Page 16 of Taken by the Icy Duke (Marriage Deals #3)

Chapter Sixteen

G ilbert stood alone in his study, glaring at the untouched ledgers on the desk. A fire crackled in the grate, throwing restless shadows across the paneled walls. He tried to redirect his thoughts to estate balances and pending contracts, but each line blurred before his eyes. His attention drifted repeatedly to Diana.

This is absurd .

He braced both palms on his desk. They had wed out of necessity, yet she somehow consumed his thoughts in a way no woman ever had. He recalled the soft warmth of her body and the taste of her lips from the previous night, then gritted his teeth, forcing the memory away. Outwardly, he needed to remain composed. A duke did not allow personal entanglements to overshadow duty, no matter how tempting.

A subdued knock interrupted him. His valet, Marsden, entered, bowing.

“Your Grace, the carriage is nearly ready for this evening.”

“Very good,” Gilbert straightened, smoothing the front of his coat. “Bring me my black evening coat. And have the driver maintain a punctual pace.”

Marsden disappeared, and Gilbert let out a sharp breath.

This is a simple theater outing, nothing more.

They needed to show society that he and his new duchess stood united. Yet the memory of her smile and the fleeting glimpses of vulnerability in her eyes continued to torment him. Gilbert grimaced at himself in the mirror, reached for his gloves and strode into the hall.

For a moment, a hush fell across the foyer as Diana appeared, gliding down the staircase in the dark-blue silk gown he had gifted her. His heart stumbled in his chest, though not a glimmer of his gut reaction crossed his face.

“Good evening, Your Grace,” she greeted softly. Her cheeks held a faint flush, but her tone was perfectly polite.

Gilbert inclined his head, keeping his voice neutral. “Good evening.” He offered her his arm like any dutiful husband. “Shall we depart? We ought not to be late.”

The swirl of her skirts rustled as she took his arm. He led her to the waiting carriage, struggling to keep his breathing steady.

Stop this . Behave like a gentleman, not a boy starving for her attention.

He helped her inside, then slid into the seat opposite, his spine rigid against the upholstery.

The carriage jostled into motion. Small talk ensued; her fitting at the modiste, and an inquiry about the estate improvements. He responded courteously to each question, determined to mask the churning sensation beneath his composed exterior. Whenever she smiled or brushed her hand lightly along her skirts, a bolt of electricity shot through him, nearly unraveling his outward calm.

At the theater, a buzz of conversation and sparkling chandeliers surrounded them. Gilbert guided Diana to their private box, acknowledging fellow acquaintances with the barest of nods. As they settled in, he placed one gloved hand on the velvet rail, reminding himself to watch the stage, not her.

Society would be observing them, and any sign of unguarded fascination would surely draw more speculation. Yet, from the corner of his eye, he noticed how the lamplight caught the subtle sheen of her hair, and how the lines of her gown emphasized her graceful shoulders.

He forced his gaze forward, focusing on the performance. Actors flitted across the stage in dazzling costumes, delivering witty lines. His chest constricted each time Diana leaned a fraction closer, wanting to whisper some remark. He responded courteously, indeed, carefully, offering a hushed answer that betrayed no hint of his inner turmoil.

At the first intermission, the curtains fell to polite applause. Diana turned toward him, her eyes reflecting the subdued glow of the theater’s sconces.

“Are you enjoying it?” she asked, her voice low enough not to carry to the neighboring boxes.

“Quite,” he replied, his tone even.

A lie.

He had hardly followed the plot. He was too distracted by her faint floral scent, and how his pulse quickened each time her arm brushed his.

“The play is…pleasant enough,” he added, grasping for something to say.

She nodded, then looked back at the stage. She seemed poised, but he saw a hint of confusion tightening her brow, as if she was aware of his measured distance. Guilt flared beneath his ribs. He wanted to close that distance, to bask in her company without restraint, but the rigid part of him insisted he maintain control.

Their marriage of convenience was quickly becoming anything but that. He had never suspected that his desire for her would overcome his resolution for their relationship to be no more than a contract on paper.

When the final curtain fell, they made a proper exit, greeting a few lords and ladies with polite smiles. Gilbert offered Diana his arm again, resolutely ignoring the gentle pressure of her hand resting there. They descended the theater steps in near silence, the clatter of carriages in the street echoing around them.

Once inside the carriage, Diana looked down at her hands. The hush felt heavy, leaving Gilbert uneasy.

“Did you truly enjoy the performance?” she ventured at last.

“If you found it diverting, then I am satisfied,” he replied carefully. He stilled, weighing honesty against tact. “It served its purpose.”

She glanced up thoughtfully, and Gilbert felt a pang of remorse. He could sense she wanted more than this stiff politeness from him. Before he could form an apology or explanation, the carriage jolted to a stop at Rivenhall House.

Inside, the servants discreetly vanished, leaving them in the foyer’s subdued glow.

“You must be tired, Your Grace,” Gilbert said, avoiding her gaze. “I trust you will want to retire soon.”

“Yes,” Diana answered, though her voice held a note of uncertainty. She seemed to linger, as if expecting him to say something further, to break the shell of courtesy he had maintained all evening.

He swallowed, tension pulsing at his temples. Another night parted from her bed would be the safest course, less chance to reveal the tumult beneath his cool facade. Yet his memory intruded: her softly parted lips, the gentle ache he felt at the thought of holding her again.

Fool ! Decide.

“Allow me to escort you upstairs,” he offered quietly. It was a courtesy any husband might show, but his pulse thundered. She nodded silently, and they ascended the staircase together wordlessly.

At her chamber door, they paused. He hesitated, torn between retreat and surrender. She turned the knob, then glanced back at him. Her expression remained neutral, but he saw the question in her eyes. Could he keep up this aloof act or was he about to fail completely?

“May I come in?” he murmured, his tone strained by the struggle that raged in his mind. A small flash of relief crossed her features and she opened the door.

Stepping inside, he closed it behind them. Her bedchamber was lit by a single lamp near the hearth. The firelight played over her gown and illuminated the faint rosy glow of her cheeks. Suddenly, the distance he had guarded so meticulously collapsed under the force of his own longing.

She offered a tentative smile. “Gilbert…if you prefer…”

“I…” He faltered, then forced calm. But even as he spoke he moved closer, drawn to her by an invisible tether. He heard Diana’s breath catch.

In that moment, his mask of composure cracked. A surge of intemperate need threatened to overcome his fragile self-control. He set his gloved hands on her shoulders, feeling the warmth of her body through the fine fabric. The tremor in his stomach shifted lower into a steady, primal throb.

He tried to force his thoughts into uttering a polite farewell, something that would let him escape with his dignity intact. Instead, he found himself leaning in, inhaling the faint perfume clinging to her hair, his frustration warring with desire. Then, as though seizing on his weakness, Diana turned her face toward him, her eyes full of unspoken questions.

“Diana…” he breathed. It was meant as a caution; he hardly trusted himself. Yet the moment her gaze locked with his, the remains of his resolve shattered like glass. He bent his head, pressing his lips to hers in a kiss that overflowed with passion and pent-up frustration.

She sank into him without hesitation, her hands lifting to grasp his coat. He nearly groaned at her touch, a helpless surrender to the feelings coursing through him. All the self-discipline he had clung to throughout the evening unraveled in the hush of the lamplit room. He kissed her with a fierceness that startled even him, pouring every hour of restrained longing into that moment.

When they finally broke apart, both were breathing heavily. Gilbert’s hand lingered at the small of her back, refusing to let go.

“I would stay,” he finally said, the words clipped and strained. “If you are willing…”

A faint smile curved her lips and she nodded, slipping her hand into his. In that instant, the tension driving him all evening found its release in the promise of her acceptance. He let go of the last vestige of cool distance, bending to kiss her again, though with more tenderness this time. The night, he realized, would be long, but for once, his duties and decorum could wait.

Dawn cast its pale glow through a tiny gap in the curtains, gilding the room in a muted silver. Gilbert lay on his side, his gaze fixed on the sleeping figure of his wife. Diana breathed softly, her cheek pillowed against her bent arm. She looked impossibly peaceful, making his heart sting at the sight of her.

I should not be here.

Despite the lingering warmth of her body against him in the night, he now kept a careful distance, his arms folded across his chest to prevent any further temptation.

He told himself it was prudent for him to leave before she awoke. Even though their marriage had been about obligations and not attachments, here he was, caught between a painful yearning to drop his guard and the grim fear of what could happen if he did.

A heartbreaking whisper of memory rose unbidden in his mind: the echo of splintering wood, the frantic whinny of horses, the metallic tang of blood. He closed his eyes briefly, recalling the day a shattered carriage had stolen both his father and younger sister. In that instant, everything he had believed in—his sense of family, his faith in his ability to protect those he loved—instantly disintegrated into chaos.

Since then, he had vowed never to be so careless again, or risk anyone’s life by allowing them to come too close. And children… He swallowed hard. Children would only deepen that terrifying responsibility, the prospect of failing them as he had failed before.

His father had once told him that a man carried the weight of his family’s future on his shoulders. Gilbert had taken that to heart. Better to distance himself and keep his emotions locked away than to risk letting tragedy repeat itself. He reminded himself of this as he looked at Diana; her dark hair fanned across the pillow, and her lips parted in a gentle sigh.

His heart clenched, torn by the fragile beauty of the sight before him.

I cannot afford to grow attached. We cannot have children.

He repeated the silent litany, a bleak promise he had made to himself all those years ago. If he maintained a distance, if he never allowed himself the tenderness of waking up beside her in the mornings, perhaps he could hold onto that resolve.

Shifting carefully, he edged away from her. The soft covers rustled and Diana momentarily stirred, tucking her head deeper into the pillow. His breath caught, fearing she might wake and catch him watching her with an agonized longing he refused to voice. Her lips, slightly parted, seemed to beckon him like a siren. Yet she only sighed once more, then settled back into slumber.

Now was his chance. He eased off the bed, pausing as the cold floor chilled his bare feet. A wave of guilt rippled through him for wanting her more than he could admit, coupled with a sense of remorse for planning to leave before she roused. But staying would mean facing the hope in her eyes or worse, acknowledging the pain in his chest whenever she was near.

Quickly, he gathered his discarded shirt and coat from where they had fallen hours earlier.

The ghostly images of that long-ago tragedy again flashed through his mind: the overturned carriage, the flicker of torchlight on twisted wheels. Bile rose in his throat as he recalled his father’s still face and his sister’s cold hand, limp in his own. The terrible helplessness he had felt continued to dwell inside him, calling out an ever-present warning to his broken heart.

With trembling fingers, he struggled to button his shirt, forcing the haunting memories back into the locked room in his mind.

You must not fail again . You must not let your selfish desire blind you.

Crossing to the window, he pulled aside the curtain by an inch and saw the sky was already faintly pink on the horizon. It was early enough that no one in the house was stirring, save for a few servants who might be polishing silver in the kitchens. Perfect timing to slip away without explanation or awkward morning pleasantries.

At last, he turned back to the bed. Diana’s breathing remained steady; her features relaxed in sleep. The flicker of tenderness in his chest nearly overwhelmed him.

I cannot do this . I must keep my distance, for her sake as well as mine.

He exhaled quietly, then padded to the door. Grasping the handle, he steeled himself. If she woke now, everything would unravel. He would be confronted by the questions in her eyes that he was unprepared to answer.

He could not bear the possibility of having to explain that he would not share a true life with her, that he intended to prevent having children at all costs, all because he feared repeating a tragedy from which he had never fully recovered.

After a moment’s hesitation, he slipped out into the corridor, the door closing behind him with a muted click. The dim, silent hallway stretched out before him, and he pressed a hand against his temple, fighting the urge to return.

This is for the best . It must be this way.

His footsteps echoed on the carpet as he strode toward his own chambers, where a fresh set of clothes and the shield of daily tasks awaited. Estate correspondence, accounts, scheduled meetings—each was an armor of normalcy he could don, sealing away the memory of Diana’s sleeping face.

Still, a heaviness settled in his stomach, knowing that once she woke, she would find him gone. It was a cruelty for which he had no remedy, not if he intended to hold fast to his plan. Better for her to think him aloof and distant than to risk her heartbreak in the event of another calamity; a devastation he could not, would not, weather again.

At the far end of the corridor, a maid carrying a stack of linens bobbed a surprised curtsy. Gilbert acknowledged her with a curt nod, then turned on his heel toward his study, all too aware that the sun was steadily rising. Another day awaited him: duties, appearances, obligations that provided a safe distance from what lay behind that closed bedchamber door.

Yet despite all his efforts, he could not quite banish the image of Diana, asleep in the gray half-light, her breath weaving a fragile link between them; a link he was determined not to strengthen.