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Frederick inclined his head slightly, accepting her words without comment. The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken thoughts.

Gemma took a deep breath, determined to take another step forward.

“There is something else I need to tell you,” she said, her voice quieter now. “The name I gave you—Miss Gemma Bradford—that was not entirely true.”

Frederick’s gaze sharpened. “Oh?”

“My father was an earl,” she explained quickly. “But I have not used my title in years. I have been away from society for so long that it feels foreign to me now.” She hesitated, then added, “I did not want you to think I was trying to deceive you.”

Frederick remained silent for a moment, considering her words. Finally, he nodded.

“If that is the case, then I must address you as Lady Gemma,” he said.

Gemma shook her head, “No. That is not needed. As I said, it feels foreign to me. Please continue to call me Miss Bradford, Your Grace.”

“Noted,” he said, though his expression remained inscrutable.

Gemma shifted her weight as the awkwardness of the moment settled over her. She glanced around the room, her eyes landing on the plate of food sitting on a side table. He had not touched his breakfast.

“You prefer to take your breakfast here?” she asked, more out of curiosity than anything else.

Frederick’s eyes flicked to the plate before returning to her.

“I do,” he said simply.

“Why not in the breakfast hall?” Gemma pressed, her curiosity getting the better of her. “My father always took breakfast in the breakfast hall, with the family. Is that not what most people do?”

Frederick’s mouth tightened slightly. “I am not most people,” he replied, his tone clipped.

Gemma could sense his irritation growing, but something in her wouldn’t let her drop the subject.

“Do you prefer avoiding your guests?” she asked, her voice light but her question pointed. “Or do you just dislike the formality?”

Frederick’s eyes darkened, and for a moment she thought she’d overstepped. He leaned forward, and rested his elbows on the desk.

“I dislike distractions,” he said evenly. “And breakfast with guests is often just that—a distraction.”

Gemma raised an eyebrow, feeling a small smile tug at her lips. “A distraction from what, exactly?”

Frederick’s gaze locked onto hers, and the intensity of his stare made her pulse quicken.

“From work,” he said softly. “From what matters.”

Gemma felt a strange flutter in her chest at his words. There was something about the way he spoke—so controlled, so focused—that made her wonder what truly lay beneath that cold exterior. She was curious, more than she cared to admit, about the man sitting in front of her.

“And what is it that matters to you, Your Grace?” she asked, her voice dropping to match his quiet tone.

Frederick leaned back in his chair, his fingers loosely intertwined as he observed Gemma standing in his study, her posture resolute, but he could see the fearlessness that shimmered in her eyes.

Her curiosity had caught him off guard, but instead of becoming irritated he found himself intrigued by her nerve.

“Distractions do not matter to me,” he mused, letting the words slowly roll off his tongue. “I prefer the peace and quiet of my study. Especially when compared to the tedious conversations that often accompany breakfast in the dining hall.”

His voice was dry, but there was a subtle glimmer in his eyes.

Gemma raised an eyebrow, her lips curving slightly as she replied, “Tedious conversations, you say? You mean you do not enjoy hearing about the weather or who married whom?”

Frederick’s mouth twitched into a half-smile. “I find it difficult to muster enthusiasm for idle gossip. Small talk has always been a tiresome endeavor, especially when it is usually only intended to curry favor or flatter me.”