Evelyn had barely slept since the engagement party.
Her lips still tingled from Nathaniel's kiss, and her thoughts looped around his voice,You make my heart race. I won't be soft. I'll teach you to surrender, not submit. Each time she blinked, she saw the firelit gleam in his eyes, that terrifying mix of desire and warning.
It should have disgusted her.
Instead, it made her tremble.
The next morning, she found refuge in the gardens, hiding beneath the magnolia tree in a faded green walking dress, a leather-bound journal open in her lap. She sketched without focus mostly shadows and silhouettes with hollow eyes.
The crunch of footsteps on gravel made her freeze.
Then a familiar voice called out.
"Oh, for heaven's sake, Evelyn, don't tell me you've become one of those tragic heroines hiding in shrubbery!"
Evelyn's head snapped up.
"Pamela?"
Lady Pamela stood before her, all wind-swept curls and mischief, in a robin's-egg-blue riding coat.
"I came to see if the rumors were true," Pamela said, plopping down beside her on the grass. "That my dearest friend has been bartered off to the infamous Duke of Wycliffe in exchange for the last crust of Ashcombe bread."
"I suppose they are."
Pamela stared at her. "And you didn't write to tell me about it?"
"I only learned myself days ago."
Pamela huffed. "You look pale."
Evelyn glanced at her hands. "I feel pale."
"Has he touched you?" she whispered.
Evelyn hesitated. "He kissed me."
Pamela's eyes widened. "And?"
"It... wasn't what I expected."
"You liked it?"
Evelyn swallowed. "Yes."
"Oh dear," Pamela whispered, more serious now. "They say he's dangerous."
"They say many things."
"They say his valet once found a bloodstained cravat in his dressing room."
"Or perhaps he nicked himself shaving."
"They say his mother died in the same wing of his estate where his former fiancée went mad."
Evelyn gave her a look.
"What? I collect gossip the way other girls collect fans."
Evelyn's voice lowered. "He frightens me."
"And excites you?"
Her silence was enough of an answer.
Pamela reached for her hand. "Then you must tread carefully. It's easy to confuse passion for danger. But they're not always the same."
Evelyn stared down at their joined fingers. "He said he won't pretend to be a man he's not."
"Most men lie. That might be the most terrifying thing of all - his honesty."
They sat quietly for a moment, watching the wind pull petals from the magnolia branches.
Then Pamela said, "Come riding with me. Shake off some of that ghostly gloom."
Evelyn smiled faintly. "All right."
The countryside was cool and damp, sunlight threading through the clouds in fleeting shafts. Evelyn hadn't ridden in months, and the freedom of the gallop under her thighs, the wind tearing through her hair, it made her feel alive again.
They returned mud-splashed and flushed with laughter. But the moment she entered the hall, she knew she wasn't alone.
Nathaniel stood at the foot of the stairs, hands clasped behind his back, dressed in charcoal gray. His gaze was unreadable.
"You left the estate," he said simply.
Evelyn stilled. "I wasn't aware I needed your permission."
"You don't. But I prefer to know when my future duchess rides into open fields on a half-wild mare."
She stepped toward him, mud on her hem. "What would you have done if I'd disappeared?"
"I would've scoured every mile of countryside."
"Why?"
He stepped closer. "Because you belong to me now."
"I'm not a possession."
"No," he agreed. "You're a promise."
His hand reached out and slowly brushed a smear of mud from her cheek. The gesture was almost tender almost.
"You're not afraid of what people say about me," he said.
"I am. But I don't believe all of it."
"You should."
He looked as though he wanted to kiss her again, but something in him held back. Instead, he turned on his heel and left her standing at the base of the stairs, her skin tingling from his touch.
That night, Evelyn soaked in a hot bath scented with rose oil, but even the heat couldn't chase away her unease.
After dressing in a soft white shift, she wandered to the drawing room, where a footman informed her she had a letter.
From Julian.
Unopened.
Her heart thudded.
Julian, the son of an artist and her first almost-love. They'd whispered about running away together once, before duty and debt devoured her dreams. He had gone to Florence to study. She had stayed behind.
Now, his handwriting stared back at her.
She held it to her chest, unsure if she could bear to open it.
The sound of footsteps behind her froze her in place.
It was her brother Graham.
"I see you've received a letter."
Her fingers tightened around it. "It's none of your concern."
"I think you'll find that everything about you is my concern since you're my little sister."
His voice cold with a little tinged of concern
"From a lover?" he asked
"From a friend." Evelyn denied quickly.
"Same thing, sometimes."
He walked to the hearth, gazing into the flames.
"Do you think us wicked for forcing you into marrying a man you don't love?" He asked quietly.
Evelyn didn't respond.
Graham sighed,"I think you're doing what you must."
"Is that what we've come to, then? Survival over sentiment?" she asked.
"If you were marrying a soft-hearted poet, I'd say otherwise. But you're marrying Duke Nathaniel Wycliffe."
Evelyn swallows. The letter in her hands tightens.
Graham, watching her intently continued,"I know you loved that lad Julian Hartmoor. I know part of you still does. I remember when you used to climb out of this window," he said quietly. "You and Julian, barefoot and breathless like fools."
She closed her eyes.
"I was young," she murmured. "We both were."
Graham took a slow sip, then sat on the armrest of the settee. "I don't blame you for remembering him, Eve. I wouldn't ask you to forget your first love. That kind of love… doesn't really vanish."
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, glass dangling from his fingers.
"But you need to bury it. Deep. Deeper than anything else you carry."
She turned to look at him now, startled by the weight in his voice.
"Graham…"
He didn't soften.
"I mean it. Whatever you still feel for Julian, lock it away. Swallow the key."
Evelyn's jaw clenched. "You think I don't know that?"
"You know it. I just needed to make sure you feel it."
He stood again, and this time, he met her eyes fully.
"Nathaniel Wycliffe is not the kind of man who tolerates ghosts, Evie. And there is one thing he will never, ever forgive."
Her breath caught.
"Betrayal."
She swallowed. "I don't intend to betray him."
"Intentions won't matter if he suspects you have. His pride is older than his title, and his wrath, it doesn't come loudly. It comes quietly. Strategically. Permanently."
He stepped forward, gently took her shoulders.
"I'm telling you this as your brother, not your chaperone. I saw what the Duke did to the last man who crossed him in court. I saw what he didn't need to say to ruin a life."
"So if you still love Julian…" Graham's voice dropped lower. "You must pretend you don't. Even to yourself. Because once you step into Wycliffe Manor, your heart belongs to someone else. Entirely. Or not at all."
She blinked, trying to hold back tears.
"What kind of marriage is that?"
"The kind that keeps you alive."
He kissed her forehead and left without waiting for her reply.
Evelyn stood alone in the firelight, the echo of his warning sinking into her bones like winter cold.
And in her hands, crumbled by her tight grip, Julian's letter remained unopened."