He said the words with a casual smirk, completely opposing the weight of what they implied. Isadora felt a strange pang in her chest.
Her own upbringing had not been the easiest, having lost her mother so young, but it was one that was orderly and in some ways—comforting. She’d had her differences with her father, but survival had always been a constant.
There had been no need to fight for it. For a brief moment, the reality of their differences settled between them.
And she did not know what to do with it.
“Well,” she said, not wanting to intrude too much—even though she burned with curiosity about the things that she did not yet know, “perhaps you should try reading something different. A gentleman should be well-versed in the classics.”
“Classics,” Evan chuckled. “Ah, yes. Shall I start with poetry? Shall I sit by the fire and recite Shakespeare for you, sweetheart?”
“Must you call me that?” Isadora replied, flushed. She realized that despite her protests, a part of her liked it when he called her that. “And I never said anything about reciting poetry to me?—”
“I will call you what I want. Besides, wouldn’t you like it if I read poetry to you? I am quite the orator, you will find,” he interrupted, teasingly.
A blush covered her cheeks. “That—that’s beside the point.” Isadora pursed her lips. “What I meant to say was that you would do well to learn a thing or two about refinement.”
Evan leaned closer, his gaze suddenly more intense than it had been all evening.
“I suspect, sweetheart,” he murmured, “that you would not enjoy me half as much if I were refined.”
Heat crept up her neck again, traitorously. Suddenly, it was as though her mind had gone completely blank. She could not think of a proper retort—not when he was looking at her like that, not when the room suddenly felt far too small for the two of them to fit.
Evan continued to watch her closely, his smirk deepening just slightly, as if he had noticed. Isadora forced herself to take a slow breath, smoothing the napkin in her lap.
“I believe we have covered enough for tonight,” she said coolly, pushing her chair back.
Evan sat back, his smirk still firmly in place.
“Already?” he mused. “I was just beginning to enjoy myself.”
Isadora shot him a glare, rising to her feet.
“If you are truly so eager to learn, Your Grace, then perhaps tomorrow we shall discuss the art of proper greetings.”
Evan let out a low chuckle, watching as she turned to leave.
“Sweetheart,” he called after her.
She paused at the doorway but did not turn around.
“Good night then. Don’t forget to dream of me.”
Isadora clenched her fists, refusing to react, and walked out of the room with all the dignity she could muster.
As she left, she could hear Evan chuckling to himself.
CHAPTER 10
“The man isinfuriating,” Isadora huffed, nudging a stray pebble with the toe of her shoe.
She had gotten the opportunity to slip away from the estate and meet her sister at the nearby park.
It was a welcome opportunity—for she felt as though she was going to lose her mind trying to figure out Evan alone in that large estate which they both inhabited.
“He acts as though he is entirely incapable of following simple etiquette. He only listens when it amuses him, and even then, he does so with that smirk, as if he is merely indulging me rather than actually learning anything. And the way hemoves—” Isadora continued. She was rambling, of course, but she couldn’t help herself. Her patience had finally run thin, and it felt good to let out all of her pent-up emotions.
Penelope hummed beside her, her expression a mixture of amusement and curiosity. “The way he moves?”
