But then?—
“I must say, Your Grace,” a smooth voice interjected from Isadora’s other side. “You’ve made quite an impression on society. I have heard nothing but praise for your poise and grace.”
Evan turned his head just in time to see the speaker—Lord Bellington, or perhaps Harringford—he hadn’t bothered committing the man’s name to memory—offering Isadora a charming smile.
Immediately, his own amusement vanished.
Isadora turned slightly to acknowledge the man. “That is kind of you to say.”
“It is only the truth,” the man continued, leaning just slightly toward her. “Most women in your position would struggle. But from what I can gauge from the conversation, you seem to belong in it as though you were born into the title.”
Evan’s grip on his fork tightened.Excuse me?That insipid, smear of a man was trying to flirt with his wife. The words themselves were perfectly polite, but Evan knew better. He knew how men operated.
And Evan was not going to stand for it.
So, before Isadora could say another word, Evan leaned in slightly—just enough that his presence was impossible to ignore.
“I must say, Lord… Bellington is it?” Evan asked deliberately, as though ensuring he hadn’t accidentally forgotten the man’s name—though not because it was particularly worth remembering. “You are correct in your observation.”
The man turned to him, brows lifting. “Oh?”
“Mywifehas adapted exceptionally well.” He made sure to emphasize the word. He turned his gaze to Isadora then, letting the heat in his expression speak for itself. “She has always been remarkable.”
A small gasp left her lips, barely audible but he heard it.Good.He wanted to be the only person to get a reaction from her.
“Indeed, Your Grace. You are a fortunate man.” Lord Bellington gave a short chuckle, clearly unaware of—or deliberately ignoring—the sudden shift in the conversation.
Evan wanted to bash his head against the table, but he composed himself.
Instead, he took a different strategy entirely.
Lord Bellington—or whoever the hell he was—had enjoyed too much of Isadora’s attention. Even if it was only for a few moments. He shifted slightly in his seat, turning toward his wife with the ease of a man who fully expected to be heard.
“Isadora,” he murmured smoothly, “would you care for some wine?”
She blinked, caught off guard. “Oh—” She glanced at her glass, “I?—”
“Of course, you would,” Evan decided for her, already signaling to a footman. He wasn’t actually concerned about whether she needed wine—only that she was looking at him again. Isadora gave him a bemused look but said nothing.
Bellington, however, took that moment to clear his throat. “Your Grace, well?—”
But Evan was not going to allow him the space to speak again. He cut him off.
“I was just telling Ambrose earlier,” Evan went on as if the pother man was not even present at the table, “that I could not have chosen a better duchess.”
He didn’t need to glance at Bellington to know he was now an afterthought. Isadora’s lips parted slightly.
“He was indeed telling me that,” Ambrose grinned. “And I have to say, I had my doubts before, but it’s clear to me now that this is a good match.”
Nicholas, who had been quiet for the entirety of the conversation, finally spoke. “I, for one, am glad to see Evan embracing married life. Who would have thought that the Duke of Giltburg had such a sentimental streak?”
“Well, it’s not as sentimental as it is logical,” Evan clarified. “Our match makes logical sense. And I am sure that everyone on this table would agree.”
What he really wished to convey was thatshe was hisandhis only, and no one else should even try to look in her direction.
“Logical, yes,” Ambrose drawled. “That must explain why you’ve spent the past ten minutes ensuring your wife is looking only at you.”
Evan rolled his eyes. “As she should.”
