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Emerson’s features stilled, like a rabbit frozen in front of a fox—or perhaps more like a fox that had sighted a rabbit. It was difficult to tell.

“I’ve been attempting to determine why you’re doing this, and I thought perhaps you can’t afford to lose the bet.”

At that, Emerson’s jaw clenched. “It’s not about money. I have enough, and it’s crass to discuss such things in company.”

“Well, then, why?” When Emerson failed to answer, he went on. “Not that it matters, because I intend to stand by her.”

“Are you actually that much of a fool?” Emerson’s face had begun to turn an impressive shade of red, and while he stayed seated, it was clear he, too, was itching to leap to his feet. Trevor wasn’t sure if he resisted because he’d consider a physical altercation to be ungentlemanly behavior or if it was because it was obvious that Trevor—who spent much of his time outdoors—would win in a fight.

Trevor’s fingers wanted to flutter, but by sheer force of will, he kept them pinned to his thighs. “I’m going to be an earl one day, and you have no title. My support will get her through this. You won’t stand against me and win.”

Emerson scoffed. “Romantic drivel. Your ideals won’t help you if she’s prosecuted.”

Nausea upended Trevor’s stomach, but he tried not to let it show. He couldn’t believe that Emerson was willing to take his threats this far.

Yes, the man was prideful, and all of society was watching, but surely he couldn’t be that petty.

“I know it’s possible that she’ll be prosecuted.” His jaw ached from the force of gritting his teeth. “But I’ve always believed Miss Dalton to be exceptionally bright, and there’s no denying that she cares about people. I’m quite certain she would have done everything within her power to ensure that anything she made caused no harm.”

Eyes glittering, Emerson cocked his head like a cat with a bird in its sight. “You have such faith in her, but she isn’t as sweet as she’d like you to believe.”

At that, Trevor laughed. “No, she’s wickedly clever, not sweet. I’ve underestimated her before, but I don’t think I ever have as badly as you’ve done.” He got to his feet, his hands behind his back to hide their trembling, and tried to mimic the way Sylvestor always held himself—confident and certain of his own place in the world. “Stand down, or this won’t end well for you.”

Emerson scoffed and pushed himself upright, standing toe to toe with Trevor. He was the shorter of the two, but only slightly. “You may be a future earl, but you’re also a bumbling academic. I easily find favor among the foremost members of society. Do you really think you can beat me?”

His words struck true, slicing into the core of Trevor’s fears, but he reminded himself that he wasn’t only fighting this battle for himself—he was here for Seraphina. “I may be a bumbling academic, but I’ll still be an earl, and I’m prepared to do whatever it takes to protect my future countess.”

Emerson’s mouth twisted into an ugly snarl. “Yes, you’ll still be an earl. No matter how poorly you conduct yourself, you’ll still have a title and status just because you were born into the right family. Meanwhile, I learned Debrett’s by heart before I was twenty. I taught myself what a gentleman ought to wear and how he ought to act, and I made myself so engaging and correct that no one could look down on me. Miss Dalton and I are the same. She should be with me.”

“It isn’t fair that rank carries such weight,” Trevor agreed, because even though he disliked Emerson as a person, he recognized accomplishment when faced with it. “And I can’t deny that your manners are more equal to Miss Dalton’s than mine are, but she wants to marry me and I’m prepared to use my unearned rank to my advantage to ensure that happens.”

Emerson smirked. “Then I suppose we’ll have to see what wins: your rank, or the social influence I have spent a decade cultivating.”

His cravat felt uncomfortably tight around his neck, but he resisted the urge to tug at it. “I trust that the people who matter are intelligent enough to see the truth.”

“Ha! Society believes whatever truth gives them more to gossip about.”

“I don’t believe that.” Trevor tore away from their skirmish and strode out of the parlor, ignoring the poor butler’s fussing as he marched to the exit and shoved it open. A breeze stirred his hair, and he rushed into the carriage and tore the cravat from his neck.

With the starched noose gone, he could breathe properly again.

“Where to, my lord?” the driver called.

Trevor twisted the cravat between his hands. He needed to calm down before he was ready to return home. “The nearest garden or park.”

The door closed, and Trevor belatedly hoped that no one on the street had witnessed him tearing off his cravat. He slipped it into his front pocket and reached instinctively for his sketchbook, cursing as he remembered that he’d left it behind.

As the carriage started moving, he tried to distract himself by watching buildings pass by the window, but it did no good. He was still mulling over Emerson’s parting words when the carriage stopped outside a path leading into a small public garden, and he disembarked.

Much as he wished it otherwise, Emerson wasn’t wrong. People liked to gossip, even if the stories they were spreading weren’t strictly true. If it came to a test of public perception, he’d simply have to hope that Seraphina was equal to the task because he certainly couldn’t perform at Emerson’s level.

Trevor strolled along the path, shielding his eyes from the sun. He spotted a pond farther along and set off in that direction, still thinking.

It would be best if they could resolve this another way. Disproving Emerson’s claim about his footman’s nephew would be the most straightforward way to go about it. He groaned and slapped his palm to his forehead. Why hadn’t he sought out the footman today to ask if there was any truth to the story?

He’d been so consumed by the prospect of the upcoming conversation with Emerson that he’d overlooked the obvious opportunity. Hopefully his own butler had already made contact.

He reached the pond and settled on a wooden bench nearby. It was moist from the dew, but he barely noticed that as he gazed across the water, spotting a group of waterlilies near the right bank. He counted the flowers, noting that the leaves sat on the water rather than under it, and reached again for his missing sketchbook.