“Your brother left the indigo plantation to youin his will.”
For a moment, Evander just stared at him. The words didn’t make sense. They couldn’t make sense. “That’s impossible,” he said firmly, shaking his head. “Bryon wouldn’t do that. He would’ve left it to the estate.”
Lord Luca lowered himself back into his chair, folding his hands atop a stack of papers. “His will was filed with the probate court. I reviewed it last week, with full permission. It was a clear directive. The indigo plantation was left to you. Solely.”
Evander’s breath caught as a chill spread through his chest. Why would Bryon do that? Why would he put him in charge, bypassing their father entirely? And why hadn’t his father said anything about that?
He spoke more to himself than to the others. “Why would he leave it to me and not the estate?”
Luca gave a small shake of his head. “I can’t say. Perhaps he didn’t trust your father to manage it. Or perhaps… he knew what was coming.” He held Evander’s gaze. “Whatever the reason, the decision is yours now. To keep it. Or sell it.”
Evander turned away, unable to answer. His steps carried him to the narrow window, the glass smeared with dust. Outside, the city pulsed with life as carts rattled over cobblestones and pedestrians weaved through crowded streets. Yet everything in him had gone still.
The weight of the decision settled heavily on his shoulders.
Could he sell it? Walk away from the land his brother had entrusted to him?
But if he kept it, if he refused to sell, would that put Olivia in danger again?
Warwicke’s voice drew him back. “What we do know is that Olivia was taken to The Dragon’s Head,” he said. “But she escaped before more harm could befall her.”
Evander turned back, his mouth drawn in a tight line. Even now, the idea that she had endured something so harrowing while he was miles away still made his blood boil.
Lord Luca’s brows furrowed. “I heard nothing about the reformers planning to abduct Lady Westmere.”
“That doesn’t mean it wasn’t done by one of them,” Warwicke replied. “Or someone acting in their interest.”
Luca nodded slowly. “There’s a meeting in an hour. I could ask around and see if anyone knows something. If I hear anything useful, I’ll report back.”
Warwicke offered a brief nod of approval. “That would be appreciated.”
Lord Luca’s lips curled faintly. “I’m relieved we’ve come to some sort of understanding.”
Evander didn’t bother responding. He turned on his heel and followed Warwicke out of the cramped office and into the bustle of the newsroom. The hushed conversations and rustle of paper faded behind him as they stepped back into the corridor, then out into the waiting coach.
Only once the door shut behind them did Evander let out a long, frustrated breath. He dragged a hand over his face and slumped back into the seat.
“We’re no closer,” he muttered. “No closer to knowing who took Olivia. Or who’s behind the threats.”
Warwicke adjusted the cuffs of his sleeves and leaned back. “We did gain a potential ally.”
Evander stared out the window as the coach began to move again, but he didn’t respond right away. The streets of London blurred past, but his thoughts were rooted elsewhere—on his brother’s will, on the plantation, on Olivia’s haunted eyes.
“A reluctant one,” he said at last. “And we still don’t know if we can trust him.”
Warwicke grew silent. “True. But it’s more than we had yesterday.”
Evander’s fingers curled into his gloves. That may have been true. But it still wasn’t enough.
Not until he had answers.
Not until Olivia was safe.
19
Olivia sat in the drawing room, a book open in her lap, though she hadn’t turned a page in some time. Her gaze was fixed on the fireplace, its soft glow unable to melt the cold coil of unease in her stomach. The memory of waking in that wretched tavern gnawed at her—not just the fear, but the fury. She had been taken. Used as leverage. And she had been lucky to escape. That luck might not hold a second time.
She wasn’t weak. She wouldn’t let them make her feel small.
