She swept past Clara without another word, her footsteps measured as she made her way through the grand halls of the manor. Every step echoed in the silence, the air thick with unspoken tension.
Then, at the entrance of the foyer, she saw him.
Lord Nathaniel stood near the towering windows, the morning light casting sharp angles across his face. He was dressed impeccably as always—dark, tailored coat, high collar, gloves removed and held carelessly in one hand. He exuded the effortless authority that had always made him an enigma.
At the sound of her approach, he turned. Their eyes met.
For a fraction of a second, Evelyn searched his gaze. Was there suspicion there? Or merely the same restrained coolness he always carried?
"My lord," she greeted smoothly, inclining her head.
Nathaniel studied her, his lips pressing into a faint line. "You are done with your meeting with your steward , right?"
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Evelyn tilted her head slightly, her expression betraying nothing. "Of course," she answered smoothly. "We discussed matters of the estate. Nothing that should concern you."
Nathaniel held her gaze for a beat longer than necessary, as if searching for something unspoken. Then, with the barest nod, he extended his arm to her. "Walk with me."
Evelyn hesitated for only a fraction of a second before placing her hand lightly against his arm. His touch was warm through the fine fabric of his coat, but there was a distance between them that neither acknowledged.
They moved through the grand hallway, past tall windows that cast long streaks of sunlight on the marble floor. The silence between them stretched, weighted with things neither dared to say.
At last, Nathaniel broke it. "I received word from the capital this morning."
Evelyn glanced at him. "Good news, I hope?"
His lips twitched, though it was not quite a smile. "That depends on your definition of 'good.' The Duke of Ashford has extended an invitation for us to attend his gathering next week. It seems our presence is expected."
The Duke of Ashford. A powerful man. A dangerous one.
Evelyn's fingers tightened slightly on Nathaniel's arm before she forced herself to relax. "And do you intend to accept?"
Nathaniel exhaled slowly. "We must. It would be a mistake to refuse."
Evelyn turned her gaze forward, schooling her features into careful neutrality. "Then we shall attend."
Nathaniel's eyes flickered toward her, measuring. "You seem unsurprised."
She allowed herself the ghost of a smile. "Should I be? Invitations from men like the Duke of Ashford are never mere courtesies. They are summons."
The name carried weight, and not merely in title alone. Duke Alexander Ashford. A man whose reputation preceded him, whispered about in drawing rooms and debated behind closed doors. Sir Bastian had once spoken of him in passing, voice laced with something between admiration and wariness. "The Duke is not a man to be taken lightly, my lady. His power does not lie solely in his land or wealth, but in the quiet way he moves the pieces around him. Few realize they are playing his game until they have already lost."
Her expression did not falter as Nathaniel's fingers flexed against the gloves he still held. "You understand the weight of this gathering, then."
"I would be a fool not to."
Nathaniel studied her for a long moment before inclining his head. "Good. We leave in three days."
The unspoken warning in his words settled between them like a blade balanced on the edge of a table—precarious, waiting. Whatever awaited them at the Duke's gathering was not a simple social call. It was a test, and failure was not an option.
They continued walking in silence, their steps a measured rhythm against the polished marble. The tension between them was a careful thing, stretched taut yet unbroken. But Evelyn could feel it—the weight of his scrutiny, the unspoken questions that hovered just beyond reach.
She would not give him a reason to ask them aloud.
She let out a quiet breath, tilting her head as if in idle conversation. "I assume the usual games will be played at this gathering?"
Nathaniel huffed a dry laugh, though his expression did not lighten. "You assume correctly."
Her smile was faint. "Then I shall prepare accordingly."
Silence stretched once more before Nathaniel spoke again, his voice quieter this time. "Are you well, Eleanor?"
The question was a knife slipped between her ribs.
She turned her head slightly, meeting his gaze with practiced ease. "Of course, my lord. Why do you ask?"
Nathaniel's eyes lingered on her, searching for something unseen. "No reason," he said at last, though she did not believe him. "You simply seem... different. Eleanor, you would never want to attend gatherings willingly."
Evelyn's eyes widened slightly, but she held his gaze. "Time and situation change people," she murmured, tilting her head. "Even those who believe they are beyond change. I am the Duchess now, so I must attend."
For a moment, something flickered in his expression—too fleeting to name. It is annoying how she easily counters my attacks... let's see how long she can keep this up.
Nathaniel smiled and nodded. "True."
And they continued walking.
From the window, Bastian watched them in silence, his gaze unreadable. Evelyn, you had better play your role well. It would serve us both.
They arrived at the carriage in silence, the weight of unspoken words lingering between them. Nathaniel extended a hand, his grip firm yet impersonal as he helped Evelyn inside.
The door shut with a quiet click. The carriage lurched forward, wheels crunching over gravel as they departed Whitmore Estate.
Evelyn kept her gaze fixed on the passing scenery, though she could feel Nathaniel's presence beside her.
The air between them remained thick, charged with something neither had addressed, something that stretched taut between them like an unspoken challenge.
Outside, the city blurred past, but inside the carriage, time seemed to slow.
By the time they arrived at Everthorne Manor, the silence between them had thickened into something almost tangible.
Evelyn kept her expression smooth as they walked side by side, their measured steps echoing faintly against the polished marble floors. The grand halls stretched before them, but it was the weight of Nathaniel's occasional glances—searching, assessing—that held her attention.
He does not trust me.
And yet, he played the same game she did—circling, waiting, testing.
As they neared the grand staircase, Nathaniel finally broke the silence. "We depart at first light in three days. I expect you to be ready."
Evelyn inclined her head, her voice poised. "Of course, my lord."
Nathaniel's lips twitched—whether in amusement or irritation, she couldn't tell. "You are terribly obedient today," he mused. "I almost prefer you when you have claws."
She turned slightly, allowing herself a ghost of a smile. "And I thought you preferred a dutiful wife."
Nathaniel let out a quiet chuckle, though his gaze remained sharp. "A wife who does not bore me, perhaps."
She kept her pace steady, her fingers resting lightly on his arm, careful not to betray anything beneath her calm exterior.
At the foot of the staircase, Nathaniel released her, stepping away as if dismissing her. Evelyn turned to leave—but before she could take a step, his voice stopped her.
"Eleanor."
She turned back, her pulse steady despite the way her name—her stolen name—rolled from his tongue.
Nathaniel studied her, his expression unreadable, though something flickered beneath the surface. A thought. A decision.
Then—
"I will visit your chambers tonight."
The words landed softly, laced with quiet finality.
And then, before she could react, he stepped closer.
Evelyn's breath caught as his fingers brushed against her temple, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. The touch was light, deliberate—far too intimate. His thumb barely skimmed her cheek before retreating, but the heat of it lingered.
His fingers stayed a moment too long, the warmth of his touch burning against her skin.
"You're quiet," he murmured, voice low, intimate. "Does my visit trouble you?"
Evelyn lifted her chin, her lips curving into the barest of smiles. "Should it?"
Nathaniel's thumb ghosted along the edge of her jaw, the touch so featherlight it sent a shiver down her spine. His eyes—dark, knowing—searched her face as if looking for something unspoken.
"You tell me," he said smoothly.
Evelyn met his gaze, unyielding. "You are my husband, my lord. You may visit me whenever you wish."
A flicker of something passed through Nathaniel's eyes—amusement, interest, something sharper lurking beneath.
"Is that an invitation?"
Evelyn inhaled slowly, willing her voice to remain steady. "It is acceptance."
Nathaniel chuckled, low and quiet. "Good."
Then, just as she thought he would step back, he leaned in. His lips barely brushed the shell of her ear, his breath warm against her skin.
"I do wonder," he mused, his voice a silken threat, "how well you will play your role tonight."
Evelyn forced herself to remain still, to let the words settle between them without betraying the way her pulse hammered against her ribs.
Another test. Another trap.
She tilted her head slightly, just enough that her lips nearly grazed his jaw—bold, but not enough to close the distance entirely.
"Then you shall see, my lord."
Nathaniel stilled for a fraction of a second, caught between expectation and intrigue. Then, with a quiet hum of amusement, he straightened.
"Indeed, I shall."
He stepped away, the warmth of him vanishing as swiftly as it had come. Without another word, he turned and strode down the hall, his coat sweeping behind him like a shadow.
Evelyn let out a slow, measured breath, unclenching her fingers from the fabric of her gown.
How do I convince him completely… so he stops this?