“I had no wish to embarrass myself.”
“You charmed people.”
He lifted one brow. “Are you accusing me of charm now?”
“I am accusing you of being entirely too capable.”
A shadow of laughter passed across his face. “A grave offense.”
Diana smiled. She could not seem to help it in his presence now, and the realization struck her with a sweetness that was only half joy and half peril.
“I was proud of you,” she said before she could stop herself.
The words hung between them, and Alexander’s expression changed.
The lightness left it first, then something deeper moved in beneath, leaving him quieter, more intent. He set his glass aside and looked at her in a way that made her pulse begin to climb.
“You were?”
She nodded.
“I was proud of myself as well.” He held her gaze. “But not for mastering the ton.”
She frowned slightly. “Then for what?”
He reached out and took her hand. It sent a current of awareness up her arm and through her entire body. His thumb brushed slowly over her knuckles once before his fingers tightened just enough to hold.
“I was proud of myself,” he said at last, “for marrying you.”
The greenhouse seemed to go still around her.
Diana could only stare at him. It was the way he spoke, as though stating a fact.
“You cannot say such things,” she whispered, though her voice lacked all the firmness she intended.
“Why not?”
“Because—” She broke off, heat rising through her in a rush. “Because you do not even know what you are saying.”
He leaned a little closer. “I know exactly what I am saying.”
“No,” she said, though too softly, and the protest sounded weak even to her own ears.
His fingers tightened around hers.
“You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen,” he said. “The cleverest in any room without ever needing to prove it, and kinder than anyone has a right to be after all that has been done to you. If that is an exaggeration, then I am content to exaggerate for the rest of my life.”
Diana could not bear the force of what she felt. She tried to laugh, but the sound came out uneven. “You are being absurd.”
He lifted her hand slowly. Then, with a steadiness that made her heart pound painfully hard, he placed it against his chest.
For one shocked instant she did not move. Beneath her palm, his heart beat hard and fast against the fine linen of his shirt.
Diana looked at him, her lips parted.
“Feel that,” he said, his voice gone rougher now. “And tell me I am exaggerating.”
His heart was indeed racing, strong and urgent. Her own answered so violently that she was almost dizzy.
