“You’re quiet,” Hazel said gently. “You’ve not been yourself.”
Evelyn sighed, allowing them to lead her toward the refreshment table where glasses of punch and wine glistened under candlelight. “I’m sorry. I’m just… preoccupied.”
Cordelia narrowed her eyes, half-serious. “Does this preoccupation wear breeches and a haunted expression?”
Evelyn almost smiled, but it flickered too quickly. “No. Well… yes. But not in the way you think.”
They fell quiet for a moment, giving her space.
At last, Evelyn turned to them, her voice low and solemn. “There’s something I need to speak to my husband about. I can’t tell you yet, not until I understand what’s truly going on. But once I do, I promise, I’ll tell you everything.”
Cordelia and Hazel didn’t press. They simply nodded, their hands brushing hers, in a small act of loyalty and understanding between best friends.
And still, the night stretched ahead, painfully slow. The laughter around her felt like a distant thing. Evelyn moved through the rest of the gathering as if underwater. She was smiling, nodding, enduring, but her thoughts spun in a dizzying loop: her sister, the bruises, Robert’s words.
She needed answers, and there was only one man who might provide them for her. That was why she didn’t wait to be invited into the Duke’s chambers that evening, after all the guests had retired. She found herself standing before the heavy oak door for a full ten seconds with her hand hovering just above it. She couldn’t stop trembling.
Just knock,she urged herself, but that was easier said than done as her nerves sparked like firecrackers beneath her skin.
Then, she finally knocked. Just once, but firmly.
The door opened almost instantly, and her breath left her body in a startled whoosh. Robert stood before her barefoot, his dark hair slightly damp, tousled as if he had run a hand through it too many times. His shirt was nowhere to be seen, leaving his chest bare to the warm candlelight as the lean strength of him was thrown into sharp relief by the flickering glow.
Evelyn’s mouth went dry. Her thoughts disbanded like startled birds. She forgot entirely why she had come.
“I… ” she began then shook herself. “Could you… put on a shirt?”
He blinked then grinned. “Why?”
Her eyes widened as her hands gestured at him. “Because I can’t speak to you like that.”
He leaned against the doorframe, so at ease it nearly drove her mad. “Is my lack of clothing distracting you from what I am saying?”
She stiffened, her face heating painfully. “Your arrogance is staggering.”
And then, to her horror, he laughed, utterly freely and deeply. Not a smug chuckle or a practiced smirk but something genuine and boyish and infuriatingly handsome. Dimples carved into hischeeks as if they had been waiting for this precise moment to appear.
Evelyn turned her face slightly, struggling to keep her expression neutral.Not the time. Not the place.
“I am quite serious,” she huffed.
“So am I,” he said, still grinning. Then, he stepped to the side. “Do you plan on lingering in the doorway all night, or would you like to come inside and tell me why you are here.” He obviously couldn’t resisting adding, playfully, “I promise not to bite, Duchess.”
The nickname shouldn’t have made her stomach flip, but it did.
She entered the room cautiously, her eyes trained firmly on the floor, as though it might leap up and bite her should she glance anywhere else. Behind her, she heard the soft click of the door closing.
“I assume this is not a social call,” he said casually.
That vile, infuriating man.
“No. It isn’t,” she replied tightly.
Evelyn’s eyes narrowed the moment she noticed. Robert had slipped into a pale linen shirt, a gesture that might’ve seemedcourteous had he not deliberately left it hanging open, revealing the smooth expanse of his chest, bronzed and dusted lightly with dark hair. The fabric hung loose over his frame, clinging slightly from the warmth of the fire, highlighting muscles he was clearly all too aware of.
And he was watching her.
Her breath hitched.
