Page 65 of Taken By the Icy Duke

She nodded, forcing a smile of thanks. “Fine. Then I will go back in.”

Leopold hurried off, leaving her to cling to the balustrade. The cool, fresh night air soothed her senses. She told herself to breathe slowly. She could not collapse in front of Josephine or half the ton.

Still, her body betrayed her. Even as she inhaled the cool air, another wave of biliousness swept through her. The drumming in her head intensified. She did not notice Gilbert stepping onto the terrace until he was right behind her, a hand grazing her arm.

“Diana,” he said, his voice ripe with worry. “What is it? Leopold dashed inside for water and said you were ill.”

She managed to straighten, forcing a tight smile. “It is only the warmth and the crush of people,” she told him. “Nothing more.”

His frown deepened. He reached for her elbow, guiding her gently away from the balustrade. “I am taking you home. You should not push yourself.”

Her heart hammered. The idea of leaving mid-ball, giving gossip fresh fodder, terrified her. But she could not deny how terrible she felt. Still, she bristled at the notion of letting him see her vulnerability. “No—I can continue. I do not want rumors?—”

Her voice died as a flare of dizziness slammed into her. The next thing she knew, her knees buckled. Gilbert caught her against his chest, swearing softly. She dimly heard guests exclaiming in alarm from the open doorway. The edges of her vision blurred, color draining from the terrace’s lanterns, and she clutched at his coat with a feeble grip.

The world tilted, voices rose—a man’s panicked order for a physician, a swirl of silks as guests crowded in. Diana fought to remain conscious, blinking rapidly. The last sight she registered was Gilbert’s face, drawn with alarm and something else she could not read, before everything receded into a hazy darkness.

She came to herself lying on a small chaise in an antechamber, candlelight flickering across the white walls. Her body felt heavy and her head throbbed. With effort, she blinked, focusing on the shape of a man bent over her, checking her pulse. A group of onlookers gathered near the doorway. She recognized Leopold’s silhouette among them, but not Gilbert’s.

The physician—an older man with a neat gray beard—spoke quietly, “Your Grace, do you recall fainting?”

Diana managed a slight nod, her throat too dry for words. She realized the physician was performing a basic examination, pressing his fingers gently to her wrist. A rush of relief and fresh panic struck her.

He might discover I am with child if he checks thoroughly.

Outside, footsteps approached rapidly. Gilbert burst in, his hair slightly disheveled, his face tight with worry. “Diana,” he said, his voice breaking on her name, “are you all right?”

The doctor straightened. “She fainted from what appears to be exhaustion or overexertion. The crush of the ballroom air did not help.” He nodded at Gilbert. “I see no immediate danger, but she must rest and remain free of such crowds for the near future.”

Gilbert exhaled. “I will take her home at once,” he said tersely. “Are you sure there is no?—”

Diana pressed a trembling hand to her forehead, forcing her lips to move before the physician could elaborate. “He is right, I was only overwhelmed,” she insisted, her voice shaky.

No mention of pregnancy, no mention… please.

The doctor gave her a measured look. She sensed his mild suspicion that something else was amiss, but he said nothing further, offering only, “Get some fresh air and quiet, Your Grace. You must not remain in a hot ballroom.”

Gilbert stooped to slip an arm around Diana’s shoulders, helping her to sit. She spotted Leopold at the threshold, his gaze flicking between them in anxious solidarity, but she quickly averted her eyes. She dared not show any sign that Leopold knew more than Gilbert did.

“Lean on me,” Gilbert murmured. He carefully guided her to her feet. Her stomach churned but she swallowed the nausea and forced a small nod.

Gilbert kept a protective arm around her waist as they left the antechamber, the gaggle of curious onlookers drifting behind them. She glimpsed Josephine’s silhouette in the corner of her vision but refused to meet her eye. The entire ball had ground to a subdued lull, other guests peering discreetly as the Duke of Rivenhall escorted his pale wife from the ball.

Outside, the crisp air greeted them. A carriage was immediately summoned. Servants assisted Diana inside, where she slumped against the velvet cushions, exhaustion pounding at her temples. Gilbert climbed in beside her, ignoring the gawking crowd, and pulled the door shut.

In the dim carriage light, his concern radiated. He held her hand, speaking softly, “Rest. We will be home soon.”

She stared at the passing lanterns outside, trembling from her brush with near disaster. Wondering how Gilbert might react to becoming a father made her nausea swell again. She felt drained, both physically and emotionally, as if she had spent every bit ofher fortitude. Thankfully, Gilbert did not press her further, but maintained a firm grip on her hand.

When they reached Rivenhall House, anxious footmen rushed forward to assist Diana. Gilbert lifted her from the carriage, ignoring the stares of his staff. She clung weakly to his neck, her body trembling, and sweat beading along her collar. He paused in the foyer’s muted glow, seemingly torn between rage and trepidation.

“Diana…” he began, his voice thick with worry. “You said you were fine, but I cannot ignore how ill you appear.”

“Perhaps a lie down and some tea would help,” she suggested feebly, letting him carry her up the stairs.

The worry etched in his face made her chest tighten. She sensed he wanted answers, but she could not reveal the truth, not while half-swooning in his arms, sweating and disheveled.

“I am sorry,” she whispered, swallowing her panic. “I did not realize how weak I was.”

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