Evelyn straightened with slow, deliberate grace, smoothing the parchment in her hands as though it were of little consequence. Though her heart pounded within her breast, she schooled herself to stillness, tilting her chin but a fraction—a subtle act of defiance, or perchance an invitation for him to speak first.
Nathaniel stood in the doorway, his countenance inscrutable, yet she did not fail to perceive the keen glint in his gaze. The door clicked shut behind him as he advanced, each measured step betraying neither haste nor ire. No, there was only quiet calculation—the careful patience of a hunter weighing the distance to his quarry.
Evelyn considered her words with care. Falsehood would be of no avail; he had caught her in the act. Yet there was power in ambiguity, in the delicate art of revealing just enough to make him wonder how much she truly knew.
So she smiled—slow, deliberate.
"Should I be?" she countered, her voice light, touched with the faintest trace of amusement. "Surely a wife is entitled to know what so troubles her husband?"
Nathaniel's gaze flickered to the letter in her grasp before returning to her face. He did not speak, yet the air between them grew taut, charged with unspoken meaning.
Evelyn took a measured step forward, letting the parchment slip from her fingers onto the polished surface of his desk. "You were tense when you read that letter this morning. Then you locked yourself away," She tilted her head, watching him with careful scrutiny. "Am I to believe it is merely business?"
His jaw tensed—so slight a movement, yet enough for her to notice. A fleeting crack in his carefully wrought façade.
"Curiosity is a perilous habit, Duchess," he murmured at last, reaching towards the letter. His fingers brushed her fingers, so near that she could feel the warmth of him, the subtle command of his presence. "Especially when it leads one to places they ought not to tread."
Evelyn did not yield.
"Perhaps," she conceded, watching as he folded the letter with exasperating patience. "But I find secrecy far more treacherous. Would you not agree, Your Grace?"
A silence stretched between them, weighted with meaning.
At last, he exhaled—a quiet sound, almost amused, though true mirth did not touch his expression.
"You are relentless," Nathaniel mused, slipping the letter into his coat. His gaze lingered upon her, something unreadable flickering in its depths. "Eleanor, you were never inept at prying where you should not."
A chill traced the length of Evelyn's spine, so faint it might have been imagined, yet she did not mistake the quiet menace in Nathaniel's tone. His words were soft, almost indulgent, but there was an edge beneath them—a knife concealed in silk.
She willed herself not to react, not to let the flicker of unease betray her, yet her fingers curled slightly at her sides. He was watching her too closely, his gaze lingering with a weight she did not care to name.
"You give me too much credit, husband," she murmured, forcing a wry smile. "Surely I am not so skilled a deceiver?"
Nathaniel tilted his head, studying her with a quiet patience that unsettled her more than any outburst could have. The tension in the room had shifted, imperceptibly yet undeniably. A hunter no longer appraising his prey but indulging in a game whose outcome he already knew.
"No," he agreed after a beat, the ghost of a smile touching his lips. "Not quite."
Evelyn swallowed. It was a small thing, the movement barely perceptible, yet she saw the flicker in his eyes, the way his fingers tightened ever so slightly around the folded letter. He had noticed.
He always noticed.
Nathaniel took a step closer, slow, deliberate. Not enough to touch her, not yet, but enough that the air between them grew thick with something she could not name. "And yet," he mused, "you are not nearly so clumsy as you pretend to be. That, I think, is what makes you so dangerous."
Evelyn's breath caught—just for a moment. But a moment was all it took.
His expression did not change, yet she felt his satisfaction as though he had spoken it aloud.
"Strange, is it not?" Nathaniel continued, reaching up to idly adjust his cuff, his voice light, conversational. "That you should find yourself in such a precarious position, when once you were so adept at slipping through the cracks unseen."
He was playing with her now, and Evelyn knew it. The temptation to retreat, to shrink beneath the weight of his gaze, was overwhelming. But she could not—would not.
Instead, she drew herself up, though the effort cost her. "I see you are determined to paint me a schemer," she said, willing her voice to remain steady. "But tell me, husband, if I am so dangerous, why do you not put an end to my trespasses?"
Nathaniel's smile was slow, deliberate. Amused.
"Oh, my dear," he murmured, leaning just close enough that she could feel the whisper of his breath against her skin. "Where would be the sport in that?"
Evelyn stiffened, her breath catching in her throat. The room felt suddenly smaller, the space between them vanishing, though he had not moved an inch.
Nathaniel's words were spoken lightly, almost idly, yet they coiled around her like a vice. "Eleanor was so good at snooping around she fooled me many times."
There was no mistaking the weight of that statement. A warning. A test. And beneath it all, something far more dangerous—a reminder that he was not deceived.
Her pulse thrummed painfully against her ribs, but she forced herself to hold his gaze, to keep the mask from slipping. "Then I must admit I am envious," she replied, striving for ease, though her voice was quieter than before. "It seems I have much to learn."
Nathaniel's smile did not waver, yet there was something in his expression that sent a slow dread unfurling in her chest.
"Indeed," he murmured, lifting a hand as though to brush a stray lock from her face—only to let it hover, just close enough for her to feel the phantom warmth of his fingers. "But tell me, my dear… are you so certain you wish to?"
Evelyn hesitated.
And Nathaniel saw it.
She knew because his eyes darkened—just a fraction, just enough for her to understand that she had given him exactly what he wanted.
Evelyn inhaled slowly, steadying herself before offering the slightest tilt of her head. "I shall retire to my chambers now, my lord," she murmured, her voice carefully measured, betraying none of the unease curling within her. She lowered herself into a graceful bow, then turned toward the door, forcing her steps to remain unhurried, unshaken.
Nathaniel watched her go, his gaze following the sweep of her skirts as she crossed the room. He made no move to stop her, nor did he call after her. And yet, as her fingers brushed the brass handle of the door, his voice cut through the stillness like the sharp edge of a blade.
"I shall come visit you soon, Eleanor," he said smoothly, his tone deceptively light. "Do wait for me. I merely have some matters to attend to first."
Evelyn's breath faltered.
For the briefest of moments, her body betrayed her—her spine stiffening, her fingers tightening ever so slightly against the doorknob. It was but a flicker, gone as quickly as it had come. Yet she knew—he had seen it.
She lowered her lashes, willing herself into submission. "Yes, my lord," she answered, her voice even.
And then, without another word, she stepped through the door, closing it softly behind her.
Nathaniel remained still, listening as her footsteps receded down the dimly lit corridor. A slow, knowing smile curled at the corner of his lips as he leaned back against his desk, fingertips pressing lightly against the parchment still tucked in his grasp.
Why was she looking for this letter?
A spy?
No—she had not the sharpness, not the cunning. Even now, she struggled to wear Eleanor's face, her skin ill-fitted to the role she played.
And yet…
Nathaniel exhaled a quiet laugh, low and thoughtful.
"She stumbles," he murmured to himself, gaze drifting toward the door where she had vanished. "And yet, she does not fall."
He would visit her soon, indeed.
And he would enjoy seeing how much longer she could keep pretending.
Evelyn did not allow herself to breathe until she was well beyond the study doors, her steps measured, her posture impeccable. Only when she reached the dimly lit corridor did she permit the tension in her shoulders to ease—just barely.
The weight of Nathaniel's words clung to her like a second skin.
Eleanor.
She had known, of course, that he would see through her. She had prepared for it, had steeled herself for the moment his gaze would strip her bare. And yet… he is testing me.
The thought unsettled her more than she cared to admit.
A flickering candelabra cast long, wavering shadows against the dark wooden walls as she ascended the staircase. The house was quiet, save for the occasional creak of the floorboards beneath her feet. Servants had long since retired for the evening. Only the dim glow of candlelight and the whisper of her own breath accompanied her to her chambers.
As she reached her door, Evelyn hesitated.
He will come tonight.