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G raham was still tasting Eleanor’s lips when he left the library. Although he hadn’t wanted to, nor did he want to take advantage of Eleanor, or cause the scandal her family had tried so hard to avoid.

The moment he stepped out of the library, James waited for him in the hall, arms crossed, expression grim. The look on his face set Graham instantly on edge. Did his friend know what they had been doing inside the library? He prayed that wasn’t the case.

“What is it?” Graham asked hesitantly.

“We have a problem,” James replied.

Graham tensed. “What kind of problem?”

James’s jaw hardened, and that was never a good sign.

“I assume Eleanor finally told you about Lord Redgrave?”

Graham swallowed hard and nodded. “Indeed, she told me everything.”

James grumbled, “Well, misfortune has fallen upon us again, because Lord Redgrave is back in London.”

Silence stretched between them, all except for the sharp ringing in Graham’s ears. Immediately, his chest tightened like someone had punched him in the ribs, lodging pain everywhere inside him.

For a moment, he did not move. Did not breathe. And then—a slow, cold rage grew out of control.

He clenched his jaw, fists tightening at his sides. Redgrave. That fool was supposed to be gone.

“What does he want?” Graham asked, his voice deadly calm.

“I don’t know. But he was seen two nights ago at White’s. And I overheard something—” James hesitated. “He was asking about Eleanor.”

Something inside Graham snapped. He fisted his hands, and the urge to pound his anger into the man’s face nearly took control. “Does she know?”

“No,” James said quickly. “Not yet. I didn’t want to tell her unless I was sure he was planning something.”

Graham’s blood burned. Redgrave had nearly ruined Eleanor once. And now, he was coming back for her. Not if Graham had anything to say about it.

James studied him carefully. “I know that look, Sinclair. What are you thinking?”

Graham already knew what he had to do. “I’m going to handle it.”

James arched a brow. “How?”

“By making sure Redgrave understands one thing.”

Graham’s voice dropped, dark and sure, lethal in its certainty.

“Eleanor Ashford belongs to me.”