The coach slowed, then stopped before a squat red-brick building with faded shutters. A sign over the door readThe London Gazette. Evander was out before the footman reached the step, striding forward with grim purpose.
Inside, a young clerk rose awkwardly from behind a desk, his quill still in hand. “May I help?—”
“I need to speak to Lord Luca. Now,” Evander demanded.
The clerk blinked, caught off guard. “I’m afraid that’s not possible since he’s in a meeting at the moment?—”
“I don’t care,” Evander snapped, advancing. “Tell him Lord Westmere is here, and I will notwait.”
The clerk hesitated, but Evander didn’t. He swept past him, pushing open the main door and stepping into the heart of the newsroom. The clatter of low conversation filled the space. Desks lined the floor in long, chaotic rows, and at the far end, a closed door marked a private office.
Footsteps pounded behind him. “Sir—you can’t go back there!”
“I’m not asking permission,” Evander responded.
Warwicke caught up beside him, matching his stride. “Westmere, I’m warning you not to go in half-cocked.”
He couldn’t promise that. Not when he still saw Olivia’s pale face in his mind, her eyes haunted from whatever she had endured. No. He wouldn’t be calm. Not for this.
He reached the back office, grasped the handle, and threw open the door.
Lord Luca looked up from behind his desk, clearly startled. “Lord Westmere,” he said, rising slightly. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Evander stepped forward, his words hard. “We need to talk.”
Behind him, the clerk stammered, “Should I send for the constable?”
“No,” Lord Luca said quickly, smoothing his expression. “That won’t be necessary. I’m sure Lord Westmere and Lord Warwicke are merely… passionate. Gentlemen, shall we proceed civilly?”
Warwicke interjected. “That depends on how honest you’re prepared to be.”
Lord Luca’s brow furrowed slightly as he leaned back. “And what would I have to lie about?”
Warwicke shut the door behind them. “What we’re about to say is off the record. Do we have an understanding?”
“That depends entirely on the subject.” Lord Luca’s tone remained composed, but Evander saw the flicker of wariness beneath.
“The abduction of Lady Westmere,” Warwicke said bluntly.
Lord Luca’s head turned towards Evander. “Your wife was abducted?”
Evander folded his arms across his chest, his voice like steel. “She was. She escaped.” And he would never forgive himself for not preventing it.
“That’s… troubling,” Lord Luca remarked. “Do you believe it was connected to the threats made against your family?”
Evander’s gaze narrowed. “That’s the assumption.”
“Well then, given everything, perhaps it’s time to sell the indigo plantation. That would be the reasonable course, wouldn’t it?”
Evander stepped closer to the desk. “Is that what you want? For me to sell?”
Lord Luca eyed him curiously. “Why would my opinion matter?”
Leaning forward, Evander planted his palms on the polished surface. “Because I think this was your aim all along. So I’ll ask again—what do you gain if I sell?”
“Nothing,” Lord Luca responded.
Warwicke’s voice cut in, sharp. “How long have you been working with the reformers who want Britain out of India?”
