Page 62 of Stolen By the Duke of Ice
Fire.
Brightness and warmth.
He began to believe he needed that warmth more than he’d known.
Chapter Thirteen
Dahlia stood in front of the mirror wearing the cloak. Mrs. Smith circling around her with her measuring device, paused. Calling for the assistant who had left to fetch more pins, Mrs. Smith smiled apologetically at Dahlia.
“Forgive me Your Grace, my seamstress is still new. I shall just go and see what is taking so long.”
With a curtsy, she left Dahlia and Peter in the room.
“Peter,” Dahlia called out, “might I request your assistance?”
Peter stood up and went to her.
“At your service, Your Grace.” Peter bowed. “What may I assist you with?”
“I am afraid to move, for this cloak is covered in pins. Would you please sweep aside my hair?”
She inclined her head slightly as if to show him the offending locks that the repeated fittings had partially undone from her coiffure. They fell over her face. Dahlia, at first, had tried to ignore the itchy and tickly sensations, but it had reached the point where she no longer could.
“They are tickling my nose,” she said.
Peter’s hand carefully reached for the said locks of curly red hair and just as carefully tucked them behind her ear.
Dahlia fought a gasp as his hand brushed her ear. Her skin tingled, and her breath came faster.Is this how Penelope Lovelace’s heroines feel?
“There, shall that do?”
“Actually, if you could just scratch…” She tipped her right cheek toward him.
Peter chuckled and proceeded to do as she asked, gently running his fingernails across her soft skin.
“Better?” he asked.
“Yes, immensely better, thank you,” Dahlia replied with relief.
“It is a pleasure to be at your service, Your Grace,” Peter added with mock formality.
They grinned at each other, and Peter resumed his seat by the fire.
“Tell me, Peter, do Mary and Claire play the pianoforte as well?”
“Yes, they do actually”
“Are they as proficient as you?”
“Surely you cannot expect me, a gentleman, to answer that. You must determine for yourself and oblige them to play when we return to the castle.”
“A bit of a diplomat are you?” she teased him.
“Being the guardian to two young ladies, one must be,” he replied with humor.
“The pianoforte you have is a beautiful instrument. Has it been in the castle long?”
“Quite.” Peter paused to consider. “It has been there for as long as I can remember. And I have been playing it for as long as I can remember. Unfortunately, I do not play so much now as I did before. At least not as much as I would want to.”
