Silence followed. Lady Salford looked from one to the other, her brows lifting in polite curiosity.
Diana felt the faint warmth of Alexander’s knee press against hers beneath the table, the subtle reminder that whatever this was, they were in it together.
She turned her head slowly toward him and saw that he looked faintly entertained. A corner of his mouth curved, and somehow she could almost hear the laughter he was stifling.
“At my uncle’s townhouse,” she repeated calmly, aware that her pulse had begun to thrum at her throat. “There was a ball held there that evening.”
She heard the lie as she spoke it and felt it settle between them like a thin sheet of ice.
There had been no ball. There had been a formal negotiation, stiff chairs, her uncle’s calculating smile, and Alexander’s cool appraisal. But Lady Salford did not need that version.
“There was music,” Diana continued evenly, lifting her teacup to disguise the slight dryness in her mouth. “Dancing. Quite crowded, if I recall.”
Alexander watched her the entire time. Then, slowly, he inclined his head as though confirming her memory.
“Yes,” he said smoothly. “Quite crowded.”
His eyes flickered with unmistakable amusement. And then, he flashed her a smile. It was as though he recognized exactly what she had done and approved of it.
He was enjoying this far too much.
Lady Salford clasped her hands together. “A ball at the start of it all. How perfectly traditional.”
“It was hardly romantic,” Diana added quickly, attempting to reclaim her footing. “The evening was rather… practical.”
“Practical,” Alexander repeated softly, still looking at her.
There was something in his tone that made the word feel like provocation. She refused to meet his gaze.
“And yet,” he continued, leaning back slightly in his chair, his voice carrying just enough warmth to make Lady Salford beam, “I remember noticing her immediately.”
Her fingers tightened around her cup.
“Alexander,” she said quietly, warning threaded beneath the syllables.
But he did not look away.
“There was admiration,” he finished. “Immediate admiration.”
Her pulse betrayed her with a sharp, humiliating leap. And beneath the table, his knee pressed just slightly firmer against hers and she was thankful for the chair she was sitting on, or else she would have stumbled.
Lady Salford’s keen eyes moved between them, sharp as a hawk assessing prey.
“And how long,” she asked briskly, adjusting the lace at her cuff, “did it take you to decide she was to be your Duchess, Alexander? A Rosewood does not dither when selecting his wife.”
Diana felt the question like a hand at her back, pushing her toward the edge of a precipice.
“Three weeks,” Diana answered, her voice tight, a split-second too fast.
“Three days,” Alexander countered at the exact same moment.
Lady Salford clasped her hands together, her eyes dancing with delight. “How decisive! A husband and wife in such spirited disagreement! It shows there is still fire in the hearth!”
Diana nearly choked on her tea, the swallow burning her throat.
Alexander’s knee pressed harder against hers, his muscled thigh rubbing against hers with a slow, rhythmic pressure that felt like an ultimatum.
Her spine snapped straight. She shifted subtly, trying to find an inch of neutral ground, but he followed her instantly. There was no escape.
