Without another word, the earl swept from the room, leaving a strained silence in his wake.
Olivia reached for her cup of chocolate and took a steadying sip, letting the warmth ease her tight throat. “Well,” she murmured, “it would appear your father has fully recovered from his emotional state this morning.”
Evander gave a dry chuckle. “If you hadn’t seen him crying, I would never have believed it possible.”
“I do hope Mr. Fairchild’s article sets the gossips talking. If public opinion turns, the duke might just withdraw his offer.”
“It’s a gamble,” Evander said. “Mr. Fairchild is sharp, but the duke is stubborn.”
“I’m willing to take that gamble for Lady Jane’s sake,” Olivia said. “She deserves a chance at happiness—not a gilded cage with an old man.”
Evander leaned subtly closer, his shoulder brushing against hers. “Not everyone is lucky enough to marry a devastatingly handsome man. You are, undoubtedly, the most fortunate woman in England.”
She arched a brow. “You are intolerably cocky this morning.”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” he asked, eyes sparkling. “You snuck into my bedchamber to seduce me.”
Her mouth fell open. “I most certainly did not!” She took a moment to gather herself. “I explained why I was there.”
“That you did,” he said solemnly. “But it was all rather convenient, wasn’t it? You just happenedto stumble into myroom.”
“You are a lackwit.”
He placed a hand dramatically over his heart. “You wound me, myKicksy-Wicksy.”
Olivia groaned. “Must you keep calling me that?”
“It’s an affectionate endearment. Very traditional. And I like it.”
“It’s appalling.”
“It’s adorable,” he corrected.
She rolled her eyes. “It’s astonishing that I tolerate you.”
“You do more than tolerate me,” he said with a grin that made her chest ache in a most disconcerting way.
She looked back to her breakfast with purpose and picked up her fork. “Can we not simply eat?”
“An excellent idea,” Evander said agreeably, turning to his own plate. “I do love food.”
Olivia began eating, grateful for the momentary silence. Yet beneath her calm façade, her thoughts tumbled. She loved bantering with him and treasured the easy rhythm of their conversations. But she couldn’t deny it any longer—her feelings for Evander were changing, deepening. They were no longer simply friendly affections.
No. These were not the emotions one had for a best friend.
These were the quiet beginnings of something far more dangerous—and that is what scared her the most.
Evander strode down the corridor, each step fueled by dread and urgency. His jaw clenched as he reached for the study door, knowing full well this would be one of the most difficult conversations he’d ever have with his father. But as he stepped inside, all thoughts of confrontation scattered.
His father was slumped over the desk, motionless, and a trail of blood trickled down from his temple. The drapes blew in the breeze of the open window behind him.
No.
Evander’s heart seized as he rushed forward. “Father!” he called, already reaching out. The back of his father’s silver hair was darkened with blood—matted, sticky. He had been struck, hard.
“Gillingham!” Evander roared. “Send for the doctor, now!”
Dropping to one knee beside the chair, he grasped his father’s sleeve and gave a gentle shake. “Father—can you hear me?” His own voice shook with panic. The coolness of the skin beneath his fingers made his stomach twist.
