My Father Forced Me To Marry The Duke Of Ice — Then I Discovered His Darkest Secret
Part 1
The crystal chandelier cast a sickeningly golden glow across our drawing room.
My fingers gripped the marble mantelpiece so tightly my knuckles turned white.
My father’s words hung in the air like a death sentence.
The papers had already been signed without my knowledge.
I was to wed the duke of ravenrest by the end of the month.
Dan Hastings would not meet his daughter’s eyes.
His attention remained entirely fixed on the amber liquid swirling in his crystal glass.
I begged him to reconsider.
I reminded him that I had never spoken more than ten words to Greg Thornton.
Heather Hastings wore her faded beauty like a suit of armor as she swept into the room.
She announced that the duke had accepted our invitation to tea the following afternoon.
The rumors about him were legendary in our circles.
Society whispers claimed his heart had frozen solid years ago.
My mother dismissed my concerns with a sharp wave of her hand.
The Hastings estate was mortgaged to its ancient rafters.
This arrangement was the only thing standing between our family and total financial ruin.
Love was a luxury we simply could not afford.
The ornate clock ticked away the agonizing minutes the next day.
Nancy fastened the final hook on my deep burgundy gown.
My hands trembled as I smoothed the fabric over my skirts.
Simmons announced his grace from the drawing-room doorway.
The man who entered seemed to drag winter itself into the house with him.
He moved with the fluid, silent grace of a predator.
Sharp angles and austere planes offered no hint of emotion.
His dark eyes captured mine, utterly devoid of anything resembling warmth.
He bowed with perfect, mechanical precision.
I sank into a deep curtsy.
A faint scar rested above his right eyebrow.
He held himself rigidly, as if perpetually braced for an attack.
The floor beneath my feet seemed to tilt slightly as our eyes met again.
His expression snapped back into a mask of polite indifference instantly.
My mother predictably suggested I show him the conservatory.
I stood up obediently.
We walked down the long corridor without exchanging a single word.
My glass haven of exotic orchids had always been my sanctuary.
The heavy wooden door clicked shut behind us.
He remarked that my mother’s subtlety rivaled that of a charging rhinoceros.
A startled laugh escaped my lips before I could stop it.
A flicker of amusement crossed his face and vanished just as quickly.
I abandoned all pretense of polite society chatter.
We both knew exactly why this marriage had been arranged.
My family desperately needed his bottomless fortune.
He required an heir to continue the Thornton line.
I moved among my beloved ferns, tracing a delicate leaf with my index finger.
He called our impending union a coldly practical arrangement.
The sudden bitterness in his tone caught me off guard.
Shadows from the glass ceiling emphasized the harsh lines of his jaw.
I noted aloud that he sounded as if he spoke from painful experience.
Something genuinely dangerous flashed in his dark eyes.
He informed me that his past was not up for discussion.
He promised to provide for me generously in exchange for loyalty and discretion.
I felt a deep chill that had absolutely nothing to do with the temperature of the room.
I accused him of describing a business transaction rather than a marriage.
He gestured sharply between us.
My ancient family name was being traded for his gold sovereigns.
Anger flared hot and bright in my chest.
I demanded to know if companionship or mutual respect factored into his grand calculations.
His voice dropped to a freezing whisper.
He claimed to have no need for such trivial sentiments.
I insisted that everyone had the capacity for feeling.
He stepped closer, his imposing frame blocking the sunlight.
He warned me that I knew absolutely nothing about him.
I reminded him that he was once known simply as Greg.
That was before titles and tragedy had shaped him into an impenetrable fortress.
His eyes widened a fraction of an inch.
He abruptly offered his arm.
We returned to my parents in complete silence.
St. George’s Church overflowed with london’s elite a month later.
My white satin gown felt more like a shroud than a wedding dress.
My father escorted me down the long aisle.
His grip on my arm was the only thing keeping me upright.
The man waiting at the altar remained as inscrutable as ever.
He slipped the heavy diamond and sapphire heirloom ring onto my trembling finger.
His skin felt cool and entirely impersonal.
He never once looked directly into my eyes during the vows.
The bishop finally pronounced us man and wife.
A heavy hush fell over the packed congregation.
He lifted my lace veil with careful, detached precision.
His lips brushed against mine in the briefest of contacts.
The kiss fulfilled the letter of tradition while remaining utterly devoid of passion.
The lavish wedding breakfast passed in a blur of fake smiles and polite nods.
He masterfully avoided being alone with me for even a second.
I finally retreated to the duchess’s chambers as evening fell.
Nancy helped me change into my silk nightdress and matching robe.
I paced the opulent room after dismissing her.
I picked up a silver-framed miniature portrait of a handsome couple from the mantelpiece.
A deep voice suddenly came from the doorway.
He stood on the threshold with his cravat removed and collar unfastened.
I nearly dropped the heavy frame in my surprise.
He explained it was a portrait of his late parents.
He poured two glasses of brandy from a crystal decanter.
His fingers brushed mine as he offered me a drink.
An agonizingly awkward silence stretched between us.
He abruptly announced that he had prepared rooms for me in the east wing.
I stared at him in utter confusion.
He reiterated his complete lack of interest in the sentimental aspects of marriage.
Heat rushed to my cheeks as I brought up the matter of an heir.
He coldly stated that the matter would be addressed clinically when the time came.
Setting my untouched brandy down with a sharp clink, I crossed my arms tightly.
Being dismissed like an unwanted parcel was entirely unacceptable.
A deep frown creased his forehead as he pointed out that most women of my station would be relieved.
Meeting his gaze squarely, I made it perfectly clear that I was not most women.
A long, heavy silence stretched across the opulent room.
The flickering firelight cast half of his face in impenetrable shadow.
The tension finally broke when a begrudging nod granted my request for adjoining chambers.
Draining his glass in one swallow, my new husband set the crystal aside with finality.
The imposing figure turned and retreated silently toward his own lonely quarters.
I stared at the closed door, realizing the duke of ice was exactly who they said he was—and I was trapped in a marriage that felt more like a tomb.
