But in that moment, something shifted within Olivia. Something warm, unfamiliar, and astonishingly real. It was unlike her kiss with Lord Harwood, which had been remarkably dull. This—this was different. There was no rush, no desperation. Just the warmth of Evander’s mouth against hers, and the feeling of being entirely, irrevocably seen.
When he pulled back, his breath still mingling with hers, he looked at her carefully. “Well?” he asked, his voice rough with emotion.
She gave a small, almost shy smile. “It was definitely not like kissing my brother.”
He let out a breath that sounded suspiciously like a laugh, though his gaze remained on her face. “Thank heavens,” he murmured. “I’ve been waiting my entire life to kiss you.”
“Truly?”
“There was always something about you. I suppose I’ve always known… but I was too much of a coward to admit it.”
“Did it disappoint?” she asked softly, searching his face for any flicker of doubt.
His eyes dropped to her lips again, lingering. “No,” he said, his voice hoarse. “It was better than I ever imagined.”
Olivia felt something inside her tremble. Not in fear, but in anticipation. Her hands twitched in her lap, and she had to resist the sudden urge to throw her arms around his neck and kiss him again. Instead, she sat straighter, drawing a slow breath to steady herself.
“Good,” she replied, managing to keep her tone calm, though her heart was far from it.
A comfortable silence stretched between them. They were engaged. It was a fact. In the eyes of Society, they belonged to one another already. Standing before the vicar was merely a formality. So she could just lean forward and kiss him. It would be so easy to do, but was she brave enough to do so?
“We don’t have to rush anything,” Evander said. “We’ll take it one day at a time. But I meant what I said. I want this marriage. I want you.”
Her breath caught again, but this time it wasn’t anxiety that filled her—it was hope. Trembling and uncertain, perhaps, but alive.
And for the first time in days, she allowed herself to believe that happiness might not be a foolish dream, after all.
Evander rose and offered his hand. “You should get some rest. We have a big day tomorrow.”
She slipped her hand in his and allowed him to assist her in rising. “Thank you for coming here tonight.”
“It is what I do.”
Evander descended the sweeping staircase of his townhouse, his hand trailing along the polished banister, the weight of the day pressing against his chest—not as a burden, but as something startlingly bright and heavy with promise. Today, he would marry Olivia. The woman he had loved for years in silence, the woman who had agreed to be his bride. But affection was not love—at least, not yet—and he was fully aware that her heart was not his. Not entirely.
But he would win it. In time.
As he stepped into the entry hall, the butler was already waiting, composed and solemn as ever.
“The coach has been brought around, my lord,” the man announced with a slight bow.
“Thank you, Gillingham,” Evander replied with a brisk nod.
He had told no one of his true intentions. There had been no formal announcement, no family gathering, no letters sent. It was safer this way—for now. If his father were to discover he was marrying Olivia this very day, there would be fury, not celebration. It was better to tell him after the fact and deal with the consequences then.
He stepped through the open door onto the front steps, only to find a familiar figure pacing beside the coach, arms crossed and expression tight with disapproval.
Evander halted mid-step. “Alcott? What are you doing here?”
Lord Alcott turned to face him, his mouth already set in a grim line. “I came to talk you out of this madness.”
“And what madness might that be?”
“You can’t marry Lady Olivia,” Alcott declared.
Evander stared at him. “How do you even know about the wedding?”
“Wilton told me. We were boxing this morning,” Alcott replied. “He was positively gleeful.”
