Page 14 of His Graceful Duchess (A Lady’s Vow #3)

CHAPTER 14

T he waltz ended, and Isadora barely managed to keep her expression composed as Evan led her from the dance floor.

She had spent the last few minutes doing everything in her power to forget the way his words had unsettled her.

But it was impossible.

No one had ever spoken to her like that before. As if love was not a weight but a force that could lift her instead of crushing her.

She hated it because it made her wonder.

And wondering was dangerous .

“You are unusually quiet,” Evan murmured beside her as they reached the edge of the ballroom.

Isadora forced a small smile, reaching for a glass of champagne from a passing tray.

“I was simply enjoying the evening,” she replied smoothly.

“I have my doubts.”

She ignored him, taking a deliberate sip.

Before he could press further, a new presence approached.

“Your Grace.”

Both of them turned to see Lord Fernsby, a gentleman of considerable wealth and very little charm, bowing before them.

Evan’s entire demeanor shifted.

“Fernsby,” Evan greeted.

Isadora observed as the two men exchanged pleasantries, but something about the way Fernsby carried himself felt… off.

She could tell instantly that Evan did not like him. And—more importantly—Fernsby did not like Evan.

“Ah, Your Grace,” Fernsby said, “I heard you made quite the investment recently.”

“What have you heard?” Evan said, a hint of a challenge in his voice.

“The abandoned shipyard on the West Dock,” Fernsby noted with a sly smile.

“Hardly abandoned,” Evan corrected smoothly. “Acquired, yes. And soon to be profitable.”

Fernsby chuckled. “Bold of you. I had assumed you would prefer safer endeavors.”

“You are speaking to the wrong man.” Evan tilted his head, his smirk deepening. “Where is the fun in that?”

There was something quite off about their conversation. Fernsby seemed as though he was holding back on something—perhaps because Isadora was here. And Evan seemed as though he was trying his hardest to maintain the facade of normalcy.

Isadora had spent her whole life in ballrooms where men spoke with politeness but meant something else entirely.

And this exchange between Evan and Fernsby felt like a thinly veiled threat.

She wanted to ask, but Evan would never tell her here.

Instead, she remained silent, watching as Fernsby finally inclined his head slightly.

“Well,” he said lightly, “I do wish you luck, Your Grace. After all, it is always so tragic when business ventures fail.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that, Lord Fernsby.”

“With your methods,” he said, “I do not doubt it.”

With one last look, he gave a mocking bow and walked away.

Isadora turned to Evan immediately.

Methods? What did he mean by that?

“What was that about?” she asked immediately.

Evan exhaled, watching Fernsby disappear into the crowd.

“Nothing with which you need to concern yourself.”

That only irritated her more.

“Evan—”

“Not now, sweetheart.”

And just like that, he turned, leaving her standing there, frustrated and full of questions.

Isadora did not see Evan for the rest of the night.

When they returned home, he disappeared into his study, and by morning, he was gone.

It was not unusual—Evan often left early for meetings—but after the encounter with Fernsby, Isadora felt uneasy.

He’s hiding something, she thought to herself. She had spent enough time around powerful men to know when something was being deliberately hidden from her.

But she hated being left in the dark.

So, later that afternoon, as she was walking through the house, she stopped when she saw Mrs. Wilson hurrying down the corridor.

“Your Grace!”

“Where is His Grace?”

Mrs. Wilson hesitated.

“I—”

“Do not lie to me, Mrs. Wilson.” Isadora was being harsher than she normally would, but her frustration with her husband had reached its zenith. It was only natural.

The head maid exhaled, glancing down the hall before answering.

“The Duke had a visitor this morning. It was… a man.”

“What was his name, and what did he want?”

Mrs. Wilson shook her head. “I do not know his name. I did not recognize him. He was not one of the usual gentlemen who calls upon him.”

“I see,” Isadora groaned. “Thank you.”

Mrs. Wilson hesitated again before blurting, “Your Grace?”

Isadora turned. “Yes?”

Mrs. Wilson bit her lip, as if deciding whether or not to speak, then, in a quieter voice, she said, “Be careful.”

Mrs. Wilson offered no further explanation. She merely dipped into a quick curtsy and hurried away, leaving Isadora alone with her thoughts.

And, not for the first time since marrying Evan Marwood, she wondered if she truly knew the kind of man she had wed.

“You have been asking questions.”

Evan’s voice was calm as he interrupted her at teatime. She did not even know when he had gotten back home.

Isadora barely had time to set down her tea.

She lifted her chin, feigning innocence. “I do not know what you mean.”

“Sweetheart, do not insult my intelligence.” He walked over to her. “Your perfectly loyal maid that you’ve been interrogating got back to me that you’ve been asking questions about my visitors and my whereabouts.”

Isadora’s mouth hung open. She had trusted Mrs. Wilson to be a confidante.

“I do not believe that,” she insisted. “You must have sent some of the staff to spy on our conversations.”

Evan smirked at that. “Well, perhaps I did, but the point remains, you have been asking about me.”

She sighed, placing her hands neatly in her lap. “If you must know, I was merely trying to understand what my husband does when he disappears for hours without a word.”

“You are making inquiries among the staff,” he replied. “I am not sure if that is the way to go about it. I married you because you are a proper lady, not one that gossips about her husband to the maids.”

That stung, but Isadora struggled to compose herself.

“I live in this house, do I not? Surely, I am entitled to know who comes and goes.”

“You are entitled to nothing beyond what we agreed,” Evan snapped. “You wanted a marriage that was comfortable, safe—was that not what you told me?”

Isadora stood then, closing the distance between them, her eyes flashing. “And yet, I do not feel safe when men like Lord Fernsby throw veiled threats at my husband in the middle of a ballroom.”

Evan exhaled, raking a hand through his hair.

“I told you not to concern yourself with that.”

“You did,” she agreed. “And I ignored you.”

“You are meddling , Isadora. You are breaking a rule.”

She folded her arms. “You are hiding something.”

They stood in silence, both unwilling to be the first to look away.

“You do not understand the world I come from,” he murmured. “The men I deal with are not the kind who take kindly to prying eyes.”

Isadora narrowed hers. “And yet, you deal with them. Is that fair?”

“That is because I know how ,” he bit out. “And you do not.”

“Then teach me.”

Evan let out a sharp laugh, shaking his head. “You truly are impossible. Do you even hear some of the words that come out of your mouth?”

She stepped closer. “If I am to be your wife?—”

“You are my wife in name only,” he interrupted, his voice harsher than she had ever heard it.

For a fraction of a second, her mask faltered—just enough for Evan to see it. His jaw tensed, his hands clenching at his sides.

“I am handling it,” he said, quieter now.

Was it a trace of guilt that she sensed in his voice? For lashing out on his own wife like that.

“Very well,” she said, burying her emotions. “Then handle it.”

“I mean it, sweetheart,” he murmured. “It is not your task to worry about these matters. Do not ask about my business again. For your own good.”

But even as he said the words, she knew that Evan had come to a realization about her. She was not a wife who would be easily managed.

Without another word, he turned and left the room, the sound of the door closing behind him like a final warning.