Page 98 of The Earl’s Marriage of Convenience

Carver studied him a moment longer.

Then inclined his head—just enough to signal acknowledgment, if not concession.

Silence fell.

“It becomes,” Edwin said at last, “your word against ours. And we, as I have mentioned, possess the documentation to support our account.” He let the words settle. “So, tell me, Lord Carver—” He met Carver’s gaze fully. “Which of us do you believe society will favor?”

Carver said nothing. But something in his expression shifted—tightened—fractured, if only slightly.

Edwin watched him.

Waited.

At last, Carver exhaled, his composure reassembling into something colder, more contained. “It would seem,” he said slowly, “that we have reached an understanding.”

“Yes,” Edwin replied. “It would seem we have.”

Carver inclined his head stiffly.

“I will not see you again,” Edwin continued, his voice lowering—losing its earlier polish, gaining something sharper. “Unless it is across a crowded room. And even then—you will not look at me. Nor…” He speared him with a stare. “Will you look at my wife.”

The word landed—firm, unyielding.

“And if you do,” Edwin added quietly, “you will answer to me.”

Carver held his gaze for a moment longer—then gave a short, restrained nod.

Without another word, he turned and left.

The door closed behind him.

Only then did Edwin release the breath he had been holding. For a moment, he remained where he was, his hands still resting against the desk, his thoughts catching up to the force of what had just passed. The idea of Carver threatening her, of placing her reputation, her future, at risk had ignited something in him he had not expected.

Something sharp. Immediate. Uncompromising.

It had not been strategy.

It had been instinct.

He straightened slowly, drawing in a deeper breath now that the tension had passed.

It was done. Carver was contained and neutralized.

And what remained … His gaze drifted, unfocused for a moment, as the thought settled fully.

What remained—was something altogether different.

A wedding.

Chapter Thirty

Eliza sat in the pew at St. George’s Church and allowed herself a quiet smile as the banns were read aloud once more. There was something deeply formal and yet profoundly personal about the ritual. The calling of names before a congregation, repeated over the course of three Sundays, was not merely tradition. It was declaration. It was an invitation for objection, a safeguard meant to ensure that no lawful impediment stood between two people and the vows they intended to make. And yet, as she listened to her own name spoken—Lady Eliza Montford, to be joined in matrimony with the Earl of Devon—she felt something far removed from scrutiny.

She felt … claimed. This was the second reading. The second affirmation. The second step toward something that had begun as strategy—and was now becoming something far less easily defined.

Edwin sat beside her, composed as ever, though she felt the subtle shift of his hand before she saw it. His fingers threaded with hers, a quiet, unassuming gesture that carried far more weight than it ought.

She glanced down, watching the way his hand settled against hers, then lifted her gaze toward him.