Chapter 31

CHAPTER 31

Emma

E mma sat quietly, cradling her glass of wine as the soft candlelight flickered around the drawing room. The thunder rumbled faintly beyond the thick curtains, but the storm seemed far away compared to the man sitting opposite her. She glanced at Evan, the lines of his face softened in the warm glow, and felt an odd mix of gratitude and unease.

Why were they here together like this? It felt too intimate, too uncertain. She appreciated his kindness—the wine, the blanket earlier, the concern in his eyes when he’d come to find her in the garden. Yet there was a part of her that remained on edge, unsure of what this closeness meant or where it would lead.

Her feelings for him were a tangled web. She wanted to be near him—she couldn’t deny that. But his past cast a long shadow. It was so conflicting, the things she’d learned about him. The stories of his rakish past stood in contrast to what Ophelia had said – that he wasn’t that man, that he’d changed. What was true? What a lie?

Gathering her courage, Emma set her glass down and spoke, her voice tentative but steady. “Evan?”

He looked up from his own glass, frowning slightly. “Yes?”

“May I ask you something?”

His brow furrowed deeper, but he nodded. “Of course.”

She hesitated for only a moment before diving in. “Why did you want to marry Ophelia? It couldn’t have just been to help her—you didn’t know her that well when you came to the agreement.” Her voice lowered slightly. “You once said you did it for yourself. Was it just so you could continue in your… former ways?”

Evan’s eyes widened briefly before narrowing with a hint of amusement. He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “You are very observant,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “And it seems Ophelia trusts you a great deal to share so much.”

Emma stayed quiet, her gaze steady on him.

He sighed, setting his glass aside and rubbing his temples. “Very well,” he said at last. “I’ll tell you the truth. You deserve to understand.”

Emma felt her pulse quicken as he began, his voice low and even.

“One of the reasons I never wanted to marry,” he said, “was because I feared I’d turn out like my father.”

The words hung in the air between them, heavy and unexpected. Emma blinked, recalling bits and pieces of what she’d heard about the old duke over the last few weeks. Evan had never spoken of him with warmth, but she’d assumed it was because of the man’s absence or indifference. The servants often spoke highly of Evan’s mother but never of his father. And servants, as she knew, often knew more about their masters than even their own families.

“I’ve heard some things about him,” she said cautiously. “I know you didn’t care for him.”

Evan’s lips twisted into a bitter smile. “That’s putting it mildly. My father was a cruel, horrible man.” He paused, the flicker of pain in his eyes unmistakable. “He mistreated my mother in every way you can imagine. He was violent—physically, emotionally. His words were daggers, and his hands were worse.”

Emma’s breath caught, her fingers tightening around the stem of her glass. “I… had no idea.”

“No one does,” Evan said grimly. “I instructed the staff never to speak of him. I wanted to erase him from this house, from my life. But…” He trailed off, his jaw tightening. “The memories remain. I still hear it sometimes. The sound of his hand striking her. The way she’d cry quietly, hoping I wouldn’t hear.”

Emma’s heart clenched, the image vivid and unbearable. “That’s… terrible. I’m so sorry, Evan.”

He waved off her sympathy, though his expression remained dark. “I was just a boy. Helpless and angry. I hated him more than I thought it was possible to hate anyone.” His voice grew softer, tinged with guilt. “And I hated myself for not being able to protect her.”

Emma leaned forward, her voice gentle but firm. “You were a child. That wasn’t your burden to bear.”

He glanced at her, his eyes shadowed. “Perhaps. It wasn’t just his physical cruelty. He’d belittle her, he’d make her feel small. I heard the way he would talk to her – so demeaning, so horrid as if she were a scullery maid. Not that it is alright to talk to a scullery maid in such a way either.”

She wetted her lips. “Of course not. But … Why does that prevent you from having a true marriage?”

“Because the fear lingers. I swore I would never become like him. Never put someone through that kind of misery.” He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “That’s why I avoided marriage. I didn’t trust myself.”

Emma nodded slowly, understanding dawning. “You were afraid you’d hurt someone the way he did.”

“Yes.” He gave a bitter chuckle. “Not that my… other ways were any better. Although I must say, the reputation you know so much of, the reputation that made you step in is not reflective of reality either. I was a philandering dandy for many years but I stopped. I found it better to pull back from such action for fear of…” he shrugged. “Forming a connection. But I allowed the gossip mongers to continue on.”

Emma frowned, but her curiosity outweighed her judgment. “Then why did you marry me? Or even Ophelia before me? I understand it was for pretense buy why not stay alone?”

Evan’s gaze met hers, steady but conflicted. “Ophelia… it wasn’t about romance as you know. It was about duty. A way to prove to myself that I could be better. That I could help someone else. Make their life better. That I could protect someone without… becoming him. You? Well. You know why I married you. The scandal and I was angry. The truth is when I first demanded you marry me, I gave in to my horrible impulses. I knew it wasn’t right but I … I …I suspect if you had not come to me, I might have let it go. Sometimes I hold on to plans like anchors even if they come to night. Besides, there was also the part about not wanting the ton to gossip about me endlessly. The marriage was a bit of a scandal, yes, but it would all stop, they talk has already.”

Emma absorbed his words, the raw honesty behind them. “Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?”

“Because it’s not a story I enjoy reliving,” he admitted. “And because…” He hesitated, looking away. “Our arrangement wasn’t meant to invite this kind of understanding. At least, I didn’t think it was.”

Emma’s chest tightened at his admission. She couldn’t say she entirely trusted him—not yet. But in this moment, with his defenses lowered, she felt she was finally beginning to see the man behind the mask.

“You’re trying to be different,” she said quietly.

“I am,” he replied, his voice soft. “But that doesn’t mean I always know how.”

The vulnerability in his tone made her heart ache. She reached out, her hand brushing his briefly, a silent gesture of support. Evan didn’t pull away.

The thunder growled again, closer this time, but Emma barely noticed. The storm outside was nothing compared to the one they were navigating within.

The drawing room was bathed in the warm glow of firelight, the faint crackle of flames breaking the silence. Outside, the rain beat steadily against the windows, a rhythmic drumming accompanied by occasional bursts of thunder. The scent of pinewood mingled with the faint aroma of freshly lit candles. Emma’s hands trembled slightly as she smoothed the fabric of her gown, gathering the courage to cross the room.

Evan sat by the fire, his gaze distant as he stared into the flames. His usually composed demeanor seemed softened, the weight of the evening's events etched into the set of his jaw and the faint furrow of his brow. Emma took a deep breath, summoning her resolve, and stepped closer. Her footsteps, soft against the carpet, drew his attention. He glanced up, his blue eyes meeting hers with an intensity that made her falter for just a moment.

She lowered herself onto the settee beside him, her skirts brushing against his leg as she turned slightly to face him. For a moment, neither of them spoke. The silence stretched, filled only by the crackle of the fire and the soft patter of rain against the window.

“Something else weighs on you.”

Evan exhaled, leaning back slightly as he regarded her. “I lost my temper. I could not control it when Wren disparaged you.”

“You defended me,” she said softly, a hint of wonder in her tone.

His lips twitched into a wry smile. “I did. But it showed me that I could not trust myself. What if I…what if….”

Emma hesitated, folding her hands in her lap. “There is a difference between acting in defense of someone you love and rounding them. Some anger is misdirected, other anger is justified. You’ve never turned on someone you care for, have you?”

Evan leaned forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees as he turned to face her fully. The firelight danced across his features, highlighting the faint stubble on his jaw and the deep blue of his eyes. “No, never.”

“Then why do you think you will become your father when you have been the opposite thus far?”

“I do not know. I suppose fears are irrational, are they not?” he said, and she nodded.

“I never would have thought you did not want to marry because of this. I thought that it was because you did not wish to give up your wild ways. Or that you would marry for show, so you could have a wife to show off while still taking part in your rakish ways.” She hesitated, her gaze dropping to her hands. “I thought you were still… that you still had dalliances,” she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper. “Whenever you went to town, I wondered if you were meeting someone.”

His brows drew together, and for a brief moment, his gaze flicked away. Emma’s heart sank. It was such a small movement, but it was enough to plant a seed of doubt in her mind.

“There’s nothing,” he said, his voice firm as he returned his gaze to hers. “No one. Not for a long time.”

She tilted her head slightly, searching his expression. “Not since Ophelia?” she asked.

His jaw tightened briefly, and he nodded. “Not since Ophelia. There were… fleeting moments before her, yes. Dalliances. But nothing of meaning. Nothing lasting.”

Emma considered this, her heart torn between relief and lingering uncertainty. “What about the woman at Hyde Park?” she pressed. “I saw you with a woman not long ago, it is what made me so sure you’d only hurt Ophelia.”

Evan’s expression clouded with confusion for a moment before he shook his head. “I don’t know who you mean. There are always acquaintances, people who expect me to play a certain role—flirtatious, charming, fun-loving. But that’s all it is. A role.”

There was a sincerity in his voice, a weight to his words that Emma couldn’t ignore. She wasn’t sure how she knew, but she felt it—an unshakable certainty that he was telling the truth.

“I believe you,” she said softly, almost surprised by her own admission.

His expression softened, and for a moment, the tension in his shoulders seemed to ease. “Thank you,” he murmured.

The room fell quiet again, the fire crackling softly as the rain continued its steady rhythm against the windows. Emma glanced toward the flames, her thoughts swirling.

“Why now?” she asked after a moment, her voice barely audible over the storm. “Why tell me all this now? Why go to the orphanage? Why defend me?”

Evan exhaled, his gaze dropping to the floor. He was silent for so long that Emma wondered if he would answer at all. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, almost hesitant.

“Because I can’t deny it anymore,” he said. “You’ve made me feel things I never wanted to feel. Things I thought I’d buried a long time ago.”

Emma’s breath caught, her heart hammering in her chest as his words sank in.

“The truth is, I think about you all the time,” he continued, his gaze lifting to meet hers. “I don’t want us to be at odds, Emma. I don’t want this… distance between us. I want us to be united.”

His hand lifted, brushing a stray curl from her cheek. The touch was light, tentative, but it sent a jolt through her that she couldn’t ignore. His fingers lingered for a moment before cupping her face, his thumb brushing gently along her cheekbone.

“You deserve to be cherished,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “And I want to be the one to do it.”

The weight of his words, the sincerity in his eyes, left Emma breathless. For a moment, all she could hear was the rain against the windows, the steady thrum of her own heartbeat. Then, before she could second-guess herself, she leaned forward, closing the distance between them.

Their lips met in a kiss that was soft, tentative at first, but it quickly deepened, a slow, searing warmth that spread through her chest. The world seemed to fade away—the storm outside, the crackle of the fire, everything but the feel of his lips against hers and the steady, reassuring weight of his hand on her cheek.

When they finally broke apart, Emma’s thoughts were a jumble, her heart racing. For a brief moment, she thought of the letters in her chamber. Rose. But she pushed it aside. Whoever Rose was, she didn’t matter. Not now. Not here. Not anymore.

Evan’s gaze searched hers and he tipped up her chin. Without a word, Emma leaned in again, her hand sliding to rest against his chest as their lips met once more. This time, the kiss was slower, more deliberate, a silent promise exchanged between them.

As they pulled away, Emma rested her forehead against his, her hand still pressed to his chest. The steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath her palm was a soothing anchor, grounding her in the moment.

“I don’t know what the future holds,” she admitted, her voice barely audible. “But I know this—I don’t want to fight with you anymore.”

Evan smiled—a rare, genuine smile that softened his features and made her heart ache. “Nor do I,” he said, his voice low and steady.

For the first time in a long time, Emma felt a flicker of hope. As the storm continued to rage outside, she found comfort in the warmth of the fire, the steady rhythm of the rain, and the quiet strength of the man beside her.