Diana’s eyes shining with unshed tears in the dark, and her hand turning beneath his until she held him back. Something in his chest eased by the smallest degree.
Even in the wake of his forgotten memories, the thought of her remained the only thing that did not feel uncertain. He knew what she did to him. Knew what it was to want to protect her, comfort her, keep her safe from every cruelty the world had shown her and every cruelty he himself had once added to her life by walking away.
And knew, with growing unease, that he was already far in too deep to pretend otherwise.
CHAPTER 21
“You haven’t said a single improper thing all evening. I’m beginning to think you’re ill,” Diana murmured, her tone a playful lure meant to draw Alexander back to the ease they’d shared only yesterday.
Alexander didn’t bite. His posture remained rigid amidst the swirl of the ballroom. “I wasn’t aware impropriety was expected.”
“From you? I’ve come to expect a great many things,” she teased, tilting her head to search his face for a flicker of heat. “Though you’re falling short tonight.”
He looked down at her, his green eyes guarded, stripped of their usual emerald fire. “And what, precisely, am I failing to provide?”
The teasing edge was gone, replaced by a distance that made her chest tighten.
“Conversation, for one,” she challenged, her voice dropping. “You’ve spoken ten words, and half were to people you weren’t even listening to.”
“I’ve been listening.”
“You’ve been hearing,” she corrected gently. “There’s a difference.”
A muscle flickered in his jaw, the only crack in his armor before he stilled again. Diana felt the resistance like a slammed door. “You aren’t yourself tonight.”
“I am precisely myself,” he said, the flat certainty of his voice chilling her.
“No,” she whispered. “You aren’t.”
The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating. Seeking to diffuse the tension, Diana stepped back. “I didn’t mean to interrogate you. If I’ve overstepped?—”
“You haven’t,” he interrupted, his voice stiff with control.
“Then forgive me for noticing. It’s difficult not to notice you, after all.”
A ghost of a smile touched his mouth, and Diana finally let herself breathe. The tension shifted as a realization struck her:He still doesn’t remember.Every smile, every greeting was a calculated performance. He was a stranger in his own life, drowning in expectations he couldn’t meet.
“I’ll find us some refreshment,” he said, his shoulders still set like granite.
“You don’t need to escape me for that,” she replied softly.
“I’m not escaping.”
“Of course not,” she murmured, her gaze lingering. “Do not take too long.”
He paused, his gaze turning intent, almost possessive. “I shall return.”
As his broad frame disappeared into the crowd, the unease beneath Diana’s ribs didn’t vanish—it deepened.
“Diana.”
The voice was a familiar anchor, but it grated against the raw state of her nerves. She turned, her features smoothing into a mask of polished composure before her eyes even met his.
Martin stood there, a glass of amber liquid in one hand, radiating a practiced, paternal concern that felt like a warm blanket she wasn’t sure she wanted.
“You look thoughtful,” he murmured, his gaze searching hers with an intensity that made her want to look away.
“That is a generous word for distracted,” she countered, her voice light but guarded. She adjusted the silk of her glove, a small, unnecessary movement to ground herself.
