ADRIAN FOUND HIS GAZE wandering to the woman seated beside him. Evelina looked exquisite that evening. The soft light caught the gentle curve of her cheek and the delicate line of her throat. He had to admit, though he'd never been a man easily swayed by appearances, she looked breathtaking.
His eyes lingered a moment too long on her lips—rosy, full, trembling slightly under his attention. When he'd complimented her earlier, she had looked at him as though he had spoken in an unfamiliar tongue. He supposed he couldn't blame her. Kind words had never been his habit, especially not toward her. But something in these past few weeks had shifted—quietly, almost imperceptibly, like spring seeping into a long winter.
Perhaps it was her gentleness, or perhaps the steadiness in her eyes that seemed to see him more than others did. Either way, he could not deny the slow warmth growing inside him—a warmth he neither expected nor fully understood.
Still, he would not let it show.
"Did you enjoy the ball?" he asked, breaking the silence that stretched between them.
She turned her head away, clutching the coat he had draped over her shoulders, as though seeking comfort in its weight. The sight stirred something tender in him.
"Yes," she murmured. "I did."
He almost smiled—but he knew she lied. He could read it in the way her voice caught, the slight tension in her shoulders.
"Why don't you want to be sincere with me?" he asked quietly.
Her brows drew together; surprise flickered in her expression. Even he was startled by his own question. Since when had he cared so deeply for her honesty? He almost sounded like a man possessed—by tenderness, no less.
"I… I don't mean to be insincere," she managed, her tone soft, uncertain.
He said nothing—only watched her, his gaze steady and unreadable.
After a pause, she exhaled softly and confessed, "I've never really been fond of balls and celebrations."
Adrian's lips curved faintly. At last—honesty. He understood her more than she knew. "Nor have I," he said. "But duty requires attendance, whether one enjoys it or not."
Her head turned toward him, her eyes wide in faint surprise. "Truly?"
He nodded. "I would much rather remain at home with a good book—or silence—than stand among shallow laughter and flatterers."
She smiled then—small, fleeting, yet sincere. The sight of it stirred him again in that unfamiliar, disarming way.
After a moment, her voice came again, quiet but certain. "Then what do you like, Your Grace?"
The question caught him off guard. He blinked, studying her as though she had spoken something remarkable. What did he like? He realized, with a pang of strange discomfort, that he did not know.
"No one has ever asked me that," he said softly, almost to himself.
Her gaze met his—steady, thoughtful. "Then perhaps you should think on it," she replied gently. "Do what you like because it pleases you, not merely because duty demands it."
He tilted his head slightly, regarding her with quiet marvel. "And how, pray, shall a duke live so freely?"
"You'll find a way," she said, smiling faintly, her eyes glimmering with mischief.
He found himself smiling in return—genuine, unguarded. How strange, he thought, that such a simple conversation could unsettle him more than any political meeting or battle of wits.
After a short pause, he murmured, "You surprised me today."
Her eyes widened slightly. "I did?"
"You did." He left it at that, unwilling—or perhaps unable—to say more. Rising from his seat, he said quietly, "We should head back. You must be tired."
She hesitated a moment, as though still puzzling over his words, before nodding. "Very well."
He extended a hand, and she placed hers in it. Her fingers were warm, delicate. He helped her to her feet, and together they walked back toward the ballroom. The murmur of conversation swelled as they reentered—a sea of nobles in silk and jewels, champagne glasses glinting under chandeliers.
As he led her through the throng, a familiar voice cut through the hum of the crowd.
"Adrian!"
He turned sharply. His heart gave a startled jolt. The man approaching looked as though he'd stepped out of another time—a friend from years past. Tall, broad-shouldered, his golden hair neatly slicked back, a lovely woman on his arm in emerald satin.
Adrian blinked. "Jeffrey?"
The man's smile widened. "It is you. I thought my eyes deceived me!"
Adrian's shock softened into fond disbelief. "By heaven, it's been an age. I scarcely recognized you."
Jeffrey clasped his hand in warm greeting, though Adrian kept Evelina's hand firmly in his other.
"I did not expect to find you here," Adrian said.
"My wife insisted," Jeffrey replied with a light laugh. "She adores such gatherings."
His gaze shifted, inevitably, to Evelina. "And this must be Lady Evelina Harcourt?"
Adrian nodded, unexpectedly proud. "Indeed. My wife."
Jeffrey's wife, a woman of graceful bearing and soft brown hair pinned into a bun, curtsied lightly. "Your Grace, forgive my interruption, but… did you say Lady Evelina Harcourt?"
Adrian turned toward her, puzzled. "Yes," he said, his tone polite but firm.
The woman hesitated, her expression troubled. Her eyes lingered on Evelina a moment longer before she looked away, as though doubting her own perception.
Adrian inclined his head, his expression polite yet cool. He could feel Evelina tense beside him, and the faint tremor in her hand did not escape his notice. He pressed his thumb lightly against her knuckles, a silent reassurance—though he could not explain to himself why he felt compelled to steady her.
Jeffrey, seemingly unaware of the brief tension, gave a hearty laugh. "You have not changed, Adrian. Still drawing attention wherever you go."
Adrian allowed a faint smile. "I doubt it's me they notice," he said, glancing briefly at the woman beside him. "My wife tends to draw more eyes than I do."
Jeffrey chuckled warmly. "A fair statement, and one I can't dispute. My own wife insists she's long grown tired of my presence at such events, yet here we are again."
The women exchanged polite smiles, though Adrian could sense Evelina's discomfort. Her hand still rested in his, cold and trembling. He gave it a subtle squeeze, masking the gesture as one of casual familiarity.
"It's good to see you again, old friend," Adrian said. "I confess I had no notion you'd returned from the countryside."
Jeffrey nodded. "Only recently. I've taken up some small matters for the Crown again—nothing of importance, I assure you."
Adrian arched a brow. "Knowing you, Jeffrey, I doubt the Crown would ever trust you with 'nothing of importance.'"
Jeffrey's grin widened. "Perhaps not. But after years of farm life, a few formal duties make me feel alive again."
Adrian chuckled under his breath. "And you look it. Marriage seems to have treated you well."
"It has its… moments," Jeffrey replied with a playful glance at his wife, who swatted lightly at his arm. "But enough about me. Tell me, how fares married life for you, Your Grace? I remember a time when you swore you'd never be tied down."
Adrian hesitated for a fraction, his gaze flickering toward Evelina. Her eyes were downcast, her expression unreadable. Something in him softened, unexpectedly. "Life has a peculiar way of making liars of us all," he said quietly.
Jeffrey laughed. "True enough."
A brief silence settled between them—a comfortable one, marked only by the soft murmur of music and conversation around them. The orchestra played a slow, wistful tune, and candlelight shimmered across the glass chandeliers.
Adrian looked toward the clock above the gilded archway. The hour had grown late, and the gentle slope of Evelina's shoulders told him she was weary. Her posture had wilted slightly, and though she said nothing, he could feel her unease as keenly as his own breath.
"I think it's time we take our leave," he said at last, turning to Jeffrey. "The hour grows late, and I should see my wife home."
Jeffrey nodded with understanding. "Of course. These gatherings stretch on dreadfully. I'll not keep you longer."
"It was good to see you again, Jeffrey," Adrian said, extending his free hand.
"And you, my friend." Jeffrey clasped it warmly. "Do not let another decade pass before our next meeting."
"I'll make certain of it," Adrian replied with a faint smile.
Jeffrey inclined his head to Evelina. "It was a pleasure, Your Grace."
Evelina managed a small, polite curtsy. "Likewise," she said, her voice soft, almost distant.
Adrian guided her gently away then, his hand steady on hers as they wove through the crowd once more. He felt her silence beside him, heavy but fragile—like something that might shatter if touched.
As they stepped out into the cool night air, Adrian glanced down at her, the faint glow of the carriage lamps casting gold across her pale face. Whatever unease had stirred within her at that encounter lingered still.