Page 22 of Taken By the Icy Duke

“My brother is perfectly capable of defending himself… yet I would not have his affairs further entwined with idle speculation about us.” Gilbert’s expression darkened.

“Yes,” she affirmed, her voice gaining confidence. “I know we did not choose this marriage for ourselves, and that we are still…learning about one another. But if you agree, I believe such a show of accord might quell the talk. At the very least, it would demonstrate we are not to be pitied or ridiculed.”

“I will not pretend I relish the idea of parading for society’s benefit, yet I see the wisdom in your suggestion.” Gilbert placed his cup in its saucer with a soft clink. “Very well. I shall speak with my secretary about returning to town, and we shall proceed accordingly.”

“Thank you,” she said simply. She felt a surge of gratitude. “I know it will not be a trivial undertaking, but it is something that must be done.”

He nodded once, then glanced at the clock upon the mantel. He placed his napkin on the table and stood.

“I must away, Diana, for I am expected at the stables. My steward requires my decision on certain matters regarding the estate’s fields. Would you do me the favor of consulting with Mrs. Hardwick on your plans for our reentry into town? She oversees much of the household arrangements and will be of use in ensuring a smooth departure.”

“I shall speak with her directly. Gilbert…,” she began, a small hesitation creeping into her voice. Diana rose, smoothing the folds of her skirt as he stood. “I appreciate you lending your ear.”

“Of course,” he replied quietly. His expression softened, and for an instant, she glimpsed the man who had kissed her so tenderly and ignited a fire within her. “We shall show them all that our marriage is not to be trifled with.”

A flicker of disappointment crossed her features as she watched him gather his gloves and hat. Somehow, she was not yet ready for him to leave. Their conversation, while productive, felt incomplete. In a sudden burst of longing and uncertainty, she caught his sleeve before he could step away.

“Gilbert,” she said shyly, “must you depart so quickly? Might we…sit a moment longer? We have scarcely begun our breakfast.”

He looked down at her hand on his sleeve, his expression warming. “It is scarcely necessary for you to rise at such an hour. A duchess ought to keep more comfortable hours.”

“That is only possible if my husband does not vanish before daybreak,” Diana ventured, a slight flush creeping into her cheeks.

His mouth curved, as though torn between amusement and reluctance. “Diana,” he started, “I?—”

Before she could finish reading his gaze, he leaned in, placing his lips against hers in a firm, unexpected kiss. Her breath caught at the warm press of his mouth, the faint taste of chocolate still lingering on his lips. She returned the kiss without thinking, her heart thudding at the familiarity they had yet to fully explore.

An abrupt knock at the door made her jerk away, her cheeks burning. A footman entered, bowing deeply. “Your Grace, the carriage is prepared.”

Gilbert cleared his throat while stepping back quickly. “Thank you,” he said, adjusting his cuff. He turned to Diana with a guarded look in his eyes. “Forgive me, but I must not delay further.”

She nodded, still recovering from the suddenness of his kiss. He hesitated as though considering another word, an explanation, perhaps, then simply gave her a gentle nod and left, the door clicking shut behind him.

Diana stared after him, her lips still tingling, a heady swirl of hope and lingering confusion consuming her thoughts. Only then did she realize that his kiss, tender though it had been, had served as a skillful means to avoid any further exchange.

A strange mixture of warmth and frustration welled in her chest. She told herself that their conversation would resume when he returned, but she could not shake the sense that he had once again slipped out of her grasp, leaving more questions than answers in his wake.

Chapter Eleven

Gilbert clenched his riding gloves, his dark eyes fixed on Victor as they stood beneath the shade of a gnarled oak. Horses nickered and pawed the ground behind them, their breath fogging the crisp morning air. Neither man took much heed of their restless mounts, too intent upon the conversation that was unfolding between them.

The sunrise glowed behind the distant hills, turning the estate’s rolling fields into a tapestry of pale gold and dusky violet.

“Well?” Gilbert queried apprehensively. “I have only Josephine’s word of late, and I do not trust her motives. Tell me plainly; what rumors have reached your ears?”

Victor, who had been leaning idly against the tree trunk, arched an eyebrow in mild amusement. He reached up to flick a leaf from his shoulder before answering.

“You drag me all this way to quiz me like a Bow Street runner? I had rather thought we might speak of more congenial matters. Your new marriage, for instance, or the forthcoming Season.” He brushed a speck of dust from his sleeve, feigning a casual air. “But if it is scandal you desire, then scandal you shall have.”

Gilbert tensed his jaw. A gust of wind rustled the overhead branches, scattering dry leaves at their feet.

“Do not trifle with me,” he warned, his tone revealing the anxiety simmering beneath his polished exterior. “I must know exactly what the ton is saying.”

Victor noted the earnest set of his friend’s face and his teasing grin faded. The change was almost tangible, the gentle humor between them rapidly replaced by a solidarity bred of old loyalties and new concerns. He sighed, folding his arms across his chest.

“Very well, then. Thus far, they have painted your duchess as a cunning schemer who entrapped you with her wiles, implying that no decent gentleman would have proposed so suddenly without…persuasion.”

Gilbert’s scowl deepened, and a muscle began twitching in his cheek. His mind drifted, albeit briefly, to Diana’s face, recalling the quiet determination in her gaze the last time they spoke of these whispers. She had wanted to face the world openly, insisting that their marriage was no shameful matter. It galled him to think that the ton—the very circle in which he was expected to lead—should label her a manipulative adventuress.

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