Page 11 of His Graceful Duchess (A Lady’s Vow #3)

CHAPTER 11

E van seemed entirely too pleased with the fact that she had agreed to a dance with him.

But somehow, it didn’t seem to be going as well as she had planned.

“You are holding me all wrong.”

Evan raised a brow. “Am I?”

“Yes,” Isadora said primly, her spine straight, her hand light but firm on his shoulder. “Your grip is too loose.”

“Sweetheart, I am following your instructions exactly. If my grip is too loose, it is because you told me not to manhandle you.”

Isadora huffed. “I said to be firm, not to act as though you are afraid I might break.”

Evan chuckled under his breath, adjusting his hold. His hand slid a fraction lower on her waist, and she felt the warmth of it even through the layers of fabric.

She refused to react.

This was a lesson, she reminded herself quickly. She was determined to stay in control.

“I assume you have danced before,” she said as neutrally as she could manage.

“Occasionally.”

She gave him a pointed look. What sort of an answer was that? “You do not sound very confident.”

“Perhaps I am simply allowing you to instruct me,” he said. “You are the teacher here, are you not?”

She sighed. “Yes, you do not seem to let me forget that. Let us start again with the basics.”

She positioned their hands correctly, ensuring that his frame was not completely disastrous—though it was far from elegant.

“The key to a waltz,” she began, “is leading with confidence. You must be decisive in your movements. If you hesitate, your partner will stumble.”

Evan hummed. “So you are telling me to take control. I thought you did not like it when I did that.”

His voice dripped with challenge, and she wondered if he was even taking this seriously.

“We are only talking about the dance here,” she frowned. “And it isn’t about control. You are guiding your partner, not controlling them.”

“That is a semantic difference,” Evan shrugged. “You are asking me to lead and therefore control. You contradict yourself here.”

She gave him a warning glare. “Are you going to argue every point I make?”

He grinned. “Only the ones that amuse me.”

“Just follow my count,” Isadora sighed, all but giving up. He really loved being impossible. It was a wonder that she was able to put up with him as she did.

Evan exhaled dramatically. “As you wish, Duchess.”

She ignored the way the title sent a shiver down her spine. They began to move.

At first, Evan’s steps were slow and careful, his frame stiff with concentration.

Isadora kept her gaze locked on their position, refusing to let her mind wander to the fact that he was holding her, moving with her.

She had been held in dance before but never like this. Never by someone who looked at her the way he did—unreadable but at the same time, as if he were cataloging her every move.

“Better,” she murmured, ignoring the warmth at her back where his hand rested. “But you are still stiff.”

“You just told me to be firm,” Evan said, arching his brow slightly. “You must really do something about your contradictions.”

She shot him a look. “I mean firm, yes, but not like that. You need to be more?—”

“Relaxed?”

“Yes.”

A low throaty chuckle escaped his lips. “I do not think I am the one who needs to relax, sweetheart.”

Oh, the gall of this man.

“I am perfectly relaxed,” she said through clenched teeth.

His gaze flickered over her face. “Are you?”

“Yes.” She forced down a hard swallow, suddenly unsure.

He tilted his head, watching her closely, as if he could see straight through her. Then, without warning—he stepped forward just slightly, closing the space between them.

Oh my.

“Are you still relaxed?” he murmured.

Her head spun. It was hard to remain so—when he was this close to her. At this distance, his presence felt far too overwhelming. And his gaze seemed to hold her firmly in place, refusing to let her escape.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

You need to snap out of it. Anything—something to break the spell he has on you.

In a moment of desperation, she stepped on his foot.

Hard.

Evan let out a grunt, dropping his hold on her waist to step back. “Bloody hell, Isadora.”

Isadora gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. “I—I am so sorry!”

Evan shook his foot out, wincing dramatically. “You might have broken something.”

She rolled her eyes, relief flooding through her at the return to normalcy. “Do not be ridiculous. It was barely a step.”

“Barely a step?” He arched a brow. “Sweetheart, you underestimate the damage done.”

Of course he was only teasing her—as he always did.

“Perhaps if you had been leading properly, I would not have misstepped,” she argued back.

Evan let out a bark of laughter. “Ah, so now it is my fault?”

Yes, it is your fault that you seem to have this effect on me. You, only you.

“You are the one supposed to be guiding the dance.”

He grinned, his previous suffering seemingly forgotten. Almost as though it had been exaggerated all along. “And here I thought I was doing well.”

Isadora sighed, adjusting her skirts. “Let us try again.”

“And risk losing another foot? You are more dangerous than I anticipated.” The teasing tone returned, perhaps even stronger than before.

It was almost… dare she say it… endearing.

Isadora fought the ridiculous urge to smile. “Perhaps you should be more careful.”

“Perhaps I should,” he said, his gaze suddenly darkening and shifting down to her lips for just a fraction of a second.

It sent a shiver down her spine. Not out of fear—but something else entirely. But before she could analyze it, Evan extended his hand.

“One more time, sweetheart.”

“Must we, really?” Isadora tried to get herself out of it. Perhaps it would be better if she left him alone for the night.

Her mind was already being traitorous yet again, and she didn’t know if she could handle another waltz with him.

“I would like to,” he said the words with such simplicity that it made something inside her melt.

Then, with a steady breath, she placed her hand in his once more.

And they began again.

But Isabela could hardly focus on the task at hand. She always assumed that she was a good teacher, but right now, it felt as though she had forgotten everything she knew.

She would miss her step, or twirl awkwardly. Or look away when he got too close to her, thereby ruining the flow of the dance.

“Well, well,” he mused finally, twirling her lazily across the study floor, “I do believe we have discovered something quite remarkable.”

Isadora narrowed her eyes, already bracing herself for whatever nonsense he was about to spew.

“And what is that, Your Grace?”

“You,” he murmured, “are the one who cannot dance.”

“I… that’s not…” She immediately stepped a little too firmly on the floor, proving his point.

Evan chuckled, his grip tightening slightly to steady her. “Shall I be the one to teach you instead?”

“That sounds ridiculous,” she scoffed, tilting her chin up. “I have been dancing since I was a child.”

“Ah, yes,” Evan drawled. “And yet, here you are, stepping on my feet.”

“That was once,” Isadora defended herself fiercely.

And besides, it’s all your fault that I cannot focus.

She opted not to voice the second part out loud.

“Twice,” he corrected, smugly.

“You do not need to keep score like that,” she huffed. “That is not the point.”

Evan’s lips twitched. “No, I believe it is the entire point.”

Isadora tried very hard not to let her irritation show, but he was watching her too closely once again.

“Perhaps I should be the one questioning you.” She exhaled. “For a man who claims not to be well-versed in proper etiquette, you are surprisingly capable.”

“Ah,” his expression shifted just slightly, “are you saying I am better than you thought?”

She frowned, realizing her mistake.

“You are,” he smirked, delightedly.

“I did not say that,” she sniffed, attempting to regain control. “I merely meant?—”

“Where did I learn, then?” he cut in smoothly. “Is that what you meant to ask of me?” His eyes narrowed, not in anger but in quiet curiosity.

She felt her cheeks warm. “Perhaps that is the underlying curiosity here,” she conceded, albeit shyly.

Evan slowed their movements. “What do you know about my past, Duchess?”

For a moment, Isadora felt only panic. She had not meant to ask, not like this.

“I—” she hesitated. “I only know what my friends told me.”

Evan raised a brow. “And what is that?”

She looked away, suddenly very aware of the fact that they were still holding onto each other.

“That you were raised as a commoner,” she admitted softly.

Evan’s smirk faded slightly, but his grip did not loosen.

“And?”

She licked her lips. “That you made your fortune on your own. That the title came later.”

“Well, at least they got that part right,” he said simply.

“I did not mean to offend?—”

Evan let out a quiet chuckle, cutting her off. “You did not.”

She blinked, taken aback.

Evan glanced away for a moment, as if deciding whether to continue, then—without looking at her—he spoke again.

“My mother was a commoner,” he said simply. “My father—” he scoffed lightly “—was not.”

His tone was so even yet she knew instinctively that this was not something he spoke of often.

“My father only acknowledged me later,” Evan continued. “I spent most of my childhood believing I was nothing more than a bastard.”

Isadora swallowed hard, her fingers twitching slightly against his shoulder. It was already far more than she had ever expected him to admit to her. Simply put, she knew not how to react.

“I was raised in the backstreets of London,” Evan went on, his voice growing more distant as though he was only a narrator in someone else’s story. “My mother did her best, but it was never easy. But we survived, and I learned how to survive with her.”

Isadora’s chest tightened. She could picture it—a young boy with sharp eyes fighting to take what the world refused to give him.

“And yet, you made a fortune,” she said softly.

Evan let out a low chuckle. “Ah, yes. That is what people like to say, is it not?” His expression darkened just slightly. “That I came from nothing and built an empire. That I clawed my way up.”

“Is that not correct?” Isadora frowned. “Did you not?”

Evan lifted a brow, as if debating how much to tell her.

“I was always good at business,” he admitted. “I knew how to read people, how to find opportunity where others saw ruin. But wealth—?” He exhaled. “Wealth alone does not earn a man respect. It is the title that does that.”

Isadora’s heart ached unexpectedly.

She had grown up surrounded by her own privilege—and yet, here stood a man who had spent his life proving himself worthy of what others had simply been given.

I want to know more.

She wanted to know everything.

But before she could, Evan’s expression shifted. The moment was gone. His jaw tightened.

“That is enough for tonight,” he said suddenly, stepping back.

Isadora blinked. “What? We are in the middle of?—”

“I have business to attend to,” he said dismissively.

“At this hour?” she argued, knowing full well that it was no more than a convenient excuse to be rid of her swiftly.

“Yes. At this hour.” He stepped back from her, and she felt the loss of contact. Almost achingly so. “Now if you please…”

She frowned. Just moments ago, he had been at ease and even opening up to her, but his retreat had been swift, and his walls were back in place.

Isadora steeled herself. She would not press him. She was smart enough not to push him over the limit, lest he decide to shut her out completely.

No. She would have to play the long game, so she lifted her chin and nodded, forcing composure back into her voice.

“Of course,” she said. “Another time, then.”

“I’m glad that you’ve opted not to argue.” Evan’s lips twitched. “Another time.”

Then he turned, leaving her standing alone in the study—with far too many thoughts.

She exhaled, turning away from the space where he had stood just moments before, her mind still whirling.

She had not expected him to answer her question. And yet, in the span of a few minutes, she had learned more about Evan Marwood than she had since their wedding day.

He had said it so easily— My mother was a commoner. My father was not.

As if it were a simple thing. As if it had not shaped his entire existence.

The world she had grown up in had always been clear about a man’s place. A man born outside of nobility could never truly belong.

Isadora felt something unfamiliar settle in her chest. Not pity. She doubted Evan would tolerate that. It was something else. She clenched her jaw, forcing herself to shake the thought away.

This was a lesson learned. Evan Marwood did not offer things freely.

And when she pushed, he had retreated.

“Any progress is still progress,” she told herself, hoping to finish off her night at a positive note.

Slow progress—perhaps even infuriating progress—but she was only beginning to piece together the puzzle that was her husband.

“Good morning, sweetheart.”

Evan looked up as she stepped inside the dining room the next morning, his expression neutral, giving nothing away from the previous night.

He had showed up to breakfast. Isadora paused briefly then nodded. “Good morning, Your Grace.”

A flicker of amusement crossed his face. “Your Grace is far too formal, darling.”

She ignored him, taking her seat as the footman poured her tea.

“I think it is perfectly appropriate,” she replied after a moment when it became clear to her that he was not going to relent as he stared at her, waiting.

“You seem troubled,” he noted, rather bluntly. “Did our dancing lesson keep you awake?”

Isadora took a sip of her tea, schooling her features into careful indifference.

“Not at all,” she said smoothly. “If anything, I slept well since your skills were not as bad as I had imagined. That is less work for me.”

Evan smirked. “I shall take that as a compliment.”

“Do not.” Isadora set her teacup down. “I trust your business was handled successfully last night?”

Evan paused just slightly before answering. “It was.”

She waited for him to elaborate.

He did not. Typical.

She exhaled. “Well, that is fortunate. After all, we do have a ball to attend soon, and I assume you would like to free yourself of any outside responsibilities before that happens.”

“You say that as though work is finite,” he laughed softly. “There are always things to do, Duchess.”

“Well then, perhaps I shall have to prepare a lesson on time and prioritize it,” she said. “It seems that my husband is in dire need of it.”

“And here I was thinking you had softened toward me.” Evan grinned, shaking his head slightly.

“Only momentarily,” she said, turning her attention back to the breakfast in front of her.

“Fleetingly,” he noted, but Isadora refused to explain anything further.

It was something that she had learned from his playbook after all. Answer the question without giving too much away.

She tried to limit her focus to the food in front of her, taking small bites of her meal that she carefully chewed. All the while, Evan did not look away from her even once.

“You are staring,” she observed without looking up.

“I am observing you,” he said simply.

She set her cup down. “There is a difference?”

“A very important one,” Evan said lazily. “Staring implies a lack of thought. I assure you, sweetheart, I am always thinking.”

“Right,” she said dryly. “That does not comfort me in the least.”

“Why should it?” Evan chuckled. “It is not meant to.”

She ignored him, determined to focus on her meal again, but Evan was not a man who let silences sit for long.

“I must say,” he mused, reaching for a piece of fruit, “I am surprised you did not try to resume last night’s interrogation.”

Isadora’s knife paused for the briefest moment before she continued spreading her butter.

Oh. She didn’t think he was going to bring that up. Suddenly, her heart started to beat faster.

“It was not an interrogation,” she offered as a response.

“No?” Evan hummed. “I recall it feeling like one.”

“Then, you recall incorrectly,” she said primly, setting her toast down. “It was a polite conversation.”

“Ah, yes. Nothing so polite as an interrogation,” he jibed, and she found herself wishing that he hadn’t referred to it as that.

“That is putting it a bit harshly,” she sighed. “I was merely trying to understand the man to whom I am married.”

“A semantics issue, again,” Evan smirked. That seemed to be a recurring theme between the two of them. “And what have you deduced?”

She considered him carefully before answering.

“That you do not give away much,” she said. “And when you do, you like to make it seem as though you are indifferent.”

“You are very perceptive, sweetheart,” he murmured, watching her carefully still.

“Of course, I am,” she said. “I like to think that I am observant of the world around me and those who are in it.”

“Then you ought to consider being a detective, perhaps” he continued, setting his cup down. “I believe it would be quite lucrative for you.”

Isadora shot him a look. “There is no need for such a thing. I have enough responsibilities as a duchess.” Annoyance seeped into her tone. “Besides, I see no benefit in considering these ludicrous scenarios. It would be fitting if we spent our rather limited time that we have with one another during the day talking about something more substantial.”

“I was merely joking,” he shrugged. “But if you really insist, then I have a question for you.”

Isadora frowned. Had she walked herself into another one of his traps again? “What question?”

“What did you think of what I told you?”

“Do you really wish to know?” Isadora’s stomach tightened. She had not expected him to ask. Not after the way he had left the study so abruptly, shutting down the conversation before she could press further.

“Yes,” his reply was immediate. There was not even a hint of hesitation in it. That gave her the confidence that she needed—or rather, a small confirmation that he was not going to retreat. At least for now.

“I think it explains a great deal,” she said carefully. “About you, that is.”

“Does it?” Evan leaned forward slightly, not even bothering to hide his curiosity now.

She nodded. “You built yourself from nothing. You are a man who does not like to be indebted to anyone. You do not accept limitations.”

“And you find that admirable?”

Isadora hesitated then exhaled. A part of her did, yes.

“I find it… understandable,” she answered instead.

Evan studied her for a long moment, and then, as if he had learned enough from her answer, he sat back, smirking once more.

“Well, then,” he drawled, “now that you have had your revelations about me, allow me to share one about you.”

She sighed, pressing her lips together. “Very well. Let me hear it.”

She was most curious to know what her husband thought of her after all.

Evan took his time to speak, torturing her again, which seemed to be his favorite pastime.

“You,” he said casually, “pretend to be composed at all times. You believe that if you follow all the rules—if you do everything as you ought to—then the world will remain predictable.”

Isadora narrowed her eyes but did not interrupt. No, this was far too useful.

Evan continued. “You do not like surprises. You do not like things you cannot control. And you most certainly do not like the fact that, despite all your careful planning, you are married to a man who refuses to follow any of the rules you hold dear.”

“I have no idea what you are talking about,” Isadora huffed.

“You see? Even now, you deny it.” Evan smirked.

She straightened her spine, refusing to acknowledge that perhaps, just perhaps, he had a point.

“That was hardly a revelation,” she said dismissively. “Anyone could observe such things.”

“Ah,” he murmured. “But they would not see what I do.”

What is it that he sees that is different from the others? Is this something he has only said to me?

Isadora’s breath caught. With the way that Evan was looking at her now, it was as though he could see right through her.

The thought itself was… terrifying.

She quickly regained her composure, lifting her napkin to dab at her lips.

“You are enjoying this far too much,” she muttered.

“It is always fun trying to pick at your brain,” he conceded. “Consider this my morning entertainment.”

Isadora sighed, shaking her head. “I truly do not understand you.”

“That,” he said, “is the first honest thing you have said all morning.”

“Well, if you are quite finished attempting to dissect my personality, I have other things to attend to,” she announced.

Evan looked bored. “Important ones?”

“Very,” she emphasized.

“Duchess duty calls?”

He was only trying to prolong the conversation now—or trying to get a rise out of her one last time. “Indeed,” she managed, her teeth gritted.

“Oh I should be more mindful of your time then,” Evan chuckled. “By all means, please carry on.”

She stood, making her exit with as much dignity as she could manage. But as she reached the doorway, Evan spoke again.

“Sweetheart.”

She paused but did not turn around. “Yes?” Her fists balled at her sides.

His voice was low, teasing, and utterly infuriating.

“Don’t spend too much time trying to figure me out,” he said simply. “I’m afraid you’ll not get very far with it.”

Isadora stiffened, heat rushing to her cheeks, but she did not give him the satisfaction of reacting. Instead, she simply walked away.

If only the Duke knew that his statement would make her try even harder.

The rest of the morning had not gone as planned.

Isadora had intended to spend the day focusing on her duties, organizing the household and a number of other things that required her utmost attention that she was meant to be doing. But the reality was far different. She found herself thinking about Evan instead.

And that was intolerable.

She had never known a man so insufferable, so frustratingly unreadable. He had given her just enough of his past to leave her wanting to know more but not enough to actually understand him.

And then—to top it all off—he’d had the audacity to tell her that she shouldn’t try to figure him out.

No. Isadora was not one to listen, not in this situation.

“Mrs. Wilson,” Isadora said abruptly, stopping in her tracks.

The head maid stiffened, her wide eyes darting up in surprise.

“Your Grace,” she said quickly, dipping into a curtsy.

Isadora hesitated for only a moment before speaking. “Are you busy?”

“I—I was just finishing the morning rounds, Your Grace.”

Isadora nodded, glancing down the empty hallway.

“Walk with me.”

Mrs Wilson’s eyes widened, but she obeyed immediately, falling into step beside the Duchess.

“Is there something you require, Your Grace?”

Isadora wondered how she should go about it. Truthfully, she only wanted to speak to her about the Duke, but it would be strange to pry like that. She folded her hands neatly before speaking.

“I just wish to take some time to understand things,” she offered diplomatically. “And you know that I turn to you as you are one of the oldest staff members here.”

The head maid nodded quickly. “Yes, Your Grace.”

“Tell me, how did you manage to secure a position at the estate?”

“I started as a scullery maid when I first arrived, but His Grace promoted me to the main house staff last year.”

Yes, finally. She had mentioned Evan herself.

“And why did he do that?”

She bit her lip, as if debating whether she should answer honestly. Then, after a pause, she exhaled.

“He found out that my younger brother was injured in a factory accident,” she admitted. “I could barely afford his medicine, and I suppose His Grace… noticed.”

Isadora blinked, surprised. She had expected a regular answer—that he was appreciative of her skills. “He offered you a higher position due to the circumstances that you were in?”

Mrs. Wilson nodded quickly. “He said if I was going to spend all my time worrying, I might as well make better wages while I did it.”

“Ah. That… sounds like him,” Isadora muttered.

Abrupt. Practical. And still somehow considerate.

“What else do you know about him?” she asked. It was a blunt question this time.

“His Grace does not like people prying into his business.” Mrs. Wilson hesitated for a moment.

“I am his wife,” Isadora said firmly. “It’s hardly prying if I am simply trying to understand him better.”

“I can only reiterate to you what we have already discussed. He is not like other lords,” she said softly. “He does not expect to be bowed and scraped to. If anything, he seems… uncomfortable with overly deferential behavior sometimes.”

“Uncomfortable?”

Mrs. Wilson nodded. “I’ve seen him in the morning, sometimes, when the footmen move too quickly to assist him. He waves them off, like he doesn’t need the help.”

The story made a lot more sense now that Evan had admitted what he had about his upbringing. About how kindness had been a luxury for him, rather than something that was given freely.

It would make sense that someone with that background would be uneasy accepting the kind of help that was available for a duke. A man who had spent his life fighting for his place in the world would not want to be waited on like a helpless aristocrat.

The head maid shifted hesitantly, glancing at her again. “Begging your pardon, Your Grace… but may I ask you something?”

“You may.”

“Why is it that you ask so many questions about His Grace?” she said softly. “While I do not mind them per se, it appears that I am only a limited trove of information. The best source is the man himself. Surely you could talk to him directly, being married to him.”

Isadora stiffened slightly, taken off guard. It was a simple question. A fair one. But she did not know how to answer.

“That is easier said than done,” she replied finally. “I do not know him fully yet.”

Mrs. Wilson studied her then gave a knowing smile. “You’re learning, though.”

Isadora blinked, startled.

Mrs. Wilson dipped into a curtsy. “If you’ll excuse me, Your Grace, I should return to my work.”

Isadora nodded absently, her mind still turning as she watched her walk away.

She was learning slowly, but her patience was beginning to wear thin.