Page 1 of Claimed By the Duke of Ice

CHAPTER ONE

“How did you like the games this evening, Your Grace? It was a rather robust show, was it not?” Camilla Asherton, daughter of the Viscount of Lodcross, asked Nathaniel.

Nathaniel’s body inched further away from the noblewoman in his seat, and he felt his gloved hands begin to give off a warning tingle. She was too close. They were all too close.

“I must admit that I am not entertained by such sport, Miss Asherton,” Nathaniel replied stiffly, reaching for his glass. “I do not have much time for play.”

Miss Asherton smiled at him serenely and batted her thin, yellow eyelashes at him.

“Oh, but it is a wonderful display of what the human body can accomplish, is it not?” she asked sweetly, her eyes darting toward his black, leather-gloved hand. “I would be most interested to see you participate in such a thing.”

As Nathaniel sat his glass down and rested it on the table, Miss Asherton moved her hand to place it atop his. Feeling immediately repulsed, Nathaniel pulled his hand away swiftly. He didn’t give a damn about sport of any kind, and it was bad enough that the woman kept trying to pull him into conversation. But to touch him was an error beyond recompense.

Unable to help himself, Nathaniel stood up quickly. Miss Asherton looked at him as if struck, her eyes pleading for an apology. Around them, the rest of the guests at the dinner party paused their conversations to look up at him.

“Excuse me, Lord Harvey, Lady Harvey,” he said stiffly to the hosts, forcing a curt bow. “I must take some air.”

Without listening to what was said next, Nathaniel turned on his heel and walked out of the dining room. The moment he was alone in the hall, Nathaniel took a deep breath and shook the hand Miss Asherton had just touched. Why do young ladies feel the need to touch a man? he thought to himself as he began looking for a place to gather himself. Isn’t it improper to touch outside the sanctity of marriage?

Annoyed, Nathaniel opened a door down the hall and peeked in. When he discovered the library was empty, he quickly let himself in and closed the doors. The small French doors that led to a balcony beckoned to him, and he quickly went to open them. He couldn’t leave yet. His Aunt Tabitha was still enjoying the party, but he was thankful for the small amount of privacy. As he took a step onto the balcony, he looked over the quiet gardens of the estate and took another steadying breath. Another hour or so. That’s all he had left before he could go home. He could make it another hour. He had to.

* * *

“Mama, are you sure this is the right thing to do?” Grace Rowley, daughter of Viscount Rowley, asked her mother nervously. “We are so late, and with all the rumors about Matilda’s marriage and Papa’s fortune…”

“Hush, child.” Susan Rowley chastised her daughter softly, hurrying her along. “With as few invitations as we receive, we must honor each and every one. Even if we are a few minutes late.”

It was much more than a few minutes, but Grace knew it would be no use arguing with her mother anymore. She had that look of determination in her eyes, the one that told Grace that it was best to do just as she was told. Their family may be on the brink of ruin, but Susan Rowley, Viscountess of Yorkston, was bound and determined to not let their family topple into the valley of utter disgrace.

The whispers of the Ton had started two years ago when Grace’s older sister accepted the proposal of Simon Brennan, the proprietor of the Stamped Quill, a local printing press. He had no title, no property aside from his shop and home, and very little money to his name. The Ton had descended on the news like vultures, loving the scandal of a noblewoman giving up her title to be with a commoner. They didn’t care that Simon was an incredibly kind, noble, man who loved Matilda with all of his heart. They only cared that he was poor.

Then, less than a year after the news of Matilda’s marriage had carried through society, another scandal broke loose. Their loving Papa had ended up in a bad deal, one that he had invested most of their family money into. Though they weren’t quite destitute, the Ton had had a field day making them out to be. Now considered poor in finances and taste, their family was rarely welcomed by anyone to society’s events.

Because of this, Grace’s prospects for a husband with a fortune and title had all but diminished. Now, at the age of twenty, she understood that she must find a husband of good title to lift their family out of the gutter. It was more important than ever.

“Come now, quick; let me take one more look at you,” Susan insisted, stopping just short of the Harvey’s dining room doors.

Grace straightened her five-foot, four-inch frame as her mother gently touched up her coif of long, blonde curls that were held together by a jeweled clip. She then pinched the soft, smooth cheeks that rested below Grace’s cornflower blue eyes until they turned pink and smiled.

“There,” she said with satisfaction as Susan stepped back to take a look at her daughter. “You look as pretty as ever. I’m so grateful you wore your blue dress. It matches your eyes perfectly.”

“Thank you, Mama,” Grace replied with a smile as her mother cupped her cheek lovingly.

“Now remember,” Susan continued, her voice dipping into a whisper. “Rumors are just words. They have no sting unless we allow them to. We are not here for gossip but to prove our worth and show our counterparts you are worthy of a good marriage. Understood?”

Grace nodded, inwardly steeling herself against the upcoming interaction.

“Yes, Mama,” she replied dutifully, her white-gloved hand pressing tightly to her corseted stomach.

“Good girl,” Susan praised, putting on a bright smile. “Come, let’s go on then.”

“Ah, Lady Rowley,” Lady Harvey heralded as soon as Grace and Susan entered the room. The sound of conversation stopped as everyone turned to look at them. “How good of you to finally join us.”

“Our deepest apologies for our tardiness, Lady Harvey, Lord Harvey,” Susan replied as she curtseyed low to them.

“Perhaps they could not afford a carriage driver,” Grace heard a young lady whisper from the table.

“Poor Darlings,” another pouted, their eyes filled with venomous mirth as they looked Grace up and down judgmentally.

---