Page 15 of Taken By the Icy Duke

“Your Grace, you are imagining slights where none exist. I have attended to all matters requiring my presence. You must not take offense simply because I prefer efficiency and order.”

“It is more than you wish me to believe,” she insisted, a fire sparking in her emerald eyes. “You will not speak with me unless I force the matter. You vanish when I approach. I must ask, what have I done to make you treat me so…coldly?”

He cocked his head, his voice soothing yet strangely distant.

“Coldly? You mistake reserve for rudeness. We are newly married and still adjusting to one another’s presence. Perhaps you feel I should be more demonstrative. Yet I have already shown a willingness to grant you authority over certain household matters. I have permitted you to host visitors and allowed you full freedom of the rooms. Is that not enough?”

“I see,” Diana stammered, her cheeks flushing. “I…perhaps I overstepped.”

“I advise patience,” he insisted, carefully. “In time, we shall find our rhythm.”

Instead of bowing her head and conceding the point, Diana stood a bit straighter. He noted the high flush that now bloomed on her cheeks and heard the quickening of her breath. She refused to submit to his polite evasions, and oddly, that impressed him even though it infuriated him.

“Patience? Is that not what I have given you since my arrival here?” Her voice rang in the stillness. “Am I to be forever patient while you decide whether or not I merit more than a handful of words each day?”

Gilbert clenched his jaw as a flicker of annoyance surfaced. She was pushing him, testing his control. He took a deliberate step closer, enjoying the sudden look of surprise in her eyes. “Your Grace,” he said, “it seems you assume a great deal. Are you certain you wish to press this matter?”

“I do,” she replied, lifting her chin as if daring him to prove otherwise. Her determination—so unexpected—sent a current of heat through his veins. She did not budge, though he now stood close enough to sense the subtle catch in her breathing. A sudden electric current flowed between them. She lifted her chin another notch. “I will not be ignored. Your Grace.”

He studied her for a moment, intrigued by the stubborn tilt of her head. How had he not anticipated this persistent boldness? He should have known that a woman who weathered scandal without crumbling would not flinch from a little confrontation. And as she stood there, defying him outright, he realized he could not talk his way out as easily as he had expected.

He considered his options.

Words only seem to provoke her, and our every exchange pokes a raw nerve inside me. Her mouth is once again ready to utter another demand. I wonder if kissing her will finally quiet her…or, better yet, allow me to reclaim some measure of control.

The idea was reckless, but the thought of her, silent and breathless, astonished by his very touch... Gilbert experienced a rush of satisfaction at the very notion.

“In that case,” he breathed.

Without preamble he moved closer. Close enough to catch her heady rosewater scent; to see the tiny pulse at her throat quicken; to be just close enough that their lips nearly brushed.

She took a sharp breath, surprise widening her eyes. To his delight, her surprise transformed into something determined. The moment her eyes drifted shut, her cheeks flushing with anticipation, he felt a surge of victory.

I will not give her what she wants this easily.

Gilbert angled his head and pressed a deliberate kiss to her cheek. Her breath caught, and he savored the faint tremble he felt beneath his lips. He then trailed lower, letting his mouth find the warm curve of her neck, lingering where he could taste the dewy softness of her skin.

He grazed her ear with a gentle nip in a small show of dominance and teasing. Her soft gasp sent a vibration of dark satisfaction through him. He leaned away slowly and took in her flushed cheeks and parted lips.

“Do not be impatient, my dear wife,” he murmured in a voice so low that it was nearly a whisper. She looked at him, stunned and wanting, and he felt power bloom in his chest. “In time, you may find that some answers are worth waiting for.”

He stepped away, leaving her caught between indignation and intrigue, and for the first time since their union began, Gilbert felt the scales tip slightly in his favor.

Chapter Eight

Diana paused in the morning room, her hand resting lightly on the windowsill, her gaze drifting over Rivenhall’s orderly lawns. Her thoughts churned as she stared blindly at the neat hedges and dew-bright grass.

She had awakened determined to speak with her husband, to find some mutual understanding in the early days of their marriage. Yet, as the household settled into its morning rhythms, there was still no sign of Gilbert.

In the quiet, she remembered the brush of his lips on her neck the previous day. He had teased her, leaving her breathless and wanting, only to vanish behind a facade of duties and distance. The memory stirred an internal cauldron filled with longing, anger, frustration and need.

As the minutes passed and he remained absent, the unanswered question gnawed at her. Should she be grateful he had married her, or furious that he avoided seeing her?

A footman passed along the corridor. China rattled faintly in a distant dining room. The household’s calm efficiency only heightened her sense of isolation. She turned from the window, straightened her shoulders, and resolved to find purpose in her new role.

Mrs. Hardwick had once again mentioned that the linens still needed her approval. It was a trifling task, but it would keep her mind from wandering hopelessly into uncharted territory.

Before she could decide where to begin, Timmons appeared in the doorway, his hands folded before him.

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