Page 69 of Taken By the Icy Duke

They offered polite farewells to Lord Merrivale, exchanging obligatory smiles. Gilbert’s annoyance simmered through every forced bow and curtsy. Diana remained quiet, and he sensed her own unease pulsing like a second heartbeat between them.

By the time they reached the foyer, his patience had frayed. Outside the door, the night air held a crisp hint of autumn. A footman assisted Diana into her cloak.

“You seemed rather… entertained by Leopold,” he observed.

She stiffened. “He made a passing jest. Need I stifle every laugh to avoid your disapproval?” She kept her gaze on the footman’s deft work as he fastened her cloak.

He exhaled, frustration rolling through him. “Josephine approached me spouting vile insinuations. I loathe giving weight to her words, but I cannot ignore the… impression you and Leopold convey.”

“I see,” she said in a clipped tone. “So, you trust Josephine’s prattle more than you trust my intentions. Thank you for letting me know.”

His jaw set. “That is not it. I merely?—”

She turned away, cutting him short. “Shall we go, Gilbert? The carriage is waiting.”

He followed her down the steps, swallowing the angry retort building in his throat. The footman handed them inside and the door closed, sealing them in a shell of prickling silence. Streetlamps illuminated the rigid lines of their respective postures. As the horses started forward, Gilbert closed his eyes,recalling Josephine’s sly insinuations, and the sight of Diana laughing with Leopold.

“I only ask that you consider how it looks,” he said at last. “You know how rumor can grow from the merest spark.”

She inhaled sharply. “If the merest spark threatens you so, perhaps you should speak plainly. Do you think me unfaithful?”

He set his jaw, opening his eyes to glare out the carriage window.

“I do not think that,” he muttered, though jealousy twisted in his gut. “But I cannot abide seeing him fawn over you.”

She folded her hands stiffly and stared at him through the darkness. “He was not fawning, Gilbert, only being kind. Perhapsyoushould attempt that.” The faint quiver in her tone suggested she held back a much deeper hurt.

He struggled with a reply, but resentment mingled with his guilt and he chose to remain silent. In that cramped enclosure, neither found the words to mend the rift that Josephine had caused with a few pointed remarks.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

The soft glow of lamplight greeted them as the carriage pulled up to Rivenhall House. Diana wanted only to disappear into her bedchamber without speaking, but she felt Gilbert’s intimidating form looming over her.

“I shall walk you upstairs,” he announced.

She hesitated, then nodded, turning toward the main staircase. He offered his arm, and though she rested her hand lightly on it, the gesture felt pretentious. They ascended it together, passing a pair of maids who bowed and hurried on. At the landing, Diana withdrew her hand and looked away.

“I suppose you want to speak,” she said discontentedly.

Gilbert let out a tense breath. “I—yes, I do. But perhaps it is best if we do so in your chamber.” He gestured down the corridor. “Shall we?”

She gave a curt nod, unwilling to start another argument in the open hallway. When they reached her door, she opened it and stepped inside, not bothering to light additional lamps. A single low-burning lamp on her vanity cast long shadows. Gilbert shut the door behind them, each movement echoing in the stillness.

They stood facing one another, neither one quite knowing how to begin. Finally, he broke the silence.

“I dislike how we left things,” he said, his tone gentler than before. “The ride home was… unpleasant.”

Diana stood a comfortable distance away and folded her arms. “Yes. It was.”

He looked at her for a long moment, then took several steps forward and brushed the back of his fingers along her arm. “I would rather not end our evening in anger.”

His touch sent conflicting emotions coursing through her; residual hurt, lingering desire, and indignation at his thinly veiled accusations. She swallowed, remembering how Josephine’s insinuations had riled him, and how he had glowered when she so much as smiled at Leopold.

“I am weary,” she murmured, though his nearness made her heart beat faster. “We can speak tomorrow.”

But he moved closer, tilting her chin up with a gentle pressure.

“Diana… let me make amends.” He leaned in, seeking her lips. At first she let him kiss her, his familiar warmth breaking through her resentment. However, a pang of anxiety derailed her yearning.

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