Chapter 2
Two
“Ido not believe we have been properly introduced,” she observed as she allowed him to lead her towards the dance floor, her hand resting lightly in his.
“Indeed, we have not. Yet you did not let that societal rule stop you from approaching me,” he smirked.
“I am hosting this ball, and therefore I feel some… control of my guests,” she argued.
Why did I say such a thing? Infuriating man has my tongue in a twist.
The music swelled around them, violins rising into a bright and structured melody as couples formed neat lines beneath the chandeliers.
As they took their positions, she finally had the chance to study him properly, her gaze moving with careful assessment.
He was broad-shouldered, undeniably tall with dark brown hair that fell in a slightly untamed way and deep grey eyes that seemed constantly half-amused at the world.
There was something distinctly rough-cut about him, as though he had not been shaped by the same careful polish as the rest of the ton. Yet despite that, or perhaps because of it, he carried an unsettling confidence that drew attention without asking for it.
As they began to dance, his hand steady at her waist and his movements precise, she noticed the faintest arrogant smirk lingering at the corner of his mouth.
Grace could not decide which displeased her more, Lord Ternor’s malicious entitlement or this stranger’s infuriating ease, as though nothing in the room could possibly unsettle him.
“What you said earlier is not true. I am not a damsel in distress.” She lifted her chin slightly, refusing to be diminished by either man.
The words carried cleanly over the music, her tone calm but unmistakably firm. The man raised one brow as he guided her into the next step of the dance, unbothered by her correction.
“And yet,” he replied smoothly, “you quite literally came running towards me as though the room itself were closing in.”
Grace’s eyes narrowed slightly. “I did nothing of the sort,” she scoffed.
He gave a soft, amused hum, clearly unconvinced. “From where I stood,” he said, “you were being neatly cornered by a man who believed he owned the space around you.”
Grace’s posture stiffened, though she maintained her composure.
How did he notice such a thing? He speaks as though he has watched me all evening.
“I manage my own affairs perfectly well, thank you,” she replied.
The stranger’s smirk deepened as he turned her through the steps with effortless control.
“Do you?” he asked lightly. “Because I spent the better part of this evening observing your guests do everything but respect you.”
Grace held his gaze, refusing to be rattled. “My guests are free to think what they please,” she said. “It makes no difference to me.”
“That is a rather convenient philosophy,” he murmured. “Though I suspect it is not entirely true.”
“You know nothing of me,” she argued.
He tilted his head slightly, as if considering her more carefully. “I know enough,” he replied, “to see Lord Ternor believed he could push you around without consequence.”
Grace’s fingers tightened imperceptibly at his shoulder as they turned in rhythm with the music. “Lord Ternor is irrelevant,” she said.
The man gave a quiet, disbelieving sound. “He certainly did not think so when he was standing less than a breath away from your ear,” he replied.
Grace’s gaze flashed. “He was dismissed.”
“And yet he lingered,” the stranger said simply. “Men like that rarely leave when asked politely.”
Grace’s steps faltered for only a fraction of a second before she recovered. “I said I was perfectly capable of handling him,” she replied, her voice sharper now.
His smirk returned, unrepentant. “Capable,” he echoed. “Yes, I can see you are very capable of hosting a ball of this size and of managing rooms full of people who whisper about you the moment your back is turned.”
Grace felt heat rise in her chest, her composure finally beginning to crack at the edges. “That is quite enough,” she said firmly.
He did not stop speaking. “It is not criticism,” he said, though it sounded very much like it. “It is observation. This is not a small gathering, Lady Grace. It is a battlefield of expectation, and you are expected to command it flawlessly.”
Grace’s eyes flashed as they moved into the next turn of the dance.
“And what precisely,” she said, her voice dangerously even, “makes you think I am not doing so?”
He met her gaze directly now, the humor in his expression sharpening into something more assessing. “Because you look,” he said quietly, “as though you are one misstep away from deciding you were never meant to be standing at the center of it at all.”
Grace’s breath caught, not from fear but from anger. The suggestion struck too close to her fear that she would never be seen as a proper, elegant lady.
I’ve always felt out of place in society. I do not play the part of a lady well. Does he so easily see that?
“You are impertinent,” she said, her voice low. “And presumptuous.”
The stranger’s smirk returned, unbothered by her fury as he guided her.
“Perhaps,” he said lightly. “But I am not wrong.”
Her chin lifted slightly as she held his gaze, refusing to be unsettled by the strange pull of his presence. “You are no gentleman,” she said firmly, her voice low enough not to carry beyond their immediate space.
A slow smirk touched his mouth, as though she had confirmed something he already knew. “I never claimed to be a gentleman, Lady Grace,” he replied smoothly, guiding her through a turn with effortless precision. “You made that assumption all on your own.”
Grace let out a soft, incredulous breath, her composure cracking for only a heartbeat before she recovered. “That is an extraordinary thing to say to your hostess,” she retorted.
His eyes flicked over her face with faint amusement, unbothered by her indignation. “Is it?” he asked lightly. “You seemed perfectly willing to assume I was here to behave according to your expectations.”
Grace opened her mouth to respond sharply, then paused. Something about the phrasing caught her off guard, and for the first time, she realized she did not know his name.
Her eyes narrowed slightly. “I do not even know who you are,” she said.
The man’s smirk deepened, as though this amused him greatly. “Then I suppose that rather strengthens my point,” he replied. “A rather careless hostess inviting guests she cannot even identify.”
Grace’s grip on decorum tightened as heat rose in her cheeks.
“That is quite uncalled for,” she said, her voice clipped.
He guided her through another turn, his hand steady against her back. She felt that his touch was firm, which only infuriated her more.
“And yet still true,” he said calmly. Grace shot him a sharp look.
“You are impossible,” she muttered.
“Frequently,” he agreed without hesitation.
The ease of his reply only made her irritation worse, though she could not deny the strange awareness of his presence, the way the heat of his hand seemed to linger through the fabric of her gown. She told herself it was annoyance, nothing more, yet her pulse betrayed a more complicated truth.
“At least,” she said tightly, “you are consistent in your unpleasantness.”
He gave a quiet, amused hum. “Consistency is underrated,” he argued.
Grace exhaled slowly, forcing herself to focus on the steps. Then, as they turned beneath the chandelier, a thought struck her.
I know everyone here. The only person that I would not know is the Duke, newly arrived in town and…
Her thoughts clicked into place with sudden clarity. “You are he,” she said before she could stop herself. He glanced at her.
“Am I?” he asked.
Grace’s eyes sharpened. “The new duke in London. The Duke of Rainfield.”
At that, he inclined his head slightly, a formal acknowledgment that did nothing to soften his expression. “Evander Rivers, at your service, Ma'am,” he said simply.
Grace lifted her chin at once, regaining her composure. “Then you are the gentleman who failed to respond to my invitation, yet you are here,” she said coolly. “I recall now.”
His brow rose faintly. “I did not fail to respond,” he objected. “I chose not to.”
Grace’s eyes flashed. “And that,” she replied, “is a severe lack of decorum, Your Grace.” The title felt sharp on her tongue, though she did not look away.
He regarded her for a moment, the humor in his expression fading into something more focused.
“At least,” he said quietly, “I do not speak behind people’s backs.”
Grace stiffened slightly, the words cutting through her composure. “I beg your pardon?” she asked.
His gaze held hers as they moved through the final sequence of the dance. “You heard me,” he said evenly. “Unlike the rest of your guests, I say exactly what I mean to the person I mean it to.”
Grace felt her breath catch, though she refused to show it.
“That is hardly a virtue,” she said quickly.
“It depends on your audience,” he replied. Then, as the music neared its end, he added, “I thought you might appreciate honesty.”
Grace frowned slightly. “Why are you even here,” she asked, “if you find everything so unpleasant? You do not speak to anyone. You do not engage.”
He paused for a fraction of a second, his expression unreadable. “I am doing research,” he said simply. “Nothing more.”
Grace opened her mouth to press him further, but the final note of the music arrived, cutting the moment cleanly in two.
He released her hand at last, stepping back with a small, controlled bow.
“Thank you for the dance, Lady Grace. It has been most… invigorating,” he said.
Then, without waiting for a reply, he turned and walked away, disappearing into the crowd.
Grace remained still for a moment, her pulse uneven, her thoughts unsettled, and her cheeks faintly flushed.
This is why she had been unmarried for so long. No man had ever measured up to her dream of being a true gentleman with an interest in the arts… and romance. There were no such men of her acquaintance.
“Impossible man. I shall never dance with the Duke of Rainfield again, and I hope I never see him again.”