Page 12 of Taken by the Icy Duke (Marriage Deals #3)

Chapter Twelve

D iana paused at the threshold of her new bedchamber in Rivenhall House in London, the echo of carriage wheels over cobblestone still ringing in her ears.

A soft gasp escaped her lips when she caught sight of a brilliant swath of emerald-green draped over her bed. The fabric glimmered under the glow of the mid-afternoon light streaming through tall windows. Despite her fatigue, curiosity urged her forward, and she reached out to run her fingertips across the gown’s smooth surface. Its delicate sheen, threaded with gold filigree along the bodice, made her stomach flutter with excitement and awe.

A single folded sheet of fine stationery lay beside it. She recognized Gilbert’s neat script immediately:

Diana,

I trust you will wear this tonight. The color, I think, shall flatter your eyes all the more.

—G

Heat spread across her cheeks as she read the words once, then twice more, her mind snagging on the casual confidence with which he spoke of her appearance. The gown was exquisite; surely more lavish than anything she had ever owned. Its rich hue called to mind forest glades and moonlit waters, and she imagined how it might transform her reflection in a mirror.

She could hardly believe it was meant for her. She had grown accustomed to modest frocks and the whispers of disapproval that followed her through the ton.

The emerald hue seemed to glow with its own light, as if daring her to step into the role of duchess with all the confidence the title demanded. But was she ready for such a transformation? And what did it mean that Gilbert had chosen this for her? Was it an olive branch or a calculated gesture to bolster their public image?

Exhaling softly, she set the note aside, her heart thudding in a rhythm that was both elated and uneasy.

He chose this for me. He thought of my eyes when he did so.

She pressed her palm to the bodice, feeling the faint texture of the embroidered leaves, wondering if Gilbert had ordered it himself or entrusted the task to a famed modiste. Either way, the attention to detail raised her spirits to a level of cautious hope.

“My lady?” A quiet voice at the door startled her, and she whirled around to see Ruth standing before her with a respectful bow of the head.

“Yes,” Diana said, clearing her throat. She turned her gaze back to the gown, smoothing one sleeve gently. “Ruth, would you please have a bath drawn? I should like to refresh myself before this evening’s plans.”

“Of course, Your Grace.” Ruth turned her head to admire the emerald gown, and a small smile played on her lips. “Shall I help you dress once you have finished bathing?”

Diana nodded, pressing the note to her side to hide her embarrassment. “Yes…yes, please. And—thank you, Ruth.”

With that, Ruth curtsied and departed. Diana stood there for a moment longer, her hand resting lightly on the gown’s shimmering cloth. She could picture Gilbert somewhere in the house, perhaps in his study with ledgers or discussing invitations with his secretary, yet he had taken the time to see to her wardrobe.

The gesture felt unexpectedly intimate. She let out a slow breath, telling herself not to read too much into it. They were to appear at a ball tonight, the first of many events aimed at reassuring society that their marriage was sound and amicable

With that thought, Diana drew herself up, remembering the vow she had made: to keep her head held high, and to unflinchingly face whatever issues might arise. This gown, she knew, would be her armor, and the man who had selected it, her unexpected ally.

Later that evening, the carriage jostled along the cobblestone streets, its lanterns casting warm pools of light against the night sky. Sitting opposite Gilbert, Diana could feel every bump of the journey. Her stomach fluttered with nerves. She tried to focus on the familiar scenes passing by the window; elegant townhouses and lamplit doorways, rather than the man studying her from across the carriage.

She wore the emerald gown he had gifted her. The rich color seemed to glow in the soft interior light, the filigree on the bodice emitting flashes of gold whenever she moved. She hoped it looked as fine as it felt. Her heart gave a small, fast beat when she caught Gilbert’s gaze settling on her bodice, only for him to swiftly look away.

“You appear quite composed this evening,” he remarked at last, though his voice came out more hushed than usual. She wondered if he detected the rapid tempo of her pulse.

“Your note gave me sufficient warning,” she replied, careful to keep her tone even. “I appreciate the kindness you have shown by sending this gown.”

It is only proper you be attired as befits your station.” He paused, clearing his throat. His hand, resting on his knee, curled ever so slightly. “It seems as though I was correct that the green would suit you.”

Diana attempted a modest smile, determined not to betray how much his words warmed her. She shifted on the seat, one hand gliding over the silk of her skirt. The carriage lurched, causing her to grip the window frame for balance. The flicker of passing lamps illuminated Gilbert’s strained profile, causing Diana to wonder what he was withholding.

He kept glancing at her, then glancing away, as though reluctant to let his gaze linger. Once, she thought she saw him swallow hard, his jaw stiffening each time he dared to look her way. A small part of her thrilled at the realization that he might find her alluring tonight. Another part of her cautioned not to read too much into his fleeting glances.

Nevertheless, it was impossible not to recall the taste of his earlier kisses. The memory made her heart skip a beat, and she fought to control herself. Tonight was about showing the ton that they were united, and perhaps, if fortune favored them, they might also discover a deeper bond than mere appearances.

The carriage slowed, and Gilbert leaned forward to peer out the window with a momentary glimmer of eagerness.

“We have arrived,” he announced, his tone once again brisk. “Are you ready?”

“As ready as I shall ever be,” she breathed.

He exited first, then offered his hand to help her alight. The instant her gloved fingers slipped into his, a subtle charge of awareness sparked between them. She glanced up to find him watching her intently with an unreadable gleam in his eyes.

The glow of lanterns bathed the grand entrance in warm light, casting elongated shadows across the cobblestones. Diana stepped down from the carriage with the assistance of Gilbert’s steadying hand, their contact sending an unexpected shiver through her.

The murmurs of nearby guests reached her ears; a symphony of curiosity and speculation that seemed to grow louder with every step they took toward the brightly lit doorway. Diana forced herself to stand tall and lift her head as they passed beneath the ornate arch of the Bembridge estate.

Together, they walked into the blaze of lanterns and the hum of lively chatter, Diana’s skirts trailing in a graceful swish of emerald silk. She felt all eyes turn toward them, widening at the sight of the couple entering the foyer hand in hand. Aware of how closely they were being watched, Diana ignored the crowd and stared ahead, focusing instead upon greeting their host and hostess.

As they neared the entrance, the hum of conversation softened, replaced by the low murmur of curiosity. Lord and Lady Bembridge stood beneath an arch of roses, the delicate fragrance mingling with the crisp evening air.

“Your Graces,” Lady Bembridge greeted warmly. Her gaze rested briefly on Diana before returning to Gilbert. “We are honored by your presence this evening.”

“The honor is ours,” Gilbert replied smoothly, offering a polite bow. He extended a hand toward Diana, a subtle cue for her to step forward.

“Lord and Lady Bembridge, your estate is magnificent,” she said, her voice steady despite the fluttering in her chest. Diana dipped into a curtsy, her emerald skirts pooling gracefully around her. As she rose, she added, “the rose arch is especially beautiful.”

“You are too kind, duchess,” Lady Bembridge replied, her lips curving into a faint smile. “Though I must say, your gown is a triumph. Emerald suits you perfectly.”

Diana caught the subtle tilt of Lady Bembridge’s head as she cast a knowing glance at Gilbert, who remained impassive but for the faintest twitch of his lips.

“Indeed,” Lord Bembridge added, his baritone rich with approval. “It is a pleasure to see the duke accompanied so elegantly. London is all the better for your return.”

“London does not lack for grandeur,” Gilbert replied wryly. “But I admit, we are pleased to be back.”

Diana sensed the weight of eyes on them, a ripple of whispers threading through the room like an undercurrent. Her pulse quickened, but Gilbert’s steady presence beside her lent an unexpected calm.

“You have gathered quite the assembly tonight,” he said smoothly. “I trust it will be a memorable evening.”

“Undoubtedly,” Lady Bembridge replied with a gracious nod, though her sharp, appraising gaze lingered on Diana.

“Shall we?” Gilbert murmured, his hand brushing lightly against Diana’s back. She straightened, drawing strength from the simple touch, and allowed him to guide her into the ballroom’s dazzling expanse.

The voices behind them swelled in a chorus of speculation and judgment, but Diana kept her comportment in check and her steps unhurried. Whatever the ton now whispered, she knew they had already succeeded in making their mark.

A slight sense of self-consciousness filled Diana as they stepped beyond the receiving line. She could feel the glances sliding her way, and heard the faint murmur of voices that followed them. It felt as though every fan fluttered in her direction, each raised eyebrow silently casting judgment or curious speculation. Despite her earlier resolve, their scrutiny set her nerves on edge. Did they all suspect her of scheming, as the rumors claimed? Did they pity Gilbert, or mock him? Beneath the swirl of fabric and perfume, she half-imagined she caught whispers of her own name.

“Your Grace,” Gilbert’s voice cut through her apprehension. She glanced up to find him studying her with a gaze that sparked unexpected warmth deep within her. “Shall we waltz?”

She blinked. The waltz was already beginning, the orchestra shifting from the lively tempo of the quadrille to a sweeping melody. A hush of surprise flitted across some nearby guests, perhaps because it was slightly bold for the duke to request a waltz so soon, or because of the closeness the dance afforded. Yet Gilbert merely offered his hand, a faint challenge dancing in his eyes.

“Of… of course,” she answered, slipping her gloved hand into his. Their touch made her pulse quicken.

Fans snapped open like the fluttering of wings as Diana and Gilbert passed. She caught snippets of murmured conversation.

“How lovely she looks…” one matron said.

“I had my doubts, of course…” another added.

Diana tried to ignore the mixture of admiration and skepticism in their eyes. The buzz of the crowd seemed to swell, as though the very act of waltzing together was enough to spark fresh speculation. Diana felt their stares prickling along her skin but forced herself to focus on Gilbert’s steady, warm hand against her back.

He led her onto the parquet floor, the swirl of dancers parting as they took up their position.

The lilting tune guided them into a graceful turn, and at once, Diana became achingly aware of the press of Gilbert’s palm against her waist. The gentle pressure steadied her as they began to move in time with the music, their steps gliding in tandem. She could feel the warmth of his body through the layers of fabric, and each time she inhaled, she caught a hint of his subtle cologne.

“You dance beautifully,” he murmured, drawing her just a touch closer. His voice was low, meant only for her ears.

Diana swallowed, her cheeks reddening at his compliment.

“I can only hope I remember the steps well enough. You, on the other hand,” she added lightly, “seem quite at ease.”

“Perhaps I am merely inspired by my partner.”

He offered her a half-smile, though his gaze brushed over her face with unmistakable intensity. A rush of heat threaded through her, and she nearly missed the next turn of the waltz. She steadied herself, letting the music guide her feet so she would not make a spectacle of tripping in his arms.

“They are all watching us,” she said softly, her voice betraying a hint of nervousness as she caught sight of a nearby matron peering over her fan.

Gilbert’s hold on her tightened fractionally, the slight shift delivering a flash of longing to her loins.

“Let them look,” he replied almost possessively. “They shall see a wife and husband enjoying an evening’s dance.”

Her breath caught. She risked a glance upward, meeting his eyes. There, she found a trace of the same tentative longing that had haunted her since the moment he gave her the gown.

“It is difficult to mind their stares,” she whispered, “when…” She hesitated, suddenly shy.

“When what?” he pressed, his voice gentler now, as though sensing her hesitation.

“When you look at me in such a way,” she managed with a pounding heart, “I fear I shall forget my steps entirely.”

His brow rose, an almost imperceptible lift that spoke volumes.

“Shall I stop?” he asked, dipping his head so that his breath skimmed her ear.

“Pray do not,” she whispered, a faint smile gracing her lips at his teasing. “If I must be the object of attention tonight, I would rather be so on your arm, looking at me in exactly this manner, than skulking by the walls.”

He guided her into another smooth turn, his hand settling more securely against her side.

“Then I shall not relent, my lady,” he murmured, each syllable sending a tremor of warmth through her body.

Around them, other couples spun in graceful arcs, bright silks and satins swirling under the chandeliers. Yet Diana felt as though she and Gilbert moved in a world of their own, the music insulating them from the guests’ prying eyes. The tension in her shoulders slowly eased, replaced by a gentle, heady rush.

She recognized that this performance for the ton, their display of marital accord, was more than mere pretense. Diana could read Gilbert’s thoughts in each brush of his fingertips, each guarded look that told her he, too, was not immune to the spell of the dance.

By the time the waltz drew to a close, Diana’s breath was uneven. Her cheeks felt hot, and she sensed his desire from the slight pressure of his hand at her back.

Applause rippled around them, but it sounded distant, half-submerged in the thrum of her pulse. Gilbert looked at her warmly while guiding her safely from the dance floor, but she could barely muster more than a soft smile in return.

The murmuring crowd and glittering candles seemed to blur at the edges of her vision; all she could dwell upon was the warmth of his touch and the heady realization that, during those fleeting minutes, their union felt undeniably real.