“A Mr. Taylor,” Evander said. “He represents Walter Textiles.”
Warwicke gave a dry chuckle. “How convenient.”
Evander frowned. “I’ve known Harwood for years. He’s brash and arrogant at times, but he’s always acted out of duty.”
“Duty and ambition are not mutually exclusive,” Warwicke said, settling deeper into his chair. “I think I’ll look into Harwood next.”
Evander gave him a cautious look. “You think he’s involved in the threats? He claimed to have received them himself.”
“So he says,” Warwicke murmured, unconvinced.
“But why would he lie about that?”
Warwicke’s grin was almost mocking. “Greed. Power. Leverage. Any number of motives, depending on what he stands to gain. Or lose.”
Evander glanced towards the closed door, his thoughts turning to Olivia. “I should be able to convince her to stay here, at least until we sort this out.”
Warwicke tilted his head. “You two looked close when I arrived. That’s good, isn’t it?”
“It is,” Evander admitted. “We’re making progress. But sometimes I look at her and I wonder what she’s thinking. If I’ll ever be enough.”
Warwicke chuckled. “That’s the wish of every good husband.”
Evander paused, then asked, “What if I can’t get her to love me?”
At that, Warwicke sobered. “Love doesn’t work that way. If it is meant to be, it will happen. It is given. Freely. Unexpected.”
“That doesn’t sound very promising.”
Leaning forward in his seat, Warwicke said, “I tried pushing Thea away, convinced I was unworthy. But she didn’t care. She proved her love through every word, every gesture. That’s what changed me.”
Evander stared up at the ceiling. “I see the questions in Olivia’s eyes but she is stubborn.”
“Aren’t all women?” Warwicke asked, rising. “That’s what makes it worth the fight.”
Warwicke stepped towards the door and continued. “I’ll let you know if I find anything else. Be on your guard.”
Evander gave a sharp nod. “I always am.” But even as he said the words, he knew they rang hollow.
The door shut quietly behind his friend, and the study fell into stillness once more. Evander leaned back in his chair, the leather cool against the nape of his neck, and closed his eyes. He should have been planning, strategizing, doing something—anything—to get ahead of the threats looming over his family. But instead, his mind veered—again and again—to Olivia.
She was always there, just beneath the surface of every thought. He tried to shake her, to push her from his mind, but she came back stronger. Every smile, every skeptical look, every quiet breath she took near him—it consumed him. And that, he thought grimly, was the problem.
A knock at the door broke the silence.
“Pardon the interruption, my lord,” came Gillingham’s voice as he stepped inside, bowing slightly. “Your mother is requesting a moment of your time.”
Evander straightened with a sigh and rose. “Thank you.”
As he walked through the corridors towards his mother’s bedchamber, he tried to rehearse what he would say to Olivia.He needed to convince her to remain here, where it was safe, but Olivia was no meek lady. She’d balk at being confined, and she’d demand answers he couldn’t yet give. He had no certainty to offer her—only shadows, and the hope that Warwicke would unearth something solid.
When he reached the familiar door to his mother’s chambers, he knocked once before stepping inside. The drapes had been pulled back, and sunlight poured in, illuminating the soft pink of her bedclothes and the thin lines around her eyes. But her posture was alert, and her color was better than he’d seen in weeks.
“Mother,” he greeted, stepping to her side. “How are you feeling?”
“Well enough to live another day,” she replied, voice dry as always.
He gave a brief smile and sat beside her on the edge of the bed. “You asked to see me?”
