Page 51 of Taken By the Icy Duke

And so it continued: a brief pause before a display of cameo brooches led to him selecting one with a delicate carved rose, pressing it into her hands before she could argue. A lingering look at a new set of embroidered gloves ended in a neat package nestled in his arms, ready to be added to the growing bundle of purchases.

Each time Diana tried to protest, he simply said, with a teasing tilt of his brow, “more than three seconds, my dear.”

The afternoon melted into a tapestry of laughter and conversation, their easy back-and-forth punctuated by the rustle of paper parcels and the cheerful chime of shop doors.

Diana could scarcely remember when she last felt so lighthearted. Any onlookers might have recognized them as a duke and duchess, but for once, the demands of rank seemed almost irrelevant.

At their final stop—a small bookstore tucked away under a gilded sign—Diana brushed a hand over a new novel’s cover. She did not even have time to feign disinterest. Gilbert raised a questioning brow in her direction, and all she could do was laugh and roll her eyes. The proprietor quickly fetched a copy, and Gilbert completed the purchase, placing the brown-papered parcel in Diana’s hands.

When they left, their arms full of packages, Diana glanced up to see the sun shifting toward late afternoon. She realized with a jolt of surprise that hours had passed without her noticing. Satisfaction bubbled in her chest at the insight; she could spend an entire day in Gilbert’s company without strain.

She felt an unexpected lump in her throat. A swell of emotion rose in her breast, something akin to love. Though she would not dare voice it, the flutter in her stomach each time he looked at her spoke volumes.

I am astonished by the sense of comfort that surrounds me each time his hand covers mine… the delight that I feel with his every teasing remark…

Gilbert caught her eye and a hint of curiosity crossed his features.

“You look pensive,” he remarked, guiding her through the crowd with a subtle shift of his arm.

Diana gave him a small smile, inwardly marveling at how effortlessly he managed the protective gesture.

“I am merely grateful,” she said softly, “for this day.”

He gave her hand a light squeeze, a silent acknowledgment of words left unspoken. They found their carriage waiting at the end of the lane. The footman hurried to assist, and Gilbert handed Diana up, carefully placing their parcels on the seat.

Settling beside him, Diana felt the gentle jolt of the carriage as it pulled away. Fatigue washed over her, though it was a pleasant weariness from so many happy hours. She cast a sidelong glance at Gilbert, observing his contented smile. Suddenly bashful, she turned to stare out the window, her heart fluttering like the wings of a caged bird as an epiphany struck her.

I am falling in love with him.

The notion filled her with both tenderness and fear—fear of laying her heart so open, yet too enthralled by him to deny it. For the time being she resolved to treasure the moment. They had shared a day free of constraints and obligations, and if tomorrow demanded their return to duty, she would at least have thememory of Gilbert’s unwavering presence, his teasing humor, and the cozy sense of closeness blossoming between them.

As the carriage rattled toward Rivenhall House, Diana closed her gloved hand around the small cameo brooch in her reticule, cherishing the unfamiliar sense of optimism that thrummed in her chest. Even if she dared not speak it aloud, she allowed herself the sweet indulgence of hope.

Chapter Twenty-Two

They arrived at Rivenhall House just as dusk fell over the city, the sky tinged with fiery orange remnants of the sun. The carriage ride home had passed in a haze of contentment and undeclared longing, punctuated by quiet chuckles whenever one of them recalled a small detail of their afternoon outing.

Diana felt her body charging with anticipation as the carriage stopped. A spirited energy crackled between them, fueled by stolen glances and memories of recent shared smiles. Diana stepped down from the carriage and looked up at Gilbert. His returning gaze was nothing short of smoldering, the warmth of the day’s laughter transformed into a deeper, more urgent heat. He bent down to whisper in her ear.

“I need you upstairs, now,” he breathed urgently, his breath warm against her neck.

She breathed in slowly, her heart beating faster under his silent scrutiny. A breeze tousled a stray curl across her cheek, but she scarcely noticed—her entire focus was on him.

Gilbert’s posture was rigid with anticipation, as though it was taking every ounce of his self-restraint not to pull her into his arms right there in the driveway. One of the footmen hurried forward to collect their packages. Diana smiled in polite thanks, though the knot in her stomach reminded her she wanted no further interruptions.

The tall entrance doors swung open as they stepped across the threshold. Soft lamplight spilled into the twilight and illuminated the gilded edges of the foyer beyond. They crossed it swiftly. Usually, Diana would pause to greet the butler or exchange a few words with the waiting housekeeper, but tonight her mind buzzed with a singular awareness: Gilbert’s hand, warm and insistent, pressed against the small of her back.

The moment the great doors closed behind them, his gentle pressure increased. His arm encircled her waist, pulling her close until her skirts nestled against his coat. Diana’s breath caught as she felt the intensity radiating from him. A mild blush rose to her cheeks at the realization that any passing servant might see them. Yet even that caution could not outweigh the thrill coursing through her veins.

Neither spoke. She lifted her gaze, his half-lowered lashes revealing a fierce longing in his eyes that was both exhilarating and slightly disquieting. It was as though the entire day had builtup to that moment, and both knew that words would only delay the inevitable.

He leaned down, capturing her lips in a kiss that stole her breath. She responded without hesitation. The footmen near the door had tactfully withdrawn, leaving them alone in the soaring foyer.

“Take me up to bed,” she breathed headily, sound barely escaping her lips.

Gilbert needed no further encouragement. A soft gasp escaped her as he swept her into his arms as though she weighed nothing. She looped her arms around his neck, startled into a breathless laugh that dissolved into a low moan as he kissed her again. As their kiss deepened, Diana forgot about her weariness and the ache in her feet from hours of strolling. All that mattered was the tightening coil of desire growing between them.

She scarcely registered the distant echo of footsteps—likely a servant scurrying away to give them privacy—fading down a corridor. Her attention was fixed on the strong angle of Gilbert’s jaw, the curve of his full, warm lips against hers, and the careful yet insistent way he carried her up the sweeping staircase. His every step felt purposeful, each footfall resounding with the promise of what lay ahead.

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