Page 27 of Taken By the Icy Duke

“When you look at me in such a way,” she managed with a pounding heart, “I fear I shall forget my steps entirely.”

His brow rose, an almost imperceptible lift that spoke volumes.

“Shall I stop?” he asked, dipping his head so that his breath skimmed her ear.

“Pray do not,” she whispered, a faint smile gracing her lips at his teasing. “If I must be the object of attention tonight, I would rather be so on your arm, looking at me in exactly this manner, than skulking by the walls.”

He guided her into another smooth turn, his hand settling more securely against her side.

“Then I shall not relent, my lady,” he murmured, each syllable sending a tremor of warmth through her body.

Around them, other couples spun in graceful arcs, bright silks and satins swirling under the chandeliers. Yet Diana felt as though she and Gilbert moved in a world of their own, the music insulating them from the guests’ prying eyes. The tension in her shoulders slowly eased, replaced by a gentle, heady rush.

She recognized that this performance for the ton, their display of marital accord, was more than mere pretense. Diana could read Gilbert’s thoughts in each brush of his fingertips, each guarded look that told her he, too, was not immune to the spell of the dance.

By the time the waltz drew to a close, Diana’s breath was uneven. Her cheeks felt hot, and she sensed his desire from the slight pressure of his hand at her back.

Applause rippled around them, but it sounded distant, half-submerged in the thrum of her pulse. Gilbert looked at her warmly while guiding her safely from the dance floor, but she could barely muster more than a soft smile in return.

The murmuring crowd and glittering candles seemed to blur at the edges of her vision; all she could dwell upon was the warmth of his touch and the heady realization that, during those fleeting minutes, their union felt undeniably real.

Chapter Thirteen

Gilbert surreptitiously surveyed the glittering ballroom from behind the rim of his half-finished glass of champagne. Though he was presently engaged in conversation with Lord Kelworth—a chatty fellow of middling years—his eyes kept straying to the far side of the room.

Somewhere in that swirl of silk and lace stood Diana, radiant in emerald green, speaking with a small circle of admirers. The sight of her earlier on his arm, the warmth of her body during the waltz…he could still feel echoes of it, coursing beneath his skin.

Not one to be discouraged by a distracted audience, Lord Kelworth prattled on about some recent Act of Parliament concerning imports.

Gilbert shifted his weight, forced a polite nod, and tried to fix his attention on the conversation but failed miserably. No sooner had he schooled his expression into one of mild interestthan his gaze drifted back to Diana, her dark hair catching the candlelight’s subtle gleam.

“How very enlightening,” Gilbert murmured, only half-aware of the dryness in his own voice. She turned slightly, and the elegant line of her shoulders, the flattering cut of her gown, made his heart pound with a sudden swell of need he had not anticipated.

Lord Kelworth paused, trailing off mid-sentence. A moment of silence stretched between them before the older man cleared his throat. “I see that your lovely new duchess claims more of your interest than my commentary on trade policies.”

Startled, Gilbert coughed, hastily regaining his composure. “Forgive me. I fear my mind is…somewhat overburdened of late.”

A mischievous twinkle lit Kelworth’s eye. “Not so overburdened that you cannot admire your bride’s charm, I hope.” With a knowing smile, he flicked a glance at Diana’s distant figure. “You must forgive my candor, Your Grace, but I believe it was entirely too soon for you to leave your honeymoon, if that longing expression is any indication.”

Gilbert felt the tips of his ears redden. “You misunderstand,” he began, though even he heard the lack of conviction in his tone. “Pressing matters demanded our return to London.”

“Mmm,” Kelworth allowed with a sage nod. “Still, a pity. A bride deserves all the attention her groom can lavish upon her. Now, if you will pardon an old man’s meddling, do not let the demandsof society or your office rob you both of that bliss. I daresay rumor and scandal can wait, but a wife’s affections will not.”

Though momentarily speechless, Gilbert managed a small, wry smile. “I appreciate your concern,” he said at last, raising his champagne flute in a mild gesture. “You speak perhaps more wisely than you realize.”

Kelworth chuckled, clasping him lightly on the shoulder. “I speak from experience, lad. We men of rank often forget to properly tend to the flame that burns at home. See to it that you do not make such an error.”

With that, the older man excused himself to greet another guest, leaving Gilbert alone, his thoughts tumbling in a flurry of conflicting emotions. The faint hum of the crowd felt strangely distant, and for a moment, he simply stood there, gripping his glass.

How was it that a single glimpse of Diana’s figure could draw him so forcefully, filling his mind with memories of their dance—of the subtle catch of her breath, and the press of her hand against his chest? A tremor of want rippled through him, heightened by the knowledge that they remained virtual strangers in so many ways.

Gilbert turned at the light tap on his shoulder and found himself face to face with Diana’s father and sister. Both wore cautiously pleased expressions, their manners as polished as one might expect for such a grand ball.

“Your Grace,” Lord Crayford began, lowering his head respectfully, “forgive the interruption, but I have been wanting to thank you. And my daughter, of course. We are most grateful for all you have done for our family.”

Gilbert, catching the genuine warmth in the older man’s eyes, dipped his chin politely.

“There is no intrusion whatsoever, my lord. I am delighted to see you both here this evening,” Gilbert replied. He thought for a moment, wondering if he had ever seen them invited to such a high-status event before, but shook his head. He had never paid enough attention.

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