Chapter 3 #2
A sharp intake of breath grated on Peter’s ears. He knew it was Dahlia.
Good God, she makes me seem like an executioner; it isn’t a death sentence.
“But even with this, I assure you, as I believe Lady Dahlia has as well, that nothing happened in the carriage that should lead you to question her honor as a lady nor mine as a gentleman.”
“Your Grace—”
Peter held up his hand.
“If you would allow me to finish, My Lord.”
The older man nodded.
“With everything that has happened and that has come to light last night, it’s quite obvious that the best solution is that your daughter and I marry. Thus, I am here to ask for your daughter, Lady Dahlia Hill’s hand in marriage.”
“I will be honest and say that we had been discussing this very dilemma before you called.” The Marquess ran his hand over his forehead.
He looked at his wife, who nodded, then at his daughter who stood colorless, her red hair forming a stark contrast to her pale skin.
“Your Grace, I will give you my daughter’s hand in marriage. ”
“Thank you, I am honored by your acceptance, Sir.”
“The honor is mine, Your Grace.”
The Marquess stood up as did Peter. The older man motioned for Dahlia to come closer.
She was still silent, but some color had returned to her face.
When she faced her betrothed, he took her hand and kissed it with a bow.
Her replying curtsy seemed to wobble in Peter’s opinion, but she did not faint, so he must count that as something.
“My Lord…” He faced the Marquess. “… might I have a private word with your daughter?”
Dahlia’s stomach sank; indeed, it was still sinking lower and lower as she watched her parents close the door behind them.
“My Lady,” Peter spoke from behind her. “Dahlia, if you would be so kind as to face me.”
She took a deep breath then turned around.
“Have you nothing to say?”
“You have said all that needed to be said, Your Grace.”
“I do have ears you, know.” Here Peter could not help but smile. “You certainly said many things as well.”
Suddenly red in the face, her hands fisted at her sides.
“All of them true, I daresay!”
“Yes, I suppose I am considered handsome and tall, intelligent too.”
“Oh! You!”
“Dahlia, come. Let us make the most of this hand that life has dealt us.” He spoke evenly, calmly.
“Yes, I am sure it was “life” alone which dealt me this hand.”
“And what is that supposed to mean, Madam?”
“You could have just let Benson and me leave on our own. You could have just given me back the manuscript! Then all of this could have been avoided!”
She heard him grit his teeth.
“Or maybe I could have just let the hijacker have his way. I could have just ignored the scandal about a certain lady who writes novels about a certain duke.” His voice had grown cold, his speech biting. “Being a man, I am sure that would have been not so difficult for me.”
“Tell me, Peter…” Dahlia raised her face as close to his as she could, anger in her eyes.
“… why even bother talking to me about our engagement? You and my father have already agreed to it. You do not need me to say yes; indeed, I have not even been given a choice.” The tears she did not know she was holding back rolled down her cheeks.
“Is that what has you angry? That you were not given a choice? A chance to find the one?”
Dahlia gasped. What sheer impudence!
“It’s easy for a man to laugh at such notions. You have never battled with the world as only women do.”
“Do I look like I’m laughing?” He moved closer still. His hand went up silently to her face. His fingers brushed at the tears that streaked her cheeks.
Dahlia was caught off guard by this sudden tenderness. Could he be sympathizing with her? The Duke of Ice? The one man she had seen icily cut down any female who crossed his path? Just another one of your manipulations. She slapped his hand away and wiped her own tears.
Unexpectedly, Peter chuckled. He walked towards the window. When finally, he turned around to face her, his face was a mask of ice. When he spoke, his voice was cold.
“It appears that neither of us wants this, but as there is no better way to move forward, let us do so in a civil manner. Being married, after all, does have mutual benefits.”
“What mutual benefits can there be? You will be as free to come and go as you choose, and I, well, I will still be under the thumb of a man.”
The smirk that curved across his lips made her want to throw something at him. He moved closer to her again.
“Had you married the one, you would still be under the thumb of a man.” He smirked again, moving closer still. His head bent down close to hers, and he murmured, “What mutual benefits, she asks.”
He was being intentionally condescending; Dahlia felt her blood boil. Boldly, she lifted her face even closer.
“If Your Grace is referring to the marriage bed, then I regret to crush your illusions because there is nothing mutual about that!”
“And you know this how?”
Faltering, she moved back a little.
“I-I have married friends.”
“And you talk about this?”
Dahlia backed away again; she was out of her element now.
While Celine had hinted at what happened in the marriage bed, she had stopped at any description.
Her only advice was to trust your husband.
So even there, the husband must still be followed!
What was mutual about that? When she kept silent, Peter’s hand again went to touch the side of her face.
Gently, he traced her cheek with his finger.
Dahlia closed her eyes. The feelings he invoked were too much, too contradictory. Once again, she slapped his hand away.
“You are a spirited one, are you not?” A glimmer of an emotion passed in his eyes but was gone before Dahlia could even name what it was. “We shall marry, Dahlia.”
“I know, I—”
He put a finger gently against her lip, silencing her.
“But only on paper. I have no intentions for this marriage to be anything other than what it really is—a convenient way out of a problem.”
This declaration she did not entirely comprehend or expect in the least.
“I give you leave to come and go as you please, My Lady. I only have one condition.”
Dahlia held her breath.
“That you put your pen down. Penelope Lovelace, or any other name, will be gone for good.”