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Something inside him went still, the kind of stillness that comes before a strike. Enough. He was done playing drawing room games.

“I am the Duke of Eyron,” Graham stated. The words falling into the room like stones into still water.

The silence that followed was instant and taut. Edgerton’s glass froze midway to his lips, and his eyes narrowed, disbelief warring with cold calculation.

“The Duke of Eyron has never returned to claim the title that was left to him over a year ago,” the Earl said slowly. “Forgive me, Doctor—or Your Grace, if I’m to take you at your word—but extraordinary claims do require substantiation.”

Graham dipped a hand into his inner coat pocket and withdrew a sealed envelope, thick cream stock marked with his solicitor’s handwriting. He placed it on the table between them with quiet precision.

“A letter from my solicitor confirming my identity, should you wish to verify it. You’ll find everything in order.”

Edgerton picked up the paper and examined the seal before breaking it to review the contents. His eyes widened as he read. “I do hope I have not offended you, but one doesn’t expect a peer of the realm to arrive without so much as a calling card, let alone an announcement.”

The change in Edgerton’s demeanor was marked and expected. Graham felt no triumph, no vindication—only the dull ache of confirmation. And now he must be the duke for the rest of his days.

“I prefer to practice my profession without the encumbrance of my title,” Graham said, though he knew that would no longer be a possibility. “I assure you, my resources are more than sufficient to provide for Lady Abigail’s comfort and standing.”

Edgerton set the letter aside and leaned forward. “I must say, this changes matters considerably.”

“It shouldn’t,” Graham countered. He forced his palm out of its clenched fist, pressing it flat to his thigh.A little longer.

Edgerton chuckled as if Graham had made a delightful joke. “She’s intelligent—though prone to reading too much. And her work at that charity house would naturally cease upon marriage.”

Something hardened in Graham’s chest. The dismissive way Edgerton spoke of Abigail’s intelligence, her choices, her work—as if these were flaws to be corrected rather than qualities to be valued.

“I have no desire to manage Lady Abigail’s interests or intellect.” Every syllable was measured, controlled.

If Edgerton heard the warning in Graham’s tone, he ignored it. “Naturally, naturally. I merely meant that as Duchess of Eyron, she would have different responsibilities.”

As if she were a possession to be molded rather than a woman with her own mind.

“I should like to speak with Lady Abigail directly,” he said, standing.

Edgerton waved a dismissive hand. “She’s upstairs resting and you know ladies loath being seen when not at their best. I shall speak with her. Make her understand the opportunity before her.”

“No.” Graham’s voice was sharp enough to startle the Earl. The single word carried the full weight of command. “I will speak with her myself. And I would prefer that she not be pressured until I do so.”

Edgerton blinked, then recovered with a practiced smile. “Of course, of course. But you’ll find she’s a sensible girl. She’ll see the logic in it.”

The logic of it.As if marriage were a business arrangement to be negotiated rather than a union of hearts and lives. Perhaps for many in their circle, it was precisely that—a contract, an alliance, a mutual accommodation. The thought made Graham’s chest constrict. Was that what he was offering? A logical solution to a problem of reputation?

“Thank you for your time, Lord Edgerton. I shall call on Lady Abigail this afternoon.”

Edgerton stood as well, extending his hand. “This is excellent news, Your Grace. Most excellent. The family is delighted to welcome such a distinguished connection.”

The family. Not Abigail herself.As if she were a chess piece to be moved advantageously across the board.

Graham took the offered hand and closed his fingers around it with deliberate pressure. Not enough to be impolite—just enough to remind the Earl that the man across from him had not spent his life in drawing rooms.

Edgerton’s smile flickered. For one brief, gratifying moment, something uncertain crossed his face.

“Good day, my lord,” Graham said,releasing him with cool efficiency.

“Jenkins will see you out, Your Grace. And please, you must return for dinner soon. The Countess will be distraught to have missed you.” The Earl tried to hide his hand as he flexed his fingers to ease the sting of Graham’s grip.

Graham nodded curtly and followed the butler into the hallway. The heavy portraits of Edgerton’s ancestors stared down at him from gilt frames, as if weighing his worth.

“Dr. Redchester?”