He didn’t respond, but the corner of his mouth twitched. Barely. Evelyn saw it and hated that it sparked something like satisfaction in her chest. She’d danced with viscounts and barons, with marquesses and heirs. Not a single one had ever made her feel this furious.
Or thisalive.
Still, she wasn’t about to let him know that.
“You’ve still not introduced yourself,” she said archly, lifting her chin. “Or is that a custom among the terribly rich and terribly rude?”
He leaned in again, close enough for her breath to catch.
“No,” he replied. “But I find it more entertaining when a lady discovers my nameaftershe’s threatened me with blunt embroidery tools.”
Evelyn’s glare could have cracked crystal. The final notes of the waltz drifted into stillness, the last lingering chord ringing like a held breath through the ballroom. Evelyn stepped back, instinctively letting her hand fall from his though he retained her other at his elbow, leading her with practiced ease toward the edge of the floor.
She opened her mouth to demand his name at last, and this time, she was adamant not to let him deflect, but an interruption arrived in the form of her parents.
“Evelyn,” her mother breathed with concern, “darling, are you quite well? You look rather flushed.”
Her father squinted at the stranger beside her. “And who is this?”
Evelyn turned with her lips parting and her indignation ready to leap forth, but the man beside her spoke first. His words flowed as calmly and smoothly as a blade slipping through silk.
“I merely wished to become acquainted with my betrothed,” he said, “before the ceremony.”
Silence slammed into her like a falling chandelier.
Her spine straightened. “Your… pardon?”
Her mother clasped her hands with an expression of self-satisfied delight. “Aha! Sothisis the mysterious duke you told me about! Oh, I suspected it might be; what a marvelous surprise!”
The stranger—no, the Duke of Aberon—inclined his head, completely unbothered, as his gaze locked entirely on Evelyn. And now, everything made a sick, staggering sort of sense.
Her mother’s panic. The sudden end to her lectures. The disappearance of any mention of Lord Wimberly in the past two days. And that ridiculous visit to some distant relative’s estate which clearly had nothing to do with distant relatives at all.
Evelyn’s mouth was dry. This man was the one she had named in jest, in defiance. The one she claimed had ruined her.
He hadn’t said a word about it. In fact, he hadn’t even looked surprised.
She stepped back. “Excuse me. I need a moment… air.”
“Evelyn—” her mother began, but Evelyn was already moving, her slippers near silent across the marble.
She pushed open the balcony doors and slipped out into the cold night. The air hit her like water over a fire.
She gripped the stone railing, her knuckles white, trying to breathe around the storm swelling behind her ribs. Her corset felt tighter than ever. Of all the names. Of all the games she could have played. She had chosen a ghost, and now, the ghost was very much alive and staring at her like he’d already won.
Betrothed.
She bit down a scream, and that was when the door behind her opened. She didn’t need to turn around to know it was him. Hedidn’t speak at first. She imagined him just staring at her back, silent and waiting.
She turned slowly, glaring daggers. “You might have warned me.”
“You weren’t exactly interested in introductions,” he said coolly.
“You tricked me.”
“I escorted you through a waltz. You seemed to manage.”
She took a step forward, chin lifted. “I named you to get out of a marriage. It wasn’t real.”
