Page 13

Chapter Thirteen

T he house was silent, wrapped in the kind of silence that pressed down over the skin like velvet, soft but suffocating.

Evelyn stirred awake, her eyes blinking into the moonlit shadows that crept along her chamber walls. A knock on the door came again. She sat upright, heart lurching.

The Duke.

The thought surged unbidden, absurd and impossible, and yet?—

She was out of bed before she could reason with herself, smoothing down her nightdress and tousling her hair just enough to feign a sleep-disheveled grace. Her bare feet padded across the cold floor as she reached the door and hesitated for half a breath before unlatching it.

She opened it.

And every breath in her lungs turned to ice, because it wasn’t the Duke standing there. It was Lord Ashworth.

She moved to shut the door at once, but his boot slid between it and the frame before it could close.

“You will remove your foot,” she hissed, her fingers white on the edge of the door, “or I will scream.”

His grin widened, but he was maddeningly calm. “Do. I rather think I’d enjoy it. But you and I both know I’d be gone before anyone comes, and all you’ll have left is a ruined night and some very curious questions.”

Her blood ran hot with fury, but she did not scream. Not yet.

“What do you want?” she asked, jaw clenched.

“To speak with you,” he said smoothly. “I have something you ought to hear.”

“There is nothing I want to hear from you. Go. Away.” Her voice was shaking now, not with fear but with the effort of containing it.

“I’ll go,” he said, “once I’ve said my piece.”

She shoved harder against the door, but it barely moved. He had always been stronger than he looked, yet another of his weapons.

His eyes drifted down her form, pausing just long enough to make her skin crawl. “You’ve grown into quite the woman, Evelyn. You always had potential, but I see now what your future husband sees.”

“Don’t you dare speak of him.” Her voice was ice now, brittle and sharp.

“Touchy subject,” he murmured. “Does he know? That you once wanted me? That you would have married me with such eagerness?”

She straightened, feeling her rage simmering beneath her skin like flame beneath glass. “He knows enough to know I wouldn’t dirty his name by dragging it through your filth.”

That finally wiped the smirk from his face, if only for a moment. His mouth twisted, and something darker flickered in those eyes, the sort of malice that only revealed itself after the damage had already been done.

“You’ve grown spiteful,” he said, feigning injury. “Unbecoming, really.”

“And you’ve grown bolder, sneaking through corridors like a fox in a henhouse.” Her tone dropped to a near growl. “But I am not the girl you left behind.”

He leaned in slightly, enough to make her flinch before she caught herself.

“No,” he said, voice low. “You’re not. Which is why I came to you tonight.”

Evelyn stood frozen with one hand still on the door’s latch. She was shaking her head, unable to say anything. She had expected threats, veiled barbs, perhaps more of his usual sickening flirtation, but not this madness.

The Viscount had not moved. He stood there in the corridor, eyes glinting with something darkly hopeful.

“I made a mistake, Evelyn,” he said in what she could only understand as his best effort at tenderness, as though softening the blow might undo its weight. “When I saw you again… standing here like this, looking at me with such fire… I realized the truth.”

Evelyn didn’t answer. She couldn’t. And that was how he mistook her silence for consideration.

“I never truly loved Matilda.” He gave a bitter smile, as if confessing something noble. “It was always you. Even when I ran with her, it was you I imagined beside me.”

Her stomach turned.

“I wasn’t thinking. I was stupid. And she… well, you know how she is. She was willing. Eager. But I see it now, Evelyn. I chose wrong.” He stepped closer again. “And I’ve paid for it every day since.”

Her mouth opened, but no sound came. Her body remained tense, coiled, like a wire pulled too tight.

He took another step. “Come with me,” he invited, with a devilish sense of urgency creeping into his voice.

“To the colonies. We’ll vanish. Start over.

No titles. No families. No ghosts between us.

Just you and me. I’ll marry you under any name you choose.

Evelyn Ashworth if you like. Or something new. We’ll make a new life. Together.”

The absurdity of it shattered her stillness.

Together? After everything?

Her hand moved faster than thought. The sharp crack of her palm against his cheek echoed through the corridor like a pistol shot. He staggered back a step, a red bloom already darkening along his skin. He stared at her in stunned silence.

Evelyn stood with her hand still raised, shaking with rage.

“You dare ,” she whispered, her voice trembling with fury. “You dare come here, after stealing my sister’s future—and mine —and now tell me you were the one who suffered?”

His face twisted, not with shame but with something almost offended.

“You don’t deserve her,” Evelyn spat, every word laced with poison. “You never did. She was too good for you, and so was I.”

The slap had given her just enough space, just enough time. She shoved the door fully closed and slammed the lock shut, leaning her full weight against it.

“Stay away from me,” she hissed through the wood, her voice on the verge of breaking now as her rage turned to something dangerously fragile. “If you ever come near me again, I will not be so polite.”

There was silence on the other side then footsteps. At first slow but then receding. She didn’t move until the hallway was completely quiet.

Her knees buckled as the adrenaline ebbed, and she slid down to the floor with her back still pressed to the door. Her breath came fast and shallow, and her nightdress clung to her damp back. The fear she hadn’t allowed herself to feel earlier flooded her now. It was ice cold and nauseating.

She wrapped her arms around herself, rocking slightly. This was supposed to be over.

She had locked that chapter away, buried it under indifference and anger, but he had brought it back. The shame, the betrayal, the humiliation.

And now, the vile, twisting suggestion that none of it had even meant anything to him. That she had simply been interchangeable with her sister. That he could toss aside one woman and lay claim to the other as if they were possessions to be exchanged.

She squeezed her eyes shut.

No more.

Let him rot in whatever marriage he had ruined. Let him chase phantoms to the ends of the earth. She would not run. She would not fall.

She was Evelyn Ellory, daughter of a house that may not have protected her, but now, she was also a duchess-to-be who would carve out her own place in the world.

She wiped her cheeks, not even realizing when the tears had started.

Let tomorrow come.

Let the wedding bells ring.

But heaven help anyone who tried to harm her ever again.

It was already morning although Evelyn could barely tell from the lack of sleep. She was to be a duchess by sundown.

Cordelia burst in first, dramatically flourishing a silk shawl as if entering the stage of a grand theatre. Hazel followed, more composed but smiling nonetheless, carrying a box of pins with a calm sort of determination that always made Evelyn feel just a bit steadier.

“We brought reinforcements,” Cordelia declared, plopping onto the edge of the chaise. “Hair, gown, accessories, and moral support in case you decide to faint. Or flee.”

Hazel gave a patient sigh. “Don’t encourage her.”

Evelyn managed a soft smile, her voice dry. “I’m not fainting. Or fleeing.”

But her friends were watching her too closely to be fooled. Hazel tilted her head. Cordelia narrowed her eyes.

“What happened?” Hazel asked quietly.

Evelyn hesitated. Her shoulders tensed. “He came to my room. Last night.”

Both girls stiffened.

“That man ?” Cordelia asked, voice rising.

“Yes,” Evelyn replied, keeping her tone measured. She didn’t want it to crack. “The Viscount. He… said things. Nothing worth repeating.”

She looked away, toward the dressing table where her wedding gown hung like a specter of fate.

“I won’t let him cloud today,” she added, more to herself than to them. “Not after everything.”

Cordelia’s brows drew together with a protective rage that made her look like a furious cherub. “Just say the word, Evelyn. Truly. I have a tailor’s outfit I could throw on, and we’ll be off to Gretna before anyone notices. I’ll even forge the documents myself.”

Despite everything, despite the nausea in her stomach and the pounding weight in her chest, Evelyn laughed.

It wasn’t much, but it was real.

“Thank you,” she said softly. “But I’m not running. Not anymore. He isn’t… Robert isn’t like him. ”

That admission hung in the air for a moment, suspended in its weight. The first time she had spoken the Duke’s name without bitterness, without defiance.

Hazel tilted her head. “Did something happen? Between you and the Duke?”

Evelyn nodded slowly. “We reached an understanding. Of sorts. After yesterday… I told him the truth. About why I didn’t want to marry. And he listened. He didn’t dismiss me or get angry. He just asked what I wanted out of it.”

Cordelia and Hazel exchanged glances.

“I told him I wanted independence. That we should lead separate lives,” she added. “He agreed. But he asked for a month where we would be together before going our own ways. For appearances.”

Hazel considered this, folding her arms. “That seems… considerate. For a man like him.”

“A good man,” Cordelia murmured. “If a brooding, intense, slightly terrifying one.”

Evelyn looked down at her hands. They were steady, despite the turmoil inside her.

“He is all of those things,” she agreed. “But he’s also kind in his own way. Honest, at least. I think…” she hesitated, surprising herself. “I think I trust him.”

Hazel stepped forward and reached for the gown. “Well, then. Let’s get you ready to be the most formidable duchess this house has ever seen.”

With practiced hands, they set to work pinning curls, fastening tiny buttons, smoothing lace and silk with gentle reverence. Cordelia couldn’t help but fuss over the veil and tried two tiaras before Hazel made her choose.

Finally, Evelyn stood in front of the tall mirror, the one gilded in silver and framed by ivy carvings, and looked at herself.

Angelic.

That was the word that came to her though it felt strange.

She had never thought of herself that way.

But the woman staring back at her with pale ivory silk cascading to the floor, green eyes wide and luminous, and a blush blooming high on her cheeks…

she looked like a bride in a painting. Like someone she barely recognized.

“You’re radiant,” Cordelia whispered, awestruck.

“You look exactly how you’re meant to,” Hazel added firmly. “Strong. Elegant. Unshakable.”

Evelyn stared at her reflection.

“I hope I feel like her soon,” she murmured.

They stood behind her now, like sentinels, one on each side, ready to carry her through the fire if they had to.