Page 48 of Stolen By the Duke of Ice
Perhaps the amount of work he had to accomplish had been most convenient for he had been intent as well on ignoring his wife. He had not planned for theirs to be a real marriage; indeed, he had promised her quite the opposite.
I have been forthright from the very start!
And why, he thought, did he feel the need to defend himself? Because, he knew that if their marriage would become remotely affectionate, he would not be able to help himself. He was attracted to her in such a way that it proved utterly distracting and inconvenient.
One taste of her lips, and I am afraid I shall not be able to stop myself from wanting more. No, this is the smartest course of action. It must be this way. She is to leave in a month’s time.
Peter almost groaned, but instead, he stood from his desk.
“I shall head out for a short walk. Mr. Phillips, please finish the letter to the new suppliers.”
Putting on his greatcoat, Peter headed towards the park. The brisk wind refreshed him. A traitorous part of himself conjured the image of Dahlia walking beside him, the wind whipping herred curls into a frenzy. He was keenly aware—too aware—that she rarely left his mind.
He knew, for instance, that she was currently in her chambers in the company of his sisters. Before that they had been to visit the hothouse. He could trace her scent in the rooms she lingered in.
Blueberry scones.
Like a besotted fool, he had instructed Mrs. Baker to tell Cook that she needed to serve more of those, for he knew that Dahlia preferred them. That particular serving dish, he’d observed, was always empty after she had left the buffet table.
His mind went to the newly arrived document on his desk. It specified the details of the house he had planned to buy for her. The house where Dahlia would live independently from him.
I give you leave to come and go as you please.
His solicitors said the purchase could be completed in a month’s time. There was no putting it off; Peter must speak to Dahlia about it.
The last night brought with it another bout of snowfall. The ground lay covered in thick white powder. In the distance, he thought he heard laughter. Peter followed the sound.
There was no mistaking the three voices. Moving closer, he saw Dahlia and his sisters frolicking in the snow. For a while he stood watching them as if enchanted.
I shall join them!
With a brisk shake of his head, Peter broke his foolish thoughts.
Belatedly, Peter took notice of their attire.
What can they be thinking! Rolling around in the snow in the wrong clothes!
They were bound to get sick, and if—and if he lost them…
Like I lost her.
Snow was also falling lightly that long ago afternoon, but no one could have thought that in just a few hours things would change.
“It is just snow, my dear Peter. I will be fine. You needn’t worry; I shall manage on my own. Stay and enjoy your holiday.”
Why did I listen to you? Why did I stay?
Guilt, as raw as if it had been merely yesterday, slammed against him. There was a bitter taste in his mouth.
No! I cannot bear to think that!
He wrenched his mind away from such bitter memories; instead he channeled his fear into anger. His legs moved on their own accord.
“What do you think you are doing? Get out of there!”
Dahlia, Mary, and Claire stood up from their position in the snow, alarmed at the anger and urgency in Peter’s voice. They stood still as he rushed to them, a dark scowl on his face.
“Of all the irresponsible things!” He took both his sisters’ hands in his and started in the direction of the castle.
