Page 66 of Taken By the Icy Duke

He nodded grimly. “We will speak in the morning. For now, you need to rest.”

Ruth met them in Diana’s chambers and turned back the covers. Gilbert set her down in bed, letting Ruth take over, but he hovered for a moment, as though debating staying with her. Shesaw the conflict in his eyes—he was too upset, too uncertain, and she was too exhausted to reassure him.

Part of her wanted him to stay, to hold her until she felt better, reassure her that everything would be well in the end. However, she told herself that he still only saw their marriage as an arrangement, that he did not care for her beyond the appearances they were required to keep. His worry over her fainting could only stem from how the ton would see the whole affair.

When Diana did not encourage him to stay, he turned without another word, leaving her in Ruth’s experienced hands. Once Ruth helped her undress, Diana dismissed her quickly, wanting privacy.

Alone, she sat up against her pillows, her hands trembling in her lap. She tried to steady her breathing and tell herself she was now safe.

She crawled under the covers and pressed a hand over her still-flat abdomen, anguish pooling in her chest.

How long can I hide this?

Eventually, her body would change enough that no gown could disguise it. Yet she could not forget how Gilbert had insisted he never wanted a child, and had no intention of being a father. After the fiasco at the ball, how would he react if he discovered the fainting was not a consequence of mere exhaustion?

Sleep finally claimed her, but her dreams were troubled by half-formed nightmares of swirling crowds and Josephine’s mocking face. She dreamed of doctors pointing at her, announcing her secret for all to hear, while Gilbert stood off to one side, his expression stricken and resentful.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Diana paused, resting a trembling hand upon a chair’s ornate back, willing the dizziness to subside. The corridor felt too warm, though a mild draft swept in from the courtyard. Her breathing was shallow, and she chastised herself for venturing so far from her room when she was still not fully recovered.

In the days after the ball, Diana’s strength faltered more often than she cared to admit. Though she tried to claim it was merely the heat or overexertion, her complexion remained wan, and dizzy spells plagued her when she least expected. She found herself seeking quiet hallways or secluded chairs to ride out each bout of weakness, determined not to alarm Gilbert.

Just then, Leopold rounded the corner. He hastened forward the moment he espied her wavering stance, his brow furrowed in concern. “Pray, be careful,” he said, offering an arm she reluctantly grasped. “Are you unwell again?”

She swallowed, grateful for the steady support but loath to appear vulnerable. “Merely a trifling spell,” she replied in a subdued voice. “I promise I shall be fine if I can but catch my breath.”

Leopold guided her gently to a carved window seat. “You ought not tax yourself so soon,” he murmured, easing her down. “Shall I fetch His Grace? Or perhaps ring for the maid?”

“No, please do not trouble them,” Diana said quickly, placing one hand over her eyes. “I only need a moment.”

He watched her silently, then knelt so his gaze was level with hers.

“At the risk of impertinence,” he said quietly, “if such spells continue, you must not keep them a secret from my brother. He deserves to know the truth of your condition.”

Her heart constricted. She had dreaded the possibility that Gilbert might learn the full extent of her faintness—indeed, the cause of it. Gathering her composure, she lowered her hand from her brow.

“I am frightened,” she admitted softly. “Frightened of what he might say, how he might… react.”

Leopold’s gaze gentled. “I understand your fear. Yet I fear greater harm in silence. Secrets gnaw at one’s peace, and I have seen firsthand how such concealment can wound.”

She inhaled a shaky breath. “I know. But I cannot bear to add to his burdens.”

He nodded, respecting her reluctance.

“Then at least permit me to say, I shall keep your confidence for as long as you wish. But do not mistake my discretion for encouragement to remain silent indefinitely.”

Diana managed a faint smile. “You have been kinder than I expected. Thank you, Lord Leopold, it means a great deal that you have not betrayed me.”

Leopold’s expression turned rueful. “After my past failings, it is the least I can do, truly. You may rely upon my word, though I pray you will entrust Gilbert in time.”

She rested her hand over his briefly, in quiet gratitude.

“You are most gracious, Lord Leopold. I… did not imagine we might reach an understanding.” Her cheeks warmed as she withdrew her hand. “I am in your debt.”

His eyes flickered with a touch of relief.

“I only hope to prove myself worthy of your goodwill,” he said, standing and again extending a steady arm. “Shall I help you back to your chamber, or do you feel well enough to proceed?”

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