“I am not alone,” she cut in, though the words rang hollow even to her own ears. “And I do not require?—”
His other hand came up then, touching her arm, just above the elbow.
The contact was light, but Diana felt it immediately. A sharp, instinctive recoil moved through her before her mind could catch up. Her body knew before she allowed herself to understand.
“Martin,” she said again, this time more firmly, “you must not?—”
“Why not?” The question came too quickly.
His hand did not move away. Instead, it slid, almost imperceptibly, along the fabric of her sleeve, the touch lingering, pressing in a way that no longer resembled comfort at all.
Diana’s breath caught.
“Why not?” he repeated, his voice sharpening at the edges, the warmth turning into something tighter, something far less patient. “Why should you sit there and pretend that you are untouched by all of this? That you are content to waste yourself on a man who has never known how to value you?”
Her head snapped up as the words struck her like cold water.
“What are you saying?” she asked, her voice quiet but edged now, her fingers finally pulling against his grip.
This time, he did not resist when she withdrew her hand but didn’t move away either. Instead, he leaned back slightly, studying her with an intensity that made her pulse begin to quicken for entirely different reasons than before.
“I am saying,” he began slowly, “that I have watched you suffer for far too long, Diana. I have watched you bind yourself to a man who has done nothing but wound you, who has left you, humiliated you, and now returns only to tear you apart once more?—”
“That is not your concern,” she said sharply.
“Is it not?” His gaze darkened. “You believe it is not my concern?”
“Yes,” she said, her spine straightening, her composure gathering itself piece by piece. “It is not.”
Silence fell.
For a moment, neither of them moved, and Diana became acutely aware of the space between them, of the enclosed walls, of the steady, unbroken motion carrying them farther and farther from the house she had so desperately wished to escape only moments ago.
Something in her chest tightened.
“Martin,” she said more carefully now, “what is the matter with you?”
He exhaled slowly. And then, all at once, whatever restraint had been holding him in place seemed to give way.
“I love you.”
Diana stared at him. For a moment, she did not understand.
“You—” She stopped, her thoughts scrambling, her breath catching in her throat. “You cannot mean that.”
“I have always meant it.” His voice was raw, stripped of its usual lightness.
There was something exposed in it now, something that made her skin prickle with unease.
“I loved you before he ever laid eyes on you,” Martin continued, his gaze fixed on hers with unsettling intensity. “Before your uncle decided that you were to be bartered into a title. I asked for your hand, Diana. Do you know that? I went to him like a fool, believing that affection might count for something, that years of knowing you, of caring for you, might be enough.”
Her breath faltered. “I did not know?—”
“Of course you did not,” he said bitterly. “He dismissed me before you were ever told. I was not grand enough. Not powerful enough. Not worthy of you, in his eyes.”
The words poured from him now, faster, sharper.
“And then you were married off to him. To a man who did not even bother to stay. Who left you alone while the entire world whispered about you?”
