“It is.”
She could barely contain herself from jumping inside to see what it was.
He opened the door for her, and she stepped inside.
Warmth enfolded her at once, rich with the scent of damp earth, greenery, and faintly sweet blossoms from the climbing vines trained carefully along the far wall. The pool at the center reflected dozens of candles arranged around the room, their small flames turning the water into liquid gold and trembling light.
Near the pool, spread over the grass and tiled floor in a wide, elegant arrangement, was a supper laid out upon blankets and fine linen.
Diana stopped dead.
There was wine already breathing in a crystal decanter. Covered dishes giving off warm, delicious scents. Fresh fruit, delicate pastries, and the little sugared almonds she favored but rarely allowed herself. There were the lemony greens she liked with fish, the soft cheeses she always chose first when she thought no one was paying attention, and the tiny mushroom tarts Cook only made on special request because most of the household preferred heavier fare.
The sight of it struck her more forcibly than all the glitter and music of the ballroom had. Her chest tightened so suddenly she almost mistook it for pain.
He had done this for her. Not simply arranged a supper, butremembered. The almonds. The tarts. The greens she always chose first. And suddenly the earlier gifts returned to her mind—the necklace, the ribbons, the sapphire dress—each one another quiet proof that he had been paying attention.
Alexander had been watching her face. She knew it without looking, because she could feel the weight of his attention like fire on her skin.
When at last she did turn to him, she found him standing very still, his gaze fixed on her with something quieter than triumph and far more dangerous.
“You arranged all this?”
“Yes.”
The simplicity of the answer undid her more than some elaborate declaration might have. “Why?”
“Because you deserved more than a crowded ballroom and polite waltzes,” he looked almost startled by the question. “And because I wished to have you to myself for an hour without the entire ton observing how often I look at you.”
Diana forgot to breathe.
The honesty in his voice stripped the air between them of all gentler pretenses. She could think of nothing to say that would not reveal too much.
Alexander’s expression softened.
“You are touched,” he said quietly.
“I am,” she admitted, though even that seemed inadequate for what was moving inside her.
Something warm entered his eyes then, almost relief. “Good.”
She looked back at him, still struggling to understand how a man who remembered nothing of his life could make her feel so acutely seen.
Her gaze moved again over the spread. “You remembered all this.”
“You noticed.”
“I always notice.” He crossed to the blanket and held out his hand to her. “Come. Sit with me.”
She let him help her down, her skirts pooling around her over the thick blanket while the candlelight flickered over the silk of her gown and across his face. He poured her wine first, then his own, and handed her the glass.
For a little while, they simply ate.
The dishes were exquisite, exactly as she had expected they would be, though every familiar flavor seemed sharpened by the intimacy of the setting. The wine was rich and smooth. There was only candlelight, soft grass, warm water, and Alexander across from her with his coat discarded to one side, his posture relaxed in a way she had once believed impossible in him.
They began, almost inevitably, with the evening itself.
“You were too adequate tonight,” Diana said at last, setting down her glass and giving him a look meant to be severe but which she suspected lacked conviction. “I hope you know that.”
