Page 26 of A Bride for the Icy Duke
“And,” he continued, an eyebrow rising, “they are utterly impassable.”
She twirled again, laughing at the white clouds that surrounded her from her breath. If she listened, she fancied she could hear the tinkle of icicles.
“I do solovethis sort of weather,” she said wistfully. “As a child, I always used to rush out at the first snow. It used to drive my mother wild.”
Alexander looked at her as though he’d never seen her before. His eyes gleamed, bright for the first time since they’d met, and although she couldn’t see his hands to be certain, she didn’t think they were shaking. In fact, his cheekbones carved into his cheeks and his mouth pinked from the cold, she thought he looked too handsome for words.
That part of her that had never died—the one who had fallen so desperately in love with him after his rescue—flared back to life as she watched him.
“Would you like to walk with me?” she offered. “It truly is refreshing.”
For a heartbeat, he looked as though he was tempted by the idea. Or perhaps even tempted by her. But then he shook his head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Why?”
“For a start, I have work to attend to. And for another, it is far too icy. What if you were to slip and fall?”
She had the temerity to laugh at him. “Then I imagine you would catch me!”
By the look on his face, he was imagining himself doing just that. Seconds later, he shook his head. “Absolutely not. That would be reckless in the extreme, and you might pose another danger to my hand.”
She nodded and flicked her scarf over her shoulder. “Very well. Enjoy your work, Alexander.”
“…Wait,” he called after her, indignation in his voice. No doubt he expected her to give up on her plans merely becausehethought it was a bad idea. “If you think this will prompt me intoignoring my other commitments, then you will be disappointed. I have no intention of joining you.”
“No, I doubted very much you did,” she called back.
“What if you fall?”
“Then I must bear the consequences of my actions. Until dinner!” She flicked her fingers at him in the approximation of a wave and made her way through an archway in the wall, ignoring the satisfaction rising in her chest at the thought of defying him like this.
Alexander kicked at the snow as he made his way back to the house. When he encountered Philips, he jabbed a finger at his butler as though Lydia’s stubbornness werehisfault.
“My wife,” he muttered, biting off the words, “has seen it fit to go wandering about the countryside without so much as a maid to keep her company.”
Philips looked askance at the front door. “She would have trouble finding a maid prepared to step out in this weather, Your Grace.”
“That ispreciselythe problem.” He gritted his teeth. Out of principle, he had not followed her, because he would not bebeholden to her bad decisions. They were husband and wife in name only; he refused to allow himself to care for her.
But he also refused to allow her to be hurt due to her own stubbornness.
“The paths are covered in ice,” he said. “Does she have a route she typically follows?”
“I believe so, Your Grace.”
“Then send a footman out after her before she hurts herself.” Graphic images of her slipping on the ice and splitting her head open plagued him, and he shook his head. “See to it that she returns unharmed.”
“Of course, sir.”
Without another word, Alexander retreated to his study. Then, when he encountered once again what a mess she had made of his private space, he relocated to the library. Distracted by constant thoughts of Lydia’s whereabouts, he had just begun attempting to work through his pile of correspondence, the fire smoking pitifully, when there came a knock at the door.
“Yes?” he asked, irritable.
There had once been a time when he wasn’t so easily irritated, but that was so long ago, he could scarcely remember it—back when the world felt like summer sunshine. Now, he wasa glacier, icy and impenetrable, and that was how he preferred things.
“There you are, old chap!” Samuel exclaimed, entering the room. “Working again, I see.”
Alexander spared a single glance for the window, noting that it was just as wintry as when he had retreated inside a full hour earlier. And Lydia had yet to return. “What are you doing here?” he demanded. “The roads are impassable.”
