Page 25 of A Bride for the Icy Duke
“What of your friends from yesterday?”
“Oh, they discovered I was here and called one morning, and it was…” She paused, thinking back. Then, she had been so lonely, and her friends—particularly the vivacious Eliza—had made her feel as though she had a place in the world again. “It was as though the world burst into color,” she finished quietly.
His brows drew down, but he said nothing, merely taking the fork from her. “I can take it from here.”
“Don’t you—”
“I find myself without the desire for my apologies.”
At the sharpness in his tone, she sat back. Although he had recovered his cutlery, his hands still trembled so violently, he had to pause. His jaw gritted, and she watched it. When she had first met him as an adult, she had assumed he was nothing but cold.
And he was.
When he pinned her next with that arctic stare of his, she felt as though he had stripped her raw. But behind all that—betrayed by the jumping muscles in his jaw, the tightness around his eyes—she sawpain.
Pain intrigued her.
It made him feel somewhat more human than he sometimes appeared.
She sat back in her chair, determined not to be afraid of him even when his size and demeanor veritably intimidated her. She wouldnotbe the girl he first met—either the one in the pond desiring escape, or the fragile wisp of a girl he met nine years later, devastated by her father’s death.
After a second, he rubbed his eyes, then glanced at the darkness outside the window. Even from where they sat, the vicious snap of ice against the glass was unmistakable.
“It seems your wishes have been granted,” he murmured, not looking at her. “We’ll be trapped here tomorrow, too.”
“Trapped,” she mused, gathering her skirts as she stood. “Is that how you see it?”
“How else? This may be your home now, Lydia, but it is no longer mine.” He snapped his teeth together in a vicious movement, as though he had said too much, then said, “If you are done with your meal, don’t wait for me on my account. I think I would rather be alone.”
Incensed, though she had intended to do as much, Lydia swept toward the door.
“Goodnight, Your Grace,” she said in tones just as frigid as the expression in his eyes, and left the room.
Alone once more, Alexander dropped his head onto his hands. Cramps racked his body from the cravings, and the pain in his head grew until he could hardly think past it. With an effort, he forced the contents of his stomach to remain in place. No doubt the servants suspected something, but he intended to keep his weakness under wraps as far as possible.
No one could know how far he, the Duke of Halston, had fallen over the past few years.
Especially not his helplessly optimistic, naïve, surprisingly resilient, and unexpectedly attractive wife.
She had reason enough to hate him—he could not offer her another.
CHAPTER NINE
The next day dawned delightfully snowy. Lydia immediately dressed in her warmest clothes and made her way outside into the glittering snowscape. All the plants and bushes in the garden had been covered in a white blanket, and her breath puffed from her lips as she stepped through the winter wonderland. The cold nipped at her nose and slid down her neck, but she merely huddled more firmly in her coat.
Underfoot, the snow was a full six inches deep, and although gardeners worked to clear pathways, she knew the roads would be worse.
Just as Alexander had predicted, there would be no traveling today.
She flung her arms up, suddenly buoyed, and might have broken into a skip when a dry voice said from behind her, “Enjoying yourself?”
She whirled suddenly, spying Alexander, his greatcoat damp with snow and his cheeks flushed as though he had just come back from a walk. She looked from his sturdy boots to his face.
“What are you doing out here?” she asked.
“Visiting the roads to ascertain their condition.”
“And?”
