Lord Luca’s smile didn’t waver. “I’m writing on the state of indigo plantations in India, and your family’s name, of course, came up.”
Evander stiffened. “You wish to speak of the plantation?”
“I wish to speak of your intentions,” Lord Luca responded. “Will you be continuing your late brother’s barbaric treatment of the locals?”
Evander blinked, stunned by the accusation. “I beg your pardon?”
Lord Luca reached into his coat and withdrew a folded document. “There have been disturbing reports—firsthand accounts—of brutal practices under your brother’s management.”
Evander took the paper with reluctance and unfolded it. The parchment crackled in his hands.
“My brother may have been… severe,” he said, choosing his words carefully, “but he was not a tyrant.”
“Severity is often a mask,” Lord Luca replied. “Some justify cruelty as business. But if you read the article in your hand, you’ll see claims that your brother oversaw the slaughter of nearly a hundred locals who opposed his expansion.”
Evander’s breath caught.
He scanned the article. Names. Villages. Vague descriptions of retaliation. He felt his stomach twist.Could this be true?
He looked up. “And how am I to know this piece wasn’t fabricated?”
“You don’t,” Lord Luca said simply. “Which is why I suggest you speak to your father. He knows far more than you might think.”
Evander’s fingers curled tighter around the paper. “And what do you want from me?”
“Your plans,” Luca said. “Will you continue operating the plantation? Or do you intend to reform it?”
Evander met his gaze squarely. “I have no comment.”
Luca stepped closer, voice dropping slightly. “There are reformer groups targetingNabobs. They’ve grown violent. Some have even killed. Have you received threats?”
Evander remained impassive, though the bullet that had barely missed him earlier echoed in his mind. “No.”
The lie sat bitter on his tongue.
“I see.” Lord Luca tilted his head. “Well, I’d advise caution. These groups are becoming more brazen.”
Evander stepped aside and gestured towards the door. “I believe our conversation is at an end.”
Lord Luca hesitated a moment, then nodded. “Very well.” He turned towards the door, then glanced back. “Keep the article. You and your father may find it... enlightening.”
Without waiting for a response, he exited, boots echoing down the corridor.
Evander stood motionless in the quiet that followed, the article still clutched in his hand. A hundred dead? His brother’s legacy, tainted by violence? And his father, what had he known?
He looked down at the paper again, heart pounding. There was more to uncover. And suddenly, it felt like he was standingnot at the beginning of his inheritance, but at the edge of a much darker truth.
11
Olivia needed to escape.
Not forever—though the temptation lingered—but for just a few stolen hours. A reprieve from the heaviness of recent days, from the carefully composed expressions and whispered condolences, and from the ache of wishing she could be in two places at once. While Evander buried his brother, she had remained dutifully at Lady Everwyck’s side, offering quiet comfort to a woman who had already lost too much.
Now, seated inside the quiet confines of her coach, she pressed her gloved fingers to her temple and exhaled slowly. The soft jostling of the carriage as it trundled along the familiar cobbled streets of London brought no real comfort, but at least the destination did. The circulating library had always been her sanctuary. It was a place where she could lose herself in pages instead of problems.
She leaned her head against the windowpane and closed her eyes briefly, letting the dull rhythm of the wheels soothe her. She wished she could have been with Evander. He had always been there for her—steady and kind, even when she had been recklessand foolish. Their friendship had been one of the few constants in her life, which only made the shift between them feel more unsettling.
That kiss.
