“I did,” Evander said, pausing as they reached the end of the corridor. He turned to her. “He’s looking into the attack. Into all of it.”
A faint wave of relief passed through her. “Good. I hope he can put a stop to these threats. I can’t bear the thought of anything happening to you.”
Evander looked at her with a steadiness that made her breath catch. “Nothing will happen to me.”
But she couldn’t let him dismiss it so easily. She reached out and laid her hand on his sleeve. “Do not make light of this situation. I need you to be careful, Evander.”
The air between them seemed to shift as his gaze locked with hers. “I will be,” he said. “Because I’ve never had such a reason to fight before.”
Olivia’s heart gave a small, traitorous flutter. She didn’t speak. She couldn’t. She simply stood there, with her hand still on his arm, and tried to remember how to breathe.
But then Evander stepped back.
It was subtle—just one step, hardly noticeable to anyone else—but to Olivia, it felt purposeful. Her hand, which had rested so naturally on his sleeve a moment ago, fell uselessly to her side.
“We should start dressing for dinner soon,” he said, his tone even, as if nothing had passed between them.
Olivia forced herself to nod, though her throat felt tight. “Yes, we should,” she replied, hoping the words carried more steadiness than she actually felt.
He gave her a smile—gentle, almost private—but it only deepened her confusion. There was something in his eyes she couldn’t name, and before she could search his expression for more, he turned and walked away down the corridor, leaving her alone in the fading light.
Olivia remained rooted in place for a long moment, her heart beating too loudly in the silence he left behind. What had just happened? Had she imagined the moment? The look in his eyes? The weight of his words?
Something had transpired between them, but what it was, she could not say.
14
Evander walked away from Olivia, resisting the overwhelming urge to look back. But if he did, he might not be able to walk away at all. He wanted to tell her—desperately—that he loved her. That he always had. But she wasn’t ready, and if he pushed now, he might lose her entirely. Still, every time she met his gaze or touched his hand, his restraint crumbled.
He reached the study and paused briefly at the threshold, composing himself. The scent of brandy and ash hung heavy in the air. His father sat by the hearth, glass in hand, his face turned towards the flickering flames. He didn’t move. Didn’t even glance in Evander’s direction.
“Father,” Evander said, stepping farther into the room.
The earl’s voice was dry and clipped. “Son.”
Evander crossed the room and sank into the worn leather chair opposite him. “How is your head?”
“The doctor said I’ll live,” his father replied, as if even that were a mild inconvenience.
“I had no doubt,” Evander murmured, allowing a sliver of warmth to enter his voice.
Only then did the earl turn to look at him. His eyes were bloodshot but clear. “I’ve made peace with dying. That should make everything easier.”
Evander’s brows furrowed. “In what way?”
His father exhaled slowly. “Because I don’t know what I’ll do when your mother’s gone. She’s been… the better part of me for decades. Without her—” He shook his head. “I’m not certain there’s anything left.”
The vulnerability in his father’s voice startled Evander. It was a rare, unguarded admission.
“If you loved her so deeply,” Evander asked, “why the mistresses?”
The earl gave a careless shrug. “It’s what men in our position do. We entertain distractions. I wasn’t the first peer to take a mistress, and I doubt I’ll be the last.”
“And that makes it justifiable?”
“I never said that,” his father said, taking another sip. “I was weak. Don’t make the same mistake, Son. I know I hurt your mother more than once. And still, she stayed.” He gave a dry laugh. “I don’t deserve her.”
“I intend to be true to Olivia,” Evander asserted.
