He tried to push himself up.
Pain shot through his shoulder, sharp and unforgiving, and he hissed through his teeth, the movement collapsing almost immediately under the weight of it.
Diana’s hand pressed against his chest at once.
“Do not,” she said, her tone gentle but firm, leaving no room for argument. “You are not to move yet.”
He let out a breath that might have been a reluctant laugh, though it came strained. “You give orders very well, Duchess.”
“You have given me sufficient reason to do so,” she returned, though the faint edge in her voice softened almost at once as her gaze moved over his face, searching, checking, reassuring herself that he was truly there.
She turned sharply toward the door.
“Harris,” she called.
The valet appeared almost instantly, as though he had been waiting just beyond the threshold for precisely this moment. His eyes flicked to Alexander, relief breaking briefly through his otherwise composed expression.
“Your Grace.”
“Fetch the physician,” Diana said at once. “His Grace is awake.”
Harris inclined his head and disappeared without another word.
Alexander watched her—he could not seem to do anything else.
Even now, weak, half-drugged from whatever the physician had given him, his body aching and heavy, all his awareness narrowed to her. To the way she stood beside his bed, one hand still resting lightly against him as though she needed the contact. To the way her composure, always so carefully held, seemed thinner now, worn through by worry and exhaustion. To the unmistakable signs that she had not left his side.
“You have not slept,” he said quietly.
She glanced at him, and for a moment something like irritation flickered in her expression, though it was quickly overtaken by something softer.
“I have slept,” she said.
He did not believe her.
Before he could answer, the door opened again.
“Alexander!”
Lady Salford swept into the room with a force of presence that seemed entirely at odds with her age, her cane striking lightly against the floor as she crossed the space with surprising speed.Her sharp eyes took in everything at once—his position in the bed, Diana standing beside him, the signs of recent tending—and then settled on his face.
“Well,” she said, her voice thick with emotion despite the firmness she tried to maintain, “you have chosen quite a dramatic manner of returning to us.”
Alexander’s mouth curved faintly. “I feared a quieter entrance might not be sufficiently memorable.”
“You foolish boy,” she snapped, though her hand came to rest briefly against his arm, her touch lingering just long enough to betray her relief. “Do you have any notion what you have done? To her?” She nodded toward Diana without looking. “To me?”
Diana shifted slightly, as though uncomfortable with the attention.
“I am sorry,” Alexander said, and for once the words were not shaped by politeness or habit. They came plainly. “It was not my intention to cause distress.”
“No,” Lady Salford returned dryly, “your intention was merely to be reckless.”
Diana let out a quiet breath that might have been a laugh, though it carried no true amusement.
“It was not precisely his plan,” she said.
Lady Salford’s gaze sharpened. “So I am told. The entire city appears to be discussing it already. Lord Tilbridge was taken into custody. A most scandalous affair.” Her eyes flicked back to Alexander. “Though I confess, I am less concerned with society’s reaction than with the fact that you appear to have regained your senses.”
