He cocked an eyebrow and gave her a devilish grin. “Well, you would be wrong. There was a great deal of pleading on your part, if memory serves. And me, being the magnanimous gentleman I am, consented. I couldn’t very well let you pine away for me, now could I?”
His mother chuckled softly from her place in bed, her thin hands folded atop the coverlet. Though still pale, she looked stronger than she had in days. “That was kind of you, Son,” she said dryly. “But I suspect the truth lies somewhere in the middle.”
Placing a hand to his chest with mock offense, Evander gasped. “I do not know why either of you are acting so surprised. Olivia has always wanted this.” He waved a hand over his person. “And can you blame her?”
Olivia rolled her eyes in a dramatic fashion. “Do you even hear yourself speak?”
A grin tugged at his lips. “I do,” he replied. “And yet, you are stuck with me.”
She met his gaze, soft now, genuine. “You’ll hear no complaints from me.”
That quiet admission lodged somewhere deep inside his chest. Even in jest, her affection grounded him.
His mother gave a contented sigh. “I am so pleased that you two have finally come to terms with your feelings. I always knew you cared for one another—far more than either of you would admit.”
Before Evander could respond, a knock sounded at the door.
“Enter,” he called, straightening slightly.
A young maid stepped in and dipped a quick curtsy. “Lord Alcott has requested a moment of your time, my lord.”
Evander nodded. “Inform him I will be down in a moment.”
As the maid withdrew, Evander leaned forward and reached for his mother’s hand. “I won’t be long.”
She patted his hand with a smile. “Do not rush on my account. I’m rather eager to hear Olivia’s version of the tale.”
He looked back towards his wife. “I’m sure she’ll leave out the part where she nearly swooned from my kiss. It wasquite something. She tried to play coy, but truly, she was overwhelmed.”
“Overwhelmed by your ego, perhaps,” Olivia quipped. “Your kissing skills are merely adequate.”
He turned, aghast. “Adequate? Take that back, Wife.”
Her eyes danced with mischief. “I might be wrong, but I suppose we’ll have to kiss more to find out.”
His chest tightened at the thought. How he wanted to whisk her away upstairs, away from his duties, away from the world. But now was not the time.
He cleared his throat and turned back to the door. “I should see what Alcott wants.”
As he exited, he caught a final glimpse of Olivia settling beside his mother, the two of them falling easily into conversation. That image—his mother smiling, Olivia beside her, both of them at peace—lodged itself in his heart. He never would’ve thought he could have this. And now that he did, he would never let it go.
Downstairs, the drawing room was empty save for Alcott, standing with his usual rigid posture, his hands clasped behind his back. He looked every bit the soldier—composed, guarded, as though ready for battle.
“Alcott,” Evander greeted as he crossed the room. “Would you care for something to drink?”
“I would,” came the reply, though his tone was subdued.
Evander reached for the decanter. “Is something troubling you?”
There was a pause. “I’m considering taking a wife.”
Evander’s hand stilled mid-pour. “A wife?” He looked up, startled. “You?”
Alcott gave a curt nod, though his jaw tightened. “Not because I want to, not really. But I believe it would benefit my sister. And… I need an heir.”
Evander resumed pouring, slowly, before handing his friend a glass. “That is not the best reason to marry.”
“I don’t claim it is,” Alcott admitted, studying the amber liquid in his glass.
