Page 90 of Stolen By the Duke of Ice
“Of course, Your Grace.” Biddy looked at her mistress. “Is it the headache? I can have Mrs. Ba?—”
“No, no, I find that I am just a little fatigued. Nothing that a short rest will not cure.”
“As you wish, Your Grace.”
“Thank you, Biddy, I shall ring for you when I am ready.”
When Dahlia found herself alone, she moved to the fireplace and watched its dancing flames.
She closed her eyes. Was she writing a romance between Peter and herself? The Duke of Snowdon—the Duke of Ice—was now the Peter that she had come to know. Gone was her antihero, in his place was Peter, justPeter. She was writing a fictional life with her husband. She went to her bed and sat down on it. Frustrated, she covered her face with her hands and fell back on the bed.
Peter set the candle down on the kitchen’s worktable. Going straight to the larder, Peter considered its contents; he chose a custard tart and the game pie. Taking them out and setting the items on the worktable, Peter went to get a knife and a plate to slice himself a piece of the pie.
Knife and plate in hand, Peter turned around and nearly dropped the plate as Dahlia, startled to see him, shrieked and accidentally tossed her candle to the floor.
“Will you please stop giving me a fright!” Dahlia bent down to retrieve the extinguished candle from the floor.
“I beg your pardon, Your Grace,” Peter said laughing at her. “Again, it was not my intention to startle you. And I thank you for not throwing the candle at me this time.”
She looked at the knife he held in his hand.
“I was about to slice the game pie.” Peter pointed to it. “Would you like some as well?”
She went to the table and put her unlit her candle on the table.
“That pie smells quite divine,” Dahlia said.
“There is a custard tart as well.”
He cut two slices and put both on the plate. They sat down on stools and with no utensils on about, used their hands instead.
“This is delicious! We must tell Mrs. Baker that we are the pie culprits.”
When they finished with the pie, they started with the custard tart. Dahlia split it in half and handed Matteo’s piece to him.
“Since you prepared the food, I shall get us some milk and return the pie to the larder.”
Their midnight meal satisfied them both. Now quiet, Peter and Dahlia studied the darkened kitchen.
“Shall we go?” Dahlia asked.
Peter nodded in agreement, and both stood up. He picked up his candle and led the way out of the kitchen. The castle was quiet; stillness surrounded them.
“I thought Cook has snacks brought up to you every night?” Peter said.
“I had three young ladies visit me tonight; they wanted some of the ribbon we used on the fir tree the other day. I heard talk of matching caps.” She grinned. “Of course, whatever food I had was gone before they left.”
“I see. And Lady Helena was not with them?”
“No, she was not,” Dahlia frowned. “When I asked Chastity where her sister was, she said that she had a meeting with Matteo.”
Peter raised both eyebrows at this information.
“Are they...? I warned Matteo not to?—”
“Please! I am appalled that you could even suggest that.” Dahlia shook her head, giggling. “Helena is a very conscientious, verycorrectlady. Why, she is a fierce guardian to her sisters against such things!”
“I suppose Matteo would not dare as well, at least not while he is in my home and she is my guest.”
