“Evander…”
He turned at the sound of Olivia’s voice. She stood in the doorway, face pale, eyes wide with disbelief. Her gaze dropped to the still form at the desk. “Is he… dead?”
Evander leaned in, willing himself to detect something—anything. Relief flooded his chest as he saw the faint but steady rise and fall of his father’s breathing. “No,” he murmured. “He’s alive.”
Olivia moved closer, bending down beside the chair. She reached down and lifted a large rock streaked with blood from the carpet. “There’s a paper,” she said, pulling it loose and handing it to him.
Evander untied the rough string with trembling fingers. The paper was crumpled, stained, but the words were unmistakable:This is your last warning.
He closed his eyes briefly, fury and fear coiling together in his gut. This had been intentional. This was a message—and it had nearly cost his father his life.
“This is about the indigo plantation,” he said bitterly. “Whoever threw this meant to harm him. Possibly kill him.”
Olivia laid a steadying hand on his sleeve. “Are you all right?”
He turned to her, met her gaze, and showed her the paper. “No,” he said flatly. “If we don’t sell the plantation, one of us is going to die.”
A low groan came from the desk. Evander leaned in quickly. “Father?”
The older man stirred, eyes fluttering open before squinting in pain. “What in the blazes happened?”
“You were struck in the head,” Evander said, keeping his voice calm. “A rock came through the window. You lost consciousness.”
His father touched the back of his skull, pulling back fingers slick with blood. He stared at them, dazed. “Who would throw a rock at me?”
Evander set the rock on the desk with a dull thud. “The same people who threatened me. The same people who may have killed Bryon.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” his father snapped. “Bryon died from illness.”
“No,” Evander said. “Lord Warwicke saw his ship docked on the Thames yesterday and spoke to the crew. No one seems to recall Bryon even being amongst the passengers.”
The color drained from the earl’s face. “That’s… impossible.”
“Who told you Bryon was dead?” Evander pressed.
“Lord Harwood’s brother.” His father blinked, as though trying to remember. “Joseph. He assumed the title after his brother died.”
Olivia’s voice was careful. “You don’t think Joseph had anything to do with his brother’s death, do you?”
Evander shook his head slowly. “I don’t know what to believe anymore. But someone tried to kill me. And now they’ve attacked my father.”
His father scoffed. “It’s those blasted reformers. They want the indigo for themselves. But I won’t bend. That plantation will make us rich.”
Evander frowned. “Even if it kills you?”
His father straightened. “Yes.”
“And what about me?”
There was a pause. Just long enough. “It won’t come to that,” his father said, but his tone was less certain.
“It might,” Evander replied. “They won’t stop.”
Before the argument could spiral further, Gillingham reappeared in the doorway. “The doctor has been summoned, my lord.”
His father scowled. “For what purpose?”
Evander stared at him, incredulous. “To examine you. You were bleeding and unconscious when I arrived.”
