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“You shouldn’t believe everything you read,” Graham said, his voice carefully neutral as he turned the paper to scan the article for himself. The words blurred before him, but their meaning was clear enough.

“Oh, but where’s the fun in that?” Elias’s eyes narrowed slightly as he studied Graham’s expression. “You seem unusually interested in Lady Abigail’s misfortunes.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re a terrible liar. You’ve gone rigid as a fence post.” Elias leaned forward, lowering his voice. “What aren’t you telling me?”

Graham hesitated, weighing his words. Elias was many things—irreverent, occasionally reckless, far too fond of London gossip—but he was also unfailingly loyal. If there was one man in London who could be trusted with the truth, it was the admiral.

“I was the unidentified gentleman.”

Elias’s eyebrows shot up. “You? Good God, man. What happened?”

Graham related the events of the previous evening in clipped, precise sentences—the attack he’d witnessed, Abigail’s injuries, their slow progress through the streets of London.

He omitted the warmth he’d felt at her touch, the unexpected lightness in his chest when she’d finally called him by his given name.

“So, she was attacked. You saved her, and now her reputation is in tatters while you sit here drinking coffee,” Elias summarized, his tone deceptively casual. “Interesting choice.”

The accusation stung because it was true. He had saved her body only to abandon her reputation to the wolves of society. The realization settled in his gut like lead.

“What would you have me do?” Graham demanded. “March into her cousin’s house and announce myself? That would only confirm the gossip.”

“It might also spare her the worst of the speculation.” Elias stirred his coffee thoughtfully. “The ton loves nothing more than a romantic rescue, especially when it involves a duke.”

“I’m a physician.”

“You’re the Duke of Eyron who happens to practice medicine,” Elias corrected. “A distinction that matters a great deal in the drawing rooms of Mayfair.”

Graham’s jaw tightened. “I have no interest in the drawing rooms of Mayfair.”

“You may enjoy the anonymity of being a second son of a half-forgotten estate and masquerade around town as nothing more than a physician.” Elias gestured toward Graham’s austere black coat.

“But Lady Abigail must navigate those drawing rooms, and thanks to your involvement, however honorable, she now faces fresh scandal. You should have bundled her in a cab and been done with it.”

Graham didn’t answer. He plucked a petal from the rose and rolled it slowly between his fingers.It released a faint, unmistakable scent.

Crushed blossoms in the muck. Her hair falling around her face. The heat of her as she clung to him, seeking shelter.

He dropped the petal onto the saucer. It stuck, limp and bruised.

She doesn’t belong in scandal sheets. She belongs somewhere safe, appreciated.

His life of careful compartmentalization was crumbling. He’d kept his work separate from his title, his past apart from his present, and his nieces away from his demons. Now everything was colliding, and a woman who had already endured enough was paying the price.

“What are you suggesting?” he asked, though he already knew the answer.

Elias set down his cup, his expression unusually serious. “I’m suggesting that if a gentleman isn’t willing to repair the damage he’s caused, no matter how unintentional, he’s no gentleman at all.”

The words hung between them, weighted with implication.

Graham stared out the window, where London was coming to life—carriages rolling past, a flower seller arranging her wares, a group of young bucks laughing as they made their way toward Bond Street.

Normal life continuing while somewhere in Mayfair Lady Abigail faced the destruction of what little reputation she had left.

“I have responsibilities,” Graham said finally. “My nieces?—”

“Need a mother,” Elias finished quietly. “Or at least a woman’s influence beyond their governess. You said it yourself last month—you’re at sea with them.”

Graham’s fingers tightened around his cup. He thought of Mary Ann hiding beneath her bed, of Heather standing guard over her. He thought of Abigail kneeling beside Timothy’s sickbed, her hands gentle but sure. Of how the room had gone quiet when she spoke. Of how he hadn’t wanted to leave.

Two problems. One solution. The simplicity of it mocked him.

People aren’t equations to be solved.

“I barely know her,” he said.

“You know enough,” Elias replied. “She has courage and cares for others. You know she deserves better than to be sacrificed to London’s appetite for gossip.”

Graham closed his eyes briefly, the weight of duty settling across his shoulders like a familiar coat. “I’ll consider it,” he said finally.

Elias’s smile was knowing. “That’s what you always say when you’ve already made up your mind but aren’t ready to admit it.”

Graham didn’t reply. Instead, he watched a lone leaf skitter across the street outside, driven by a wind he couldn’t feel—much like the forces now pushing him toward a decision he wasn’t certain he was prepared to make.

But perhaps that was the point. Perhaps control was an illusion he’d clung to for too long. Perhaps it was time to step into the chaos and see what emerged on the other side.