Page 93 of Stolen By the Duke of Ice
“Good night, Dahlia.”
Once again, he walked through her private sitting room until he reached the adjoining doors. He went through them and for the last time that night, closed the doors.
He felt betrayed, certainly lied to. He could not believe Dahlia capable of deceit. He was ashamed of how he nearly lost his resolve just a few minutes ago. Perhaps, he should thank fate, for it showed him early enough what weakness could cause him.
Peter headed to his desk and rummaged inside a drawer until he found what he sought. The keys to the doors.
Walking back to the adjoining doors, he put the key in the keyhole and turned it. The distinctive click of the lock sounded, and to Peter, it felt like it reverberated across his chambers, indeed across the whole castle.
Chapter Nineteen
Dahlia awoke the next morning feeling that something was very wrong. Her mind emerging from the fog of sleep was slowly remembering the night’s events. Visions that, she knew even half asleep, were not dreams.
She remembered the resounding click of the lock. It was deafening in the silence of Dahlia chambers. Her emotions had been in disarray, one moment she had been ready to tell Peter everything that she felt, and in the very next one, it all seemed to count for nothing.
He had stormed out of her room without bothering to ask for an explanation. Was his faith in her so fragile then? Her chest felt heavy.
I knew I shouldn’t have trusted you.
Peter’s words rang in her ears.
After he had left, she stumbled across her room and sat down on her desk. She hadn’t noticed that she still held the book in her hands. Carefully placing it on the desk, she opened it and turned to the first page ofThe Duke and The Aspiring Detectives.
She only then admitted that she had put so much of herself in this story. So much of what she learned, of what she hoped for in the last few years of her life. Definitely more than she did compared to the other ones.
Carefully, she read the words that she had written—words meant to instruct Mary and Claire, to warn them, to steer them towards the right choices. And yes, to teach them about falling in love.
An ache so sharp removed all vestiges of sleep. Dahlia sat up in bed. Was she so unimportant to Peter to not even be given the chance to defend herself? From her hurt rose anger.
Well, Peter, I will tell you; whether you want to or not, you will listen!
Reaching for the bell pull, she rang for Biddy.
How pathetic it was to have fallen in love with a man who did not trust her. Deciding not to wait for her lady’s maid, Dahlia began to dress herself. She felt like a ball of raw nerves. Moving quickly, she had pulled out a dress from her closet when Biddy arrived. One look at her mistress and she knew that she was in a temper.
“Allow me to do that, Your Grace.”
Biddy dressed her quickly. When she had finished brushing her hair and had started to put her hair up, Dahlia stood up abruptly.
“Leave it please, Biddy. There is somewhere I must be.”
Without another word, Dahlia left her room, an agape Biddy looking after her.
She walked quickly; lifting her skirts, she was almost running in her haste.
“Which way was that again?” she mumbled to herself as she tried to navigate the castle.
The doors to Peter’s study flew open. From behind his desk, he saw as Dahlia walked in—thundered in, her red hair blowing like a consuming fire.
“I was not even intending to publish this!” She waved the book at him without preamble. “And if you had bothered to even hear my perspective and allow me to explain, I would have told you my reasons!”
Peter’s face was a cold mask. If he had been surprised at her barging into his study, he had not shown it. Indeed, he looked at her with all the calm and coldness of the Peter of their early acquaintance.
“It wasn’t even my idea to write, but if I could help them in this way, then I would!”
“Help who?” came Peter’s stoic reply.
“Mary and Claire!”
