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G raham barely heard the music anymore. Barely noticed the rainbow of colors in the ballroom, the murmur of conversation, or the occasional burst of laughter.

All he could hear—all he could think of—was the name Beatrice had whispered.

Lord Sebastian Redgrave.

It struck him like a blade, sharp and unexpected.

Redgrave.

The name carried weight. Influence. Scandal of the worst kind. And if it was tied to Eleanor, then something was very, very wrong.

Graham forced his expression into careful neutrality. “Redgrave?” he asked, his voice even. “What does he have to do with Eleanor?”

Beatrice hesitated, glancing around once more. Then she sighed. “I shouldn’t be speaking of this.”

“Then why did you say his name?”

Her lips pressed together. “Because you asked what happened to Eleanor.” She shook her head. “And I suppose you would have found out eventually.”

Would I?

James had been evasive. Mrs. Greaves had refused to say more. But Beatrice had slipped, which was exactly what Graham knew would happen. But this … He didn’t know how to handle this news.

He was going to find the truth. Tonight. Even if he had to keep up the whole household to do it.

Graham stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Tell me, Miss Beatrice.”

“It was nearly two years ago. Eleanor—” She hesitated. “She became involved with Lord Redgrave. Or rather, he pursued her.”

Bile rose to Graham’s throat and his chest tightened. “What do you mean, pursued ?”

“I mean he would not leave her be.” Her voice was tight, anger flickering in her dark eyes. “He took an interest in her. A very persistent interest.”

A cold weight settled in his stomach. “Did he—”

“No,” Beatrice said quickly, shaking her head. “Not in the way you’re thinking. But he courted her relentlessly. Showed up at events, sent her gifts, made it clear that he intended to have her as his wife.”

A marriage prospect, then. But… Redgrave wasn’t the marrying kind of man. At least, he hadn’t been when Graham talked to Redgrave last.

“And what about Eleanor?”

“She refused him,” Beatrice said. “Over and over again. But Redgrave was not a man used to being denied.”

Graham knew the type—men with power, with wealth, who believed they were entitled to whatever they wanted. And Redgrave had wanted Eleanor.

Or… was it just her large dowry that the man had been after?

A dangerous heat spread through Graham’s veins. “What did he do?”

Beatrice hesitated again. And that—that hesitation—was enough to tell Graham that something had happened. Something bad.

Finally, she whispered, “I don’t know everything. But I know this—whatever happened between them, whatever he did, it was enough to make Eleanor withdraw from Society for nearly a year.”

Graham’s pulse roared in his ears. A year.

He had been gone and couldn’t protect her. And while he had been away, Redgrave had haunted Eleanor’s life.

“She won’t speak of it,” Beatrice continued. “Not to me, not to James, not to anyone. But I know her. I know when she’s hiding something.”

Graham forced his voice to remain steady. “Where is he now?”

“Redgrave?” Beatrice’s lips curled slightly. “Gone. He left last year. Some quiet scandal forced him out of London.”

The words should have eased the rage simmering beneath Graham’s skin, but they didn’t. Because although Redgrave might be gone, whatever the man had done left Eleanor scarred. A scar Graham should have been here to save her from.

He exhaled, forcing himself to stay calm. To think.

Beatrice studied him carefully. “You care for her, don’t you?”

Graham looked at her sharply. “I’ve always cared for her, but have been too afraid to admit my feelings.”

“Why?”

“Because of James.” Graham shrugged. “Courting a friend’s sister just isn’t done.”

She laughed. “It’s not? Well, times are changing.” The laughter left her face. “I hope you don’t mind if I give you some advice.”

He didn’t want it, but he would listen, so he nodded.

“Don’t make the same mistake twice, Your Grace.”

With that, she turned, blending back into the ballroom crowd, leaving him alone with far too many unanswered questions… and a load full of guilt weighing heavily on his chest.

But one thing was certain. He had to speak with Eleanor. Now.

Graham left the ballroom, his movements swift and controlled, his mind racing.

He knew her. He knew how she worked—if she was avoiding the ball, she would be somewhere quiet.

Somewhere away from prying eyes. James had followed his sister to her chambers, but Graham knew his childhood friend, the woman who held his heart, and she wouldn’t stay in her room for long.

There was only one place in Ashworth Manor that had always been her retreat. The library.

He pushed open the heavy oak door and stepped inside. The scent of aged paper and candle wax filled the air, the fire in the hearth casting a golden glow over the towering bookshelves. And there, standing by the window, staring out at the lake, was Eleanor.

She had changed from her ball gown and was now dressed in a deep-emerald dressing robe that flowed around her like a shadow. Her blonde hair was loose, falling in waves down her back.

She did not turn as he entered, but he suspected she knew he was there. She always knew. It was as if they each had a sixth sense when it came to their heart.

Graham closed the door behind him. The click of the latch was the only sound in the still room.

Finally, she spoke, her voice quiet. “I thought you would come.”

His chest tightened. “Then why did you run?”

A beat of silence.

Then—finally—she turned.

And he saw it.

The war in her eyes. The hesitation. The fear.

But not fear of him. Fear of what she would have to tell him.

“Eleanor.” Graham took a step toward her, his voice gentler now. “Tell me what happened with Redgrave.”

Her lips parted slightly, surprise flickering across her face—as if she hadn’t expected him to know.

Her throat moved as she swallowed, and for the first time since his return, she looked truly vulnerable.

Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, she said, “I can’t.”

Graham’s jaw clenched. “Why?”

Her fingers curled into fists at her sides. “Because if you knew…” A sharp breath. “If you knew what I did, you would never look at me the same way again.”

The fire crackled. The wind whispered against the windowpanes. Graham took another step, closing the distance between them. “Try me.”

Eleanor’s breath trembled. And Graham knew—whatever she was about to tell him would change everything.