Page 94 of Stolen By the Duke of Ice
The mask broke a little at the mention of his sisters, and Dahlia could tell that he was now ready, albeit reluctant, to hear her out. She held her hands out in front of her, a gesture of appeal. Her voice lowered down, she took a breath to steady herself.
“I saw it as a means to be able to connect to your sisters and warn them against the perils of the season. To tell them that there are gentlemen who exist that take advantage of youth and inexperience.”
Dahlia could feel Peter’s eyes on her.
“I have been a wallflower for most of my life, and so I have observed, and I have seen more than most young ladies.”
Peter’s mask was dissolving, and in place of the coldness, Dahlia thought she saw a spark of an emotion in his eyes. He stood up from his chair and walked to the window. A few seconds passed until he spoke.
“I admit that I want to believe you, Dahlia.”
“Then do!”
“You do not know how difficult it is!”
Dahlia was surprised at Peter’s sudden outburst.
“You cannot be unaware of my reasoning, why I find it so hard to believe you.”
“Tell me, Peter.”
“Dahlia, you wrote about me for years! And you were not remotely kind in your description.”
“I did not! How could I when I hardly knew you. I wasinspiredby you to create the character of the Duke, but there was so much of you that I didn’t know, that I am getting to know now."
Peter listened to her, unconsciously moving closer to where she stood.
“Like your generosity—you take care of everyone, but no one even notices because you do it so quietly and so seamlessly. More blueberry scones at breakfast, gloves for hothouse work, food for late night snacks, I know you did all those, Peter. You mend things that no one knew needed mending. You give when no one is asking.”
Now almost only an arm’s reach away from Dahlia, Peter was transfixed by her words.
“You hide behind lectures and sternness when really you are worried and—and afraid. You care for us, Peter. And because you have lost so much already, you treasure what you still have—Mary and Claire.”
Me? Perhaps?
“This is how I see you, Peter.”
“Dahlia, I…”
“Your condition for our marriage to take place was that I stop writing. And I agreed to it. But you will never understand, never know what I had to give up. It was the only thing I had that was truly mine, that kept me happy and sane when I was alone. Why do you think Penelope Lovelace was born? Because I needed her.”
Dahlia swiped at the tears that came fast.
“I did not write to vex or hurt you, I wrote simply for me.”
“Peter, I’m a little late but—” Matteo walked in, clearly surprised by the sight that greeted him. He paused in his tracks.
“I shall come back; I seem to have forgotten something.”
“No, Matteo please,” Dahlia begged. “You must stay and continue on with your business.”
She looked at Peter, who stood staring back at her.
“I was just leaving. Good morning, gentlemen.”
She curtsied and left the study.
Dahlia was avoiding him. Ever since she confronted him in the study two days ago, it was as if he had the plague. Whenever she found him alone, she would turn back, offering one excuse or another. And when she had no choice but to speak to him, she would not look him in the eye.
