Page 66 of Stolen By the Duke of Ice
“I was also busy looking forthe one, do not forget,” Dahlia said jokingly.
“Ah yes, the quintessential man.”
“Are you still laughing at him?”
“Certainly not, Your Grace,” Peter said laughing. “But I do wonder how it was that your idea ofthe onewas formed.”
“Oh, that is quite easy to answer.”
Peter urged her to continue with a look.
“I had four suitors in my first season,” Dahlia said proudly. “My family was quite surprised, I tell you.”
“Shall I offer my congratulations?”
She elbowed him.
“But I did not accept any of them, obviously.”
“Obviously.”
“I started to see from getting to know each of them what I wanted and what I did not want in a husband. They all had one or two things that I liked but more that I did not.”
“And so your list of requirements was born?”
She laughed.
“Yes, my list of requirements.”
“And you think thatthe onewill bring you happiness?”
“Why of, course, Your Grace. Imagine this: another person who completely understands you, whose emotional and intellectual capacity are so close to your own that you finish each other’s sentences, that your feelings are perceived without you even expressing them. Now imagine a life with that person; you travel together, have a family together, solve problems together, grow old together, maybe even die together.”
Peter could see no face but Dahlia’s in his mind’s eye. Of course, shewashis wife.
“Thatis love. Does not that thought bring you bliss?”
And if one loses the other? What then? What would be left?
Peter pushed the unhappy thought aside and instead focused on the picture that Dahlia painted. Though to him, the image was very surreal.
“I cannot fathom why anyone would not want to fall in love. It seems to me such a wonderous, glorious feeling!”
Their party had reached the milliners, the twins and their friends headed inside, but Peter and Dahlia stood where they were.
Dahlia’s face had glowed in her passionate explanation of love, her green eyes shone. Peter realized that he did not want to look away. Somehow, he could see the picture she painted very clearly in his mind. He had traced her cheek with his finger and smiled at her.
Now, as the carriage moved along the snowy road, he looked at Dahlia, who had fallen asleep beside him. Reaching out, he gently tipped her head, resting it on his shoulder.
Dahlia had closed her eyes just to rest them. She felt Peter lean her head on his shoulder.
He thinks me asleep.
She debated whether to declare that indeed, she was not asleep but soon decided that the time to do it had passed. And so,she pretended that she was. Dahlia was surprised to realize that resting against his shoulder seemed the most natural thing to her. The position was a good fit; his shoulder, sturdy and strong, was comfortable.
She saw them standing outside the milliners. Dahlia had felt a shift inside her, as if her heart had made room for something new, something she had long sought. For the past five years, she had crafted, built the image and character ofthe one, her one true love. How was it that now, when she had no need of him—indeed could not pursue him—his face suddenly came into fruition. And it was Peter’s.
No. It cannot be. Not him, not this beast of a man, not this cold, dictatorial man.
