She rolled her eyes, but she took his arm, nonetheless.
“Fine then,” she huffed as she did. “I shall let you have your way this time.”
His eyes darkened at the words, but he composed himself. “Good. We need to take that stubbornness out of you. It does not suit a delicate lady like yourself.”
She pinched his arm slightly. “I think it suits me just fine.”
Evan was still chuckling as they stepped out into the carriage waiting to take them to the ball. On the entire way there, she did not look at him and instead opted to glance out the window. He did not mind much, though. It gave him the opportunity to stare at her without her irritating questions.
A mutually beneficial outcome for the both of them.
When they arrived, the venue was already filled with guests. They made their way out of the carriage, and Evan was just about to guide Isadora forward when a familiar voice cut through the air.
“You will regret this!”
Evan turned, his expression darkening as he caught sight of Lord Hartenshire standing just beyond the entrance. He looked rather drunk.
Several footmen stood barring the doors, their expressions neutral as they ignored his desperate demands to be let in.
Evan had known this was coming.
Hartenshire had been blacklisted from nearly every reputable event since the truth of his debts had come to light. The man had nothing left—neither his connections nor his fortune. And from the looks of it, no dignity either.
“Filthy bastards,” Harry spat, his voice loud enough for everyone to hear. “All of you, turning your backs the moment I fall. Cowards!”
The murmurs grew. Some guests turned away in discomfort while others watched with mild amusement.
Evan could have walked past—he was not interested in dealing with a ruined man’s tantrum—but that would have made his night too easy. Just as Evan guided Isadora further towards the entrance, Harry took notice of Evan.
“Is that Marwood?” he snarled, his eyes wild with rage.
“Ignore him,” Evan whispered to Isadora, who flinched beside him.
“I do not think he wishes to be ignored,” she frowned, holding onto his arm tighter. “Heavens, he is creating a scene.”
“Are you hiding from me, Marwood?” the Lord continued to taunt, his speech coming out slurred. “I know you are behind all of this.”
“I will handle it,” he assured Isadora and turned to face the disgraced lord slowly.
“Behind what, Hartenshire?” he asked, his voice amused. “Barring your entry from the ball? I’m afraid I had nothing todo with that. It was your own mistakes that put you in this situation.”
“You think yourself better than me, don’t you?” Harry flushed even darker, his fists clenching.
“I do not think, Hartenshire,” Evan said smoothly. “I know.”
Harry let out a furious growl, stepping forward as if he meant to do something—though what exactly, Evan could not say.
Throw a punch? Cause a scene?
It did not matter.
The footmen stepped in before Harry could take another step, blocking his path entirely.
“You should go,” one of them said in an even tone.
Harry let out a bitter laugh, his gaze flickering toward Isadora before he spat.
“And you—spoiled little creature—look at you now. I wonder, do you regret it yet?”
