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Their shared laughter drew the attention of nearby guests, and Annabelle found herself genuinely enjoying the young lord’s unaffected humor.

He possessed none of the calculated sophistication of older gentlemen, and there was something refreshing about his straightforward appreciation of the ridiculous.

“You have a remarkable memory for such prose, my lord,” she observed. “One might almost suspect you of harboring poetic ambitions yourself.”

“Heaven forbid!” he exclaimed with mock horror. “Though I confess, I have occasionally attempted a sonnet or two. None, I assure you, featuring references to ‘lachrymal effusions cascading like liquid moonbeams upon nocturnal flora.’”

As their conversation continued, Annabelle became aware of a subtle shift in Lord Frederick’s demeanor—a certain attentiveness, a tendency to stand perhaps closer than strictly necessary, and a warmth in his gaze that suggested more than casual interest. The realization that he might be flirting with her came as a genuine surprise, and she found herself responding with polite distance rather than encouragement.

“I understand you are quite the literary enthusiast, Miss Lytton,” he said, his tone warming. “Perhaps you might permit me to lend you a volume of Byron I recently acquired? I should value your opinion enormously.”

At that moment, a familiar deep voice interjected from behind her.

“Miss Lytton. Lady Oakley mentioned you might be in attendance today.”

The Duke of Marchwood had materialized at her elbow with the silent efficiency of a predator, his imposing presence immediately altering the atmosphere of their conversation.

Annabelle stifled the urge to arch her brow at his words, as if they had not been seatmates a while ago. She wondered why he even bothered to seek her out like this since he had made his opinion of her very clear time and time again.

Lord Frederick straightened perceptibly, and his youthful confidence visibly diminished in the face of the Duke’s formidable attention.

“Your Grace,” the young man acknowledged with a bow that bordered on nervous. “We were just discussing Lord Huntley’s, er, remarkable composition.”

“Indeed,” the Duke replied in a tone that suggested he found the topic as compelling as a discussion of agricultural fertilization methods.

“Though I wonder if perhaps Euripides might offer a more nuanced treatment of the Persephone myth, would you not agree? His exploration of the psychological implications of the feminine divine transitioning between maiden and queen provides considerably more substance than mere flowery descriptions of mythological landscapes.”

Lord Frederick blinked rapidly, clearly unprepared for this sudden scholarly challenge. “I…that is to say… I haven’t made a particular study of Euripides, Your Grace.”

“Pity,” the Duke observed with such perfect politeness that the dismissal in his tone was all the more devastating. “The Classics offer invaluable perspective on our modern understanding of narrative structure.”

“Yes, well,” the young lord mumbled while glancing around with the desperate air of a cornered animal seeking escape. “I believe Lady Carmichael is signaling for me. If you’ll excuse me?”

As Lord Frederick beat a hasty retreat, Annabelle turned to the Duke with a brow now finally arched in his direction. “Was that truly necessary? The poor boy was merely being agreeable.”

“He was flirting with you,” the Duke replied with unexpected directness. “Rather clumsily, at that.”

“And what business is that of yours?” Her eyes narrowed in irritation, even as her heart stuttered in her chest.

She did not know why she enjoyed the words as they came out of his mouth, as equally as she despised them.

Because those words could be translated to mean two different things—it was either that he spoke out of jealousy or that he spoke out of condescension, and Annabelle had the inclination that his words were to be taken to mean the latter.

“I was merely trying to save your dignity,” he said, and Annabelle’s brow nearly flew into her hairline. “A young man such as that, flirting with a?—”

“A what ? He is scarcely more than a youth. So what if he tries to flirt with me? Surely, sensible people would realize that the boy is merely trying to gain confidence in talking to women. Or is that the problem? Do you think I might influence that boy into doing terrible things?”

“Miss Lytton.” The Duke cut her short, and her brows drew down over her eyes.

It was not enough that he continued to insult her, but now he thought he could control?—

“I wish to apologize,” he said abruptly in a tone that was lower than before.

And Annabelle blinked. Well. Those words surprised her entirely. “I beg your pardon?”

The Duke sucked in a breath. “During our last encounter, I was unconscionably cruel and my words entirely unwarranted. You are an intelligent, articulate woman whose challenges I find unsettling because they so often contain merit.”

Annabelle blinked, momentarily robbed of speech by this unexpected capitulation. “You find me unsettling because I’m occasionally right?” she managed finally, struggling to maintain her composure in the face of his directness.

She thought the corners of his eyes softened a fraction of a second before he spoke again.

“I find you unsettling because you consistently provoke reactions in me that I cannot seem to control,” he admitted, his voice carrying a reluctant honesty that struck her more forcefully because of who he was.

This time, she scoffed. “Oh of course. Naturally, I should be blamed for the fact that you, a grown Duke with agency, insists on throwing such perplexing tantrums, correct?” she retorted, though her tone lacked its usual sharp edge.

She expected him to take offense at her words, but to her utter astonishment, a brief, genuine laugh escaped him. It was a warm, rich sound that transformed his severe features and sent an unwelcome flutter through her midsection.

“No,” he conceded finally when he stopped laughing, even though his lips remained curved. “That particular failing is entirely my own. You are correct. They are tantrums because…” He paused then, and his eyes darkened with an emotion that set her heart thumping in her chest.

He ran a hand through his hair then, and Annabelle noticed the blush that was starting to spread across his cheeks.

“Because…” His voice dropped to barely above a whisper as his words escaped on an exhale so soft that she almost missed them. “Because I cannot seem to control myself when I am around you.”