Page 13 of Taken by the Icy Duke (Marriage Deals #3)
Chapter Thirteen
G ilbert surreptitiously surveyed the glittering ballroom from behind the rim of his half-finished glass of champagne. Though he was presently engaged in conversation with Lord Kelworth—a chatty fellow of middling years—his eyes kept straying to the far side of the room.
Somewhere in that swirl of silk and lace stood Diana, radiant in emerald green, speaking with a small circle of admirers. The sight of her earlier on his arm, the warmth of her body during the waltz…he could still feel echoes of it, coursing beneath his skin.
Not one to be discouraged by a distracted audience, Lord Kelworth prattled on about some recent Act of Parliament concerning imports.
Gilbert shifted his weight, forced a polite nod, and tried to fix his attention on the conversation but failed miserably. No sooner had he schooled his expression into one of mild interest than his gaze drifted back to Diana, her dark hair catching the candlelight’s subtle gleam.
“How very enlightening,” Gilbert murmured, only half-aware of the dryness in his own voice. She turned slightly, and the elegant line of her shoulders, the flattering cut of her gown, made his heart pound with a sudden swell of need he had not anticipated.
Lord Kelworth paused, trailing off mid-sentence. A moment of silence stretched between them before the older man cleared his throat. “I see that your lovely new duchess claims more of your interest than my commentary on trade policies.”
Startled, Gilbert coughed, hastily regaining his composure. “Forgive me. I fear my mind is…somewhat overburdened of late.”
A mischievous twinkle lit Kelworth’s eye. “Not so overburdened that you cannot admire your bride’s charm, I hope.” With a knowing smile, he flicked a glance at Diana’s distant figure. “You must forgive my candor, Your Grace, but I believe it was entirely too soon for you to leave your honeymoon, if that longing expression is any indication.”
Gilbert felt the tips of his ears redden. “You misunderstand,” he began, though even he heard the lack of conviction in his tone. “Pressing matters demanded our return to London.”
“Mmm,” Kelworth allowed with a sage nod. “Still, a pity. A bride deserves all the attention her groom can lavish upon her. Now, if you will pardon an old man’s meddling, do not let the demands of society or your office rob you both of that bliss. I daresay rumor and scandal can wait, but a wife’s affections will not.”
Though momentarily speechless, Gilbert managed a small, wry smile. “I appreciate your concern,” he said at last, raising his champagne flute in a mild gesture. “You speak perhaps more wisely than you realize.”
Kelworth chuckled, clasping him lightly on the shoulder. “I speak from experience, lad. We men of rank often forget to properly tend to the flame that burns at home. See to it that you do not make such an error.”
With that, the older man excused himself to greet another guest, leaving Gilbert alone, his thoughts tumbling in a flurry of conflicting emotions. The faint hum of the crowd felt strangely distant, and for a moment, he simply stood there, gripping his glass.
How was it that a single glimpse of Diana’s figure could draw him so forcefully, filling his mind with memories of their dance—of the subtle catch of her breath, and the press of her hand against his chest? A tremor of want rippled through him, heightened by the knowledge that they remained virtual strangers in so many ways.
Gilbert turned at the light tap on his shoulder and found himself face to face with Diana’s father and sister. Both wore cautiously pleased expressions, their manners as polished as one might expect for such a grand ball.
“Your Grace,” Lord Crayford began, lowering his head respectfully, “forgive the interruption, but I have been wanting to thank you. And my daughter, of course. We are most grateful for all you have done for our family.”
Gilbert, catching the genuine warmth in the older man’s eyes, dipped his chin politely.
“There is no intrusion whatsoever, my lord. I am delighted to see you both here this evening,” Gilbert replied. He thought for a moment, wondering if he had ever seen them invited to such a high-status event before, but shook his head. He had never paid enough attention.
“Father and I had hoped to speak with Diana as well, but she seems quite in demand tonight,” Alison mused, glancing across the room. “I only just saw her with Lady Bembridge.”
As if on cue, Diana appeared at the edge of their gathering, glancing between the three of them with a slight tilt of her head. She stepped closer, emerald skirts brushing lightly against the floor, and offered a curtsy to her father.
“Papa. Alison. I trust you have been enjoying the evening?”
“Oh, yes. Though we must beg a moment of your time,” Her sister beamed and reached out to touch Diana’s hand. “Father wished to express our thanks to your husband for everything.”
“I only regret that the two of you had to cut your wedding trip short,” he said quietly, mindful of curious ears all around them. Lord Crayford patted his daughter’s shoulder.
“Nonsense,” he replied smoothly to Lord Crayford’s polite remarks. “It was a sensible decision, one that benefits all concerned. And I assure you, we have not neglected all pleasures, merely postponed them.”
He let his eyes graze over Diana’s gown, fully aware of how the candlelight played along the satin folds that hugged her figure. She glanced at him, her cheeks flushing at his attention, and the instant spark that passed between them set Gilbert’s nerves alight. He was tempted to reach for her hand but checked the impulse. The crowded ballroom was not the place for the kind of closeness he truly craved.
“Yes, well,” Alison’s voice chimed in with a sly tone, “I am certain you both have much…catching up to do, once society’s demands have been met.”
Diana’s blush deepened. Her reaction spurred Gilbert’s protective streak as well as something more primal.
“We shall be leaving London for a little time,” Alison continued, turning to Diana more privately. Diana frowned as her sister continued. “Despite your husband’s generosity, funds are a bit short for us to continue the Season. We shall return after a few weeks, of course.”
“That is a shame,” Diana breathed, clutching her sister’s hand. “You could always stay with us to continue the Season.”
“I may take you up on your offer,” Alison said, smiling sadly, as though she did not believe her own words.
“As a matter of fact,” Gilbert interjected, his tone edged with a hint of urgency, “I was just thinking we ought to depart at a reasonable hour. The duchess cannot be expected to linger until dawn; there is far too much awaiting her in the morning.”
He caught the bemused look on Lord Crayford’s face but pressed on, determined not to let the evening drag while he was condemned to merely looking at Diana from across the room. Alison smiled again, pressing Diana’s hand before letting it go.
“Do consider visiting us,” she encouraged. “I hope you have not forgotten Crayford Manor.”
“We will,” Diana promised.
“No doubt you have pressing matters, Your Grace,” Lord Crayford said slowly, taking Alison’s arm. “We shall not keep you.”
For a fleeting moment, Gilbert wondered if his eagerness was too obvious—if everyone in the vicinity perceived his desire to steal Diana away. Alison, in particular, was wearing a curious smile that suggested she guessed more than she let on.
However, Diana offered a light laugh and mentioned Gilbert’s work at the estate, for which he felt a grateful sense of relief. She was covering for his restlessness, attributing it to his responsibilities rather than the fiery longing he was certain was visible in his eyes.
“My husband works too hard, you see,” Diana said, her voice carrying a pleasant lilt. “There are certain affairs that cannot be delayed. Perhaps we should not tarry much longer.”
Diana’s turn of phrase nearly coaxed a smirk from Gilbert, but he kept his expression neutral and offered a polite bow to Lord Crayford.
“It has been a pleasure to speak with you both. If there is anything you require, please do not hesitate to seek me out, or to call on us at Rivenhall House,” Gilbert said in a rush.
“Please call upon me soon,” Diana told Alison softly, her smile warm. “There is much to catch up on.”
Alison assured her she would. Diana thanked her father and sister and as she did so, she slid her hand through the crook of Gilbert’s arm. The sensation of her slender fingers, even through the fabric of her gloves, caused his heart to thud. He wondered if she realized how much that small touch shook his composure.
They turned to walk away, and Gilbert gently guided her through a knot of onlookers. He felt the room’s curious glances drifting their way, but all he could focus on was the soft press of Diana’s side against his own.
They made a few more polite farewells, each one taking a greater degree of effort for Gilbert to maintain the veneer of civility. At last, they reached the grand doors leading to the foyer.
A subtle hush of cooler night air beckoned and he exhaled, his shoulders relaxing now that they had made their escape. They would soon be on their way back to Rivenhall House and far away from the ton’s prying eyes.
His arm still looped with Diana’s, Gilbert stole a sideways glance. The magnetism between them was potent; he sensed it in her slightly unsteady breathing, and in the way she leaned ever so subtly into him. Unspoken yet undeniable, it crackled in the silence that settled around them as they stepped out onto the landing.
Let them whisper .
He lowered his head close to Diana’s ear, murmuring just loud enough for her alone to hear, “Shall we be off, Your Grace?”
She nodded, her lips curving into a small smile. The same answering spark lit her gaze; a promise that once they closed the carriage door on the night, there would be far more to address than the trivial expectations of the ton.
Diana’s cheeks remained flushed when the carriage drew to a halt before Rivenhall House. She half expected Gilbert to escort her inside with formal propriety, yet the moment the footman opened the carriage door she felt the electric current that had persisted during the ride spark anew.
She could scarcely recall the brief trip home; every bump and sway had only heightened her awareness of him—his hand lingering on her waist, and the occasional brush of his knee against hers.
The townhouse door swung open, and a liveried servant stepped aside to allow them entrance. Diana offered the man a quick nod, her heart pounding as she caught Gilbert’s intense gaze.
After they had entered, the door was closed behind them with a soft thud. Before she could form a polite word of thanks for the evening, Gilbert claimed her hand, drawing her toward him with undeniable urgency.
“Gilbert,” she whispered with delighted surprise. “We are scarcely inside?—”
His response was a heated murmur close to her ear. “Forgive me, Diana, but I cannot wait another moment.” There was a low, insistent quality in his tone that made her stomach flutter. He guided her swiftly along the marbled foyer until they found a small alcove where the hallway angled toward the drawing room.
Diana’s breath caught as he pressed her gently against the paneled wall. The swirl of her emerald skirts rustled around her ankles, and she had only an instant to glance left and right, half- dreading some passing footman, before Gilbert dipped his head to capture her mouth in a fervent kiss.
A jolt of excitement coursed through her, and she instinctively lifted her arms, resting them on his shoulders. The taste of him—warm, faintly scented of wine and sandalwood—banished all thoughts of demure civility.
She managed a soft sound of protest, her cheeks aflame. “Gilbert,” she hissed, pulling back just enough to meet his gaze. “The staff will see. We have only just arrived?—”
His hand rose to cradle her cheek, the other drifting low to her waist. “Let them think what they will,” he murmured, his breath stirring the wisps of hair at her temple. “They already know you are my wife. It is hardly a secret that I would wish to be close to you.”
The gentle possessiveness in his voice sent a new wave of smoldering desire through her. She pressed her lips together, trying to summon a veneer of composure. “But…my gown, and your coat… you are hardly in a state to…”
He silenced her with another kiss, tempered only by a fraction more restraint. Yet even that slight measure of decorum did not quell the pulsing need she felt from him. It filled the space between them, threatening to melt her caution entirely.
A distant shuffle of feet in the corridor made her freeze and she placed a palm lightly on his chest, urging him to pause.
“You see?” she whispered, fighting to steady her voice. “We are not alone here.”
Gilbert exhaled, though he did not fully relinquish his hold. “We will retire,” he said quietly, “to someplace less public, if you insist.”
Relief and anticipation warred within her. She cast a furtive glance toward the corridor, ready to bolt the moment another servant appeared.
With a slight nod, she allowed Gilbert to guide her away, his hand firm at her lower back as they made their way through the house. Each step reverberated in Diana’s chest, a reminder of the hunger that all but crackled in the air between them.
At some point between the hush of the hallway and the snug drawing room door that beckoned ahead, Diana realized that their relationship was no longer solely about duty or display. Gilbert’s attention was an unguarded, and raw thing. It both unnerved and thrilled her to experience the full force of it.
When at last they slipped into the quiet, lamplit room, she closed the door behind them with trembling fingers. Turning, she found Gilbert awaiting her—his gaze molten, every line of his body tense with desire. For all of her fluster over the staff’s potential disapproval, Diana could no longer deny the answering flame that his nearness ignited.
Bracing herself, Diana stepped forward, allowing the moment to unfold, away from prying eyes and watchful servants. In that instant, the emerald gown she wore, the staff in the corridor, and the endless speculation of the ton all receded into a distant murmur, leaving only Gilbert’s intent stare and the needy beat of her own heart.