Page 2 of Taken By the Icy Duke

Lady Whittaker pursed her lips, clearly dissatisfied but willing to relinquish her authority.

“See that you do,” she said sharply, then turned to Lord Leopold, who was still leaning unsteadily against the wall. “And you, Lord Leopold—if you have even an ounce of decency left in your debauched frame, you will leave quietly and refrain from causing further embarrassment.”

Lord Ashwell blinked at her, his drunken grin faltering. “I—yes, of course, my lady,” he mumbled, his attempt at dignity undermined by the wobble in his step.

“Come, Lord Leopold,” Lady Whittaker commanded, her tone brooking no argument. She gestured curtly toward the corridor leading to the ballroom. “You will follow me and await your brother’s reckoning. I expect no further scenes from you tonight.”

Lord Leopold glanced once at Diana. She had hoped to see a glimmer of guilt or contrition, but as he stumbled after Lady Whittaker, he seemed to express nothing more than mild annoyance. Lady Whittaker’s cane struck the floor with purposeful precision as she escorted him away.

Diana sagged against the wall, her composure finally crumbling. “I—I did not mean for this to happen,” she stammered, her voice trembling, tears now spilling freely. “I swear, Papa, I?—”

Alison reached for her, placing a steadying hand on her arm.

“We believe you,” she said, her voice soothing but firm. “Do tell us what happened.”

“There is nothing to tell.” Diana looked down, ashamed to meet their eyes. “I felt faint. I left the ballroom for air. And then... he was there. I did not invite him to follow me. I swear I did not!”

The baron let out a slow breath, his hand smoothing his jacket as if searching for words.

“We will leave at once,” he said finally. “There is nothing to be gained by lingering here. Alison, collect our things.”

Alison nodded and squeezed Diana’s arm before hurrying toward the ballroom. Diana stood motionless as her father’s concerned eyes fixed on her.

“I have ruined us,” Diana whispered, her voice cracking. “The scandal will destroy our family.”

“Do not say such things,” he scolded gently.” We will find a way forward. The Duke of Rivenhall is a man of honor. He will ensure that his brother makes this right.”

“And if he does not?” Diana’s gaze snapped up, tears still brimming in her eyes. “What will become of us, Papa?”

His response came after a brief pause, his voice quiet but resolute.

“We shall persevere. We must.”

Alison returned, trying to reassure Diana with a comforting grip on her arm as they made their way through the corridors. Each step felt heavier than the last. They could not avoid passing other guests during their exit. She avoided eye contact with several matrons, but could not help overhearing their whispers.

“It was bound to happen with her, was it not? Such beauty, but no connections worth mentioning,” one woman said, her fan concealing the curl of her lips. Diana felt her cheeks burn, shame tightening her throat.

By the time they reached the waiting carriage she could no longer hear the music; her thoughts were loud enough to drown it out. She climbed in, her father and sister close behind, and as the carriage doors shut, the tears she had held back finally spilled over. She pressed her hand to her mouth to stem the flow.

The rhythmic clatter of the carriage wheels was the only sound as Diana sat huddled in the corner of the seat, tears streaming silently down her face.

She could not believe how easily she had ruined her and her family’s life. She regretted not finding her chaperone or at least alerting Alison. She had felt so warm and faint and had not been thinking clearly. She had been stupid and reckless. Finally, the dam broke and her sobs spilled into the tense silence.

“I am so sorry,” she choked, sobbing into her hands. “I have ruined everything. I should never have left the ballroom. I should have known?—”

“Diana,” Alison interrupted gently, reaching across to take her sister’s trembling hands. “You could not have known. How could you anticipate the actions of a drunken fool like Lord Leopold Ashwell? This is not your fault.”

“It does not matter whose fault it is,” Diana replied, shaking her head as tears blurred her vision. “The damage is done. The ton will never forgive me. We will be shunned and the creditors will not be generous in the face of a downturn. And you—Alison, your prospects, your chances—they are now ruined because of me.”

“Stop this nonsense,” Alison said, her tone firm despite the worry etched on her face. “I care nothing for prospects if it means abandoning my sister. We will find a way through this, together. You must not let him rob you of your dignity.”

“How can I not?” she demanded of her well-meaning sister. “Everyone who saw—who heard—will think the worst of me, Alison. You cannot deny that.”

Across from them, Baron Gillingham sat silently, his gaze fixed on the window. His fingers drummed against his knee in an uncharacteristic display of agitation. The sound drew Diana’s attention, and she turned toward him with renewed guilt.

“Papa,” she said, her voice breaking. “I have brought this shame upon us. I am so sorry. Please, blame me—at least let me bear the brunt of it.”

Her father turned to her then, his face drawn but his eyes kind.

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