled.
“Itwas supposed to happen tonight—at least, that is what I was told.”
Peter stood up and walked to her. By the fire, he felt warm, but he was certain that it was not just the fire that affected him. Peter was drawn to her. There was an awareness in him that made his skin tingle. In the light of the fire, her green eyes seemed to darken; looking to him like depthless pools, they pulled him to her. Her burnished red hair, which hung loose around hershoulders, gave him a feeling of intimacy such as he had never felt before. He was undeniably drawn to her. And if he was not mistaken, she was to him. He moved closer to her, their faces only a breath apart.
“It?”
The blush that started from her neck spread all the way to the roots of her hair. Peter couldn’t quite stop the smirk.
Her eyes shot daggers at him.
“Yes,it—oh, you know!”
“I beg your pardon, but I donotknow.” It was getting harder to keep a straight face.
“Peter!” She pushed at his chest then moved away, hands clenched at her sides.
Peter tried to catch her eye, but she looked at everything save him. He could not help it, baiting Dahlia was a thoroughly amusing activity.
“Dahlia, how am I to understand you if you cannot express your thoughts properly? Do you think me a mind reader?” His voice almost cracked from holding back his laughter.
“You are infuriating!”
Dahlia stormed out of the sitting room, leaving behind a laughing Peter. Just as he was able to catch his breath, Dahlia returned, arms crossed across her chest, her face wearing a haughty look.
“If Your Grace would please point me to the direction of the kitchens, I would be very grateful.”
Her look and her tone, in such contrast with her words, made him laugh again. A laugh that he, being a wise male—or at least a male who wanted to live till morning—bit back.
Gathering himself, Peter inhaled deeply. He picked up the candle and motioning for her to follow him, proceeded to the direction of the kitchens.
