Chapter 6
“You are not escaping so easily, Alexander.”
The words were bright and merciless, cutting cleanly through the fragile, heated quiet beneath the marble column.
Diana felt Alexander’s body shift subtly forward beside her, as if he was bracing for impact. His hand did not leave her waist. If anything, it settled more securely there, warm and solid against the silk of her gown.
Lady Salford appeared before them with triumphant delight, her silver curls bouncing, eyes alight with mischief.
“Do not imagine,” she continued, tapping Alexander lightly upon the arm with her fan, “that you may hide in corners like a conspirator whilst I am besieged by women who demand to inspect my grandson and his bride.”
Diana could not help the faint curl of her lips. “Inspect, Grandmother?” she asked sweetly.
“Oh, far worse,” Lady Salford replied, lowering her voice dramatically. “An appraisal.”
Alexander inclined his head with exaggerated resignation. “Then by all means, let us submit ourselves to examination.”
His tone was dry, but there was a glint in his green eyes that made Diana’s pulse quicken.
He was amused. He was enjoying this. And even from the little time she’d spent with him, Diana knew that when Alexander enjoyed himself, he grew bolder.
Lady Salford looped her arm through his and seized Diana’s free hand with surprising vigor. “Come along, both of you. If I must answer questions about your devotion, I shall not do so without the visual evidence.”
Diana allowed herself to be led across the ballroom, acutely aware of the whispers rising in their wake.
“Look at them—”
“He has not taken his hand from her—”
“After all those rumors—”
The air seemed warmer with every step. Alexander’s palm rested firmly at the small of her back now, guiding her through the crowd. It was an open gesture, almost protective, yet there was something in the way his thumb pressed lightly against her spine that felt distinctly private. Possessive.
She told herself it was for show. It had to be. And yet her skin tingled beneath the silk as though it were not the fabric he touched, but her directly.
They reached the semicircle of dowagers, a glittering tribunal of pearls, diamonds, and sharp, appraising eyes.
Lady Salford beamed as though presenting a prized exhibit. “Ladies, allow me to introduce my grandson, the Duke of Rosewood, and his charming wife, the Duchess. Alexander, Diana, these are dear friends of mine: Lady Weatherford, Lady Pennington, and Lady Markham.”
“So, this is the Duchess of Rosewood,” Lady Weatherford declared, her gaze sweeping over Diana’s figure with clinical interest.
Diana dipped into a composed curtsey. “I am honored, my lady.”
“And what a handsome pair you make,” Lady Pennington sighed, leaning forward eagerly. “Though we have been deprived of the sight of you together for far too long.”
Diana felt the implication beneath the words.
Before she could form an answer, Alexander spoke with measured calm. “My absence was regrettable,” he said, his voice steady and unruffled. “Business required my attention.”
“Business,” Lady Markham repeated skeptically. “It is a poor rival to matrimony.”
Alexander’s fingers tightened slightly at Diana’s back, and she felt the subtle shift in his posture as he drew himself up to his full height.
“I am beginning to suspect,” he replied, his gaze dropping to Diana’s face with disarming intensity, “that I may have misjudged that balance.”
The warmth that spread through her chest was swift and treacherous. He did not look at the dowagers when he said it. He looked at her, and his eyes were not cold. They were intent, curious. Almost… hungry.
“And where have you been, Your Grace?” Lady Pennington demanded, her fan freezing mid-flutter as though she had caught him sneaking out of a confession.
Diana felt the question like a spark against dry tinder. Of course, that would be the next assault. London wanted routes, dates, and explanations it could embroider into gossip.
She drew a breath to answer smoothly, but Alexander spoke at the exact same moment.
“In Vienna,” he said.
“In Yorkshire,” Diana replied.
They both fell silent. The semicircle of dowagers leaned forward as one, their expressions lighting with scandalized delight.
Alexander’s hand remained steady at her waist, but she felt the faintest tremor of amusement run through him. He turned his head toward her, one dark brow lifting with elegant curiosity.
Then, Alexander looked back at the semicircle and, to Diana’s utter horror and admiration, allowed the corner of his mouth to curve.
“Everywhere, really,” he said lightly. “The north. The continent. A man with too many responsibilities is seldom permitted to remain in one place.”
“And too many secrets,” Lady Markham added slyly.
Diana felt his thumb draw a slow line at the small of her back.
“I find,” he said calmly, “that secrets are vastly overrated.”
The dowagers laughed, pleased by the evasiveness, satisfied that they had extracted something without quite knowing what.
“And did you send letters from all these exotic places?” Lady Weatherford pressed. “Vienna is terribly romantic.”
Diana nearly smiled despite herself. “His Grace is not inclined toward romantic gestures.”
Alexander’s gaze flicked to her, sharp with amusement. “You wound me.”
The women tittered again, delighted by the sparring.
“So, if you were not abroad composing poetry,” Lady Weatherford insisted, “what occupied you?”
Alexander’s attention slid back to the group. “Estate matters,” he said. “Tenants, trade agreements, the usual unglamorous concerns.”
“Dreadfully dull,” Lady Markham sighed.
“Entirely,” he agreed. “Which is why I should have delegated and remained where the company was superior.”
His gaze returned to Diana with that infuriating steadiness that made her pulse flutter like an inexperienced girl’s. She felt the heat climb her throat.
“And did you miss him, Duchess?” Lady Pennington asked, sharp as a needle.
Diana held her smile. “I managed.”
She saw Alexander’s hand tightening.
“And now that he has returned from everywhere,” Lady Weatherford drawled, “has he begun to court you properly?”
Diana’s heart gave a sickening, heavy thud against her ribs. She felt the eyes of the circle tighten on her like a noose as the kiss he had given her upon his arrival flashed before her eyes.
Alexander did not hesitate. “I am attempting to repair certain oversights.”
“Indeed? How does a duke repair such… oversights?” Lady Weatherford pressed, eyes gleaming.
“With consistency,” he replied evenly. “And patience.”
She felt the words like fingers tracing her spine.
“And poetry?” Lady Markham chimed in eagerly. “Surely, he has at least attempted poetry. All men do, when sufficiently chastened.”
Diana shook her head at once. “No.”
Alexander glanced down at her, one brow lifting. “You appear certain.”
“I would recall the shock,” she said sweetly. “It would likely require medical intervention.”
The circle erupted in laughter.
“Then you must improve, Your Grace,” Lady Salford declared. “A wife cannot be expected to forgive without verse.”
He leaned slightly closer to Diana, lowering his voice just enough that the intimacy filled her lungs. “If I were to attempt a poem,” he murmured, “what would you require it to contain?”
Her stomach flipped traitorously at the nearness of him.
“Accuracy,” she replied, keeping her expression demure. “And brevity.”
The proximity made her acutely aware of his clean, musky scent. Her mind betrayed her with memories of his mouth on hers in his studio, his knee pressing against hers, the raw hunger that had flared in his eyes.
Diana felt Alexander’s hand tighten around hers, in that steady, proprietary way he had begun to use whenever the world pressed too close.
His thumb brushed once over her knuckles, as if reminding her that she was not, in fact, alone at this moment, even if the question dragged the past up by its throat.
Lady Salford’s eyes gleamed. She looked delighted, as though she had been handed a particularly entertaining weapon.
“Oh, do not look as though you have caught him in a crime,” she said, addressing Lady Markham and the entire semicircle at once. “If my grandson were to abandon his wife, he would have done it with a flourish and a full explanation, and half of London would have heard him.”
A ripple of laughter went through the women, but Diana’s lungs felt tight. She could hear her own blood, the quickened pulse in her ears.
Alexander lifted his gaze to the dowager. His expression remained calm, his mouth composed, his green eyes giving away nothing at all, and yet Diana felt the minute shift of him beside her, the same coiled readiness she had noticed earlier when he had pulled her away from her aunt and uncle.
“And how did you pass the time without letters?” Lady Pennington asked Diana brightly. “Surely you were not idle.”
“I was never idle,” Diana replied evenly, grateful for the steadiness of her own voice. “Rosewood House required attention.”
“And companionship?” Lady Pennington asked slyly.
The word slid into the circle like a dropped pin. Diana felt Alexander’s hand shift fractionally higher at her waist, claiming space more decisively. A silent answer.
Before she could craft one of her own, another voice cut into the cluster, familiar and clear.
“Companionship was never lacking.”
The dowagers turned as one.
Emma stepped neatly into the circle without waiting to be invited, her posture impeccable, her expression serene but edged. She curtseyed to Lady Salford first, then to the other women with effortless grace.
“Lady Salford,” Emma said warmly. “We were just speaking of the Duchess. We would not dream of leaving her unattended.”
Benjamin followed with a genial bow, his fair hair catching the candlelight. “Your Grace,” he greeted Alexander politely, though his gaze flicked to Diana with quick concern. “Duchess.”