Chapter 28

CHAPTER 28

Emma

E mma’s heart raced as she trailed behind Evan into the house. He had scarcely uttered a word since their abrupt departure, his jaw set in a rigid line, and his posture betraying the effort of every movement. A dark bruise was blooming beneath his eye, and the dried blood at his temple was a stark reminder of his ordeal.

“Evan, stop,” she commanded sharply, halting his progress toward the stairs. Her tone brooked no argument. “You cannot simply walk away like this.”

“I am quite well,” he muttered, though the hoarseness in his voice belied the claim.

“You are decidedly not well. You are bleeding, for heaven’s sake.” She stepped in front of him, arms crossed and unyielding. “Sit yourself down in the drawing room. Now.”

With a heavy sigh, more a growl than an exhalation, Evan relented, lowering himself into an armchair with a grimace he could not entirely conceal. His hand hovered near his ribs, and each movement was deliberate, guarded. The sight of him so evidently in pain sent a pang through her chest, sharp and unnamable.

“I told you, it’s nothing—a misunderstanding,” he said dismissively, leaning his head back and closing his eyes, as though willing the conversation to end.

Emma squared her shoulders. “If you will not tell me what happened, then you must at least allow me to assist you.” Without waiting for his reply, she turned to the hall where she had glimpsed Mrs. Havisham lingering, her face pale with concern.

“Mrs. Havisham, I require water for His Grace’s face and either comfrey or calendula, immediately.”

The housekeeper nodded briskly, hurrying off to fetch the requested items. Emma turned back to Evan, her gaze falling on the whiskey decanter upon the mantle. Without hesitation, she poured a glass, adding a few drops to a fresh handkerchief.

“Kneel to your tyrant, Duke,” she said, a wry softness in her voice as she knelt before him. The jest fell light upon her lips, though her eyes carried a deeper concern. “Let me tend to you.”

For a moment, Evan regarded her as though debating whether to protest. His eyes lingered on hers, searching. “You need not do this,” he said finally, his voice low and sincere. “I can manage.”

“Oh, splendidly, I’m sure,” she replied, a flicker of sarcasm in her tone. “You’ve done an exceptional job so far.”

A reluctant smile touched his lips, but it vanished as quickly as it appeared, replaced by a wince as her hand reached toward his injured face. Emma’s heart twisted at the sight. She dabbed the alcohol soaked handkerchief against the cut as gently as she could.

He flinched at the touch but did not pull away, his gaze fixed upon her. “You mean to fuss over this, don’t you?” he asked, a note of weary amusement in his voice.

“Unquestionably,” she replied, her hands trembling slightly despite her effort to appear calm. “It is either this, or I summon a physician.”

“Utterly unnecessary,” he murmured, though the twitch at the corner of his lips betrayed his struggle to maintain levity. “It is but a scratch.”

“A scratch?” she echoed, arching an eyebrow. “I have witnessed less damage in barroom brawls.”

Evan chuckled softly despite himself. “And how often do you frequent such establishments?”

“My father was involved in more than a few. So, I will say enough to know better than to downplay injuries.” She cast him a pointed look. “Now hold still.”

As she pressed the damp cloth against the wound, he drew in a sharp breath, his hand twitching as though to push hers away before settling back on his thigh. She murmured an apology, her voice softer now, her movements gentler.

“You’ve a gift for finding trouble,” she said, attempting to steady her nerves with conversation. “Do you make it a habit, or is this a recent development?”

His lips quirked faintly again, though his wince quickly quelled the expression. “I assure you, I am not in the habit of courting danger.”

“And yet here you sit, bruised and bloodied,” she countered. “One might think otherwise.”

Evan’s silence was telling, and when she finished cleaning the wound, she reached for the salve Mrs. Havisham had placed nearby. Unscrewing the lid, she scooped a small amount onto her fingertips. “This will sting,” she warned.

He nodded, bracing himself as she dabbed the ointment onto his temple. His sharp inhale did not go unnoticed, and she paused momentarily before continuing, her hands steady despite the tumult of emotion that coursed through her.

“Evan,” she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper, “what happened tonight?”

His expression darkened, and he leaned back slightly, retreating from her touch. “It is not your concern.”

“Do not dismiss me so easily,” she said, a spark of frustration igniting in her tone. “I care for you—surely you must know that.”

His gaze flickered to hers, and for a fleeting moment, she thought he might confide in her. But the moment passed, and he shook his head. “I cannot burden you with this.”

“You are not burdening me,” she replied fiercely. “But you are shutting me out, and I will not abide it.”

The silence between them was heavy, the air charged with unspoken truths. Finally, Evan sighed, his shoulders sagging under the weight of his secrets.

“Emma,” he said softly, his voice tinged with regret, “some matters are best left untold.”

Her heart ached at the vulnerability in his voice, and though she longed to press him further, she knew she could not force his hand. Straightening, she stepped back, her expression resolute. “This is not the end of the matter, Evan. I hope you know that.”

His eyes followed her, his expression inscrutable. “I do.”