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“I can’t, Papa. I’m sorry. And the law would be on my side here. I would be a bigamist, if I did. That is illegal.” Even though she knew she’d said the words, they sounded funny to her, like they were coming from someone else.

This seemed to be the moment the duke unfroze himself because he started to come around the table. The duchess howled after him to calm down. Mr. McNab and Mr. Dantes followed, probably to ensure the duke didn’t pound Ollie into the ground like a railroad spike.

But, surprisingly, the brothers stood behind Ollie instead.

“You married an English harlot?” the duke shouted in Ollie’s face.

Ollie jerked forward, his face flushed, and his hands seemed to be shaking. But his brothers grabbed him before he could reach their grandfather. Ollie flailed, trying to get out of their grasp. It took the two enormous men to keep him barely contained.

“How dare you speak that way about the woman I love!” Ollie shouted back, probably not realizing what he’d said, and he nearly fell backward as his brothers continued to pull him back.

Mr. Dantes laughed as his eyebrows lifted high, and he stopped Ollie from collapsing fully. “Did you truly just say that?”

And that was it. The powder-keg room finally ignited. People began running circles around the table. Chairs flew, bread rolls arched overhead. The noise and energy and emotion were so charged, Evelyn couldn’t handle it anymore.

Her wall cracked.

Her breathing quickened as if she were running.

Lady Litchfield appeared in front of her, worry set on her brow. She said something, but Evelyn didn’t hear it.

Ollie had called her the woman he loved.

In front of everyone .

She gripped the closest chair as she tried to catch her labored breath.

Ollie pulled away from his brothers and rushed over to her, alarmed. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

But she didn’t hear the rest of what he said. She didn’t want to. She had to run. It was the only remedy. She couldn’t stay any longer.

Her legs, her muscles, screamed to move.

And Evelyn happily met their demand. With haste, she ran out of the room, down the hall, flinging the front door open when she’d reached it.

Outside, Mr. Eamon Lydon—sans mask—leaned against a gas lamppost and was in the midst of drinking from a flask when she burst out of the house.

Evidently surprised by her sudden appearance, he choked and coughed as he swallowed too much of the liquor.

Cordelia’s voice shouted after her. And then Ollie’s.

Ollie gripped her shoulders and spun her around. His face was fraught with regret, with pain, his hair distressed and his tie askew.

Evelyn’s fear was quickly replaced by boiling anger. She wailed, “Why did you say that?”

But Ollie wasn’t having it. “Why did you tell them we were married the way you did? Christ, Evelyn, could you have brought it up in a worse manner?”

“Are you two actually married? That wasn’t a story you concocted?” Cordelia looked between them.

Mr. Lydon decided to join in and gave Cordelia a long look over as he took another swig. “In the eyes of God, aye. I set it up.”

Cordelia glared at him. “Who the blazes are you?”

Mr. Lydon grinned and stuck out his flask-free hand. “I’m Ollie’s uncle. Eamon Lydon.”

But Cordelia turned her back to him and pulled Evelyn away from Ollie. “All right, well, this was unexpected and I regret to agree your delivery wasn’t great, but everything will be fine.”

“Will it?” Evelyn’s voice cracked and she let out a crazed laugh. “Will everything be fine, Cordelia? Because as far as I can tell, no, it won’t be fine.”

Cordelia pressed her lips together tight—because Evelyn was right.

“What is Papa going to do about the contract?” Evelyn asked. “He’s going to have to pay back the earl. And I know he doesn’t have that kind of money.”

Mr. Lydon cleared his throat. “Actually, erm—”

“No, he doesn’t.”

“But I couldn’t marry him, Cordelia. I couldn’t do it!”

Cordelia pulled Evelyn close and began to shush her.

But it didn’t help. Evelyn’s legs began to scream again. Running was all that could bring her the smallest bit of happiness right now.

“Funny thing.” Mr. Lydon waited until he had the full attention of all three of them. He smiled wide and chuckled. “About your marriage license.”

Everyone waited, but he didn’t continue. “What about it?” Evelyn asked.

“Well. See. The thing is… It was fake.” He grinned again.

There was a long pause in which no one moved. No one said anything .

Evelyn was the first to find her voice. “Fake?” she squeaked.

“That it is.”

“What do you mean, it’s fake?” Ollie’s voice ground with suppressed anger. “I saw it with my own eyes, held it with my own hands. Our names were on there. It was signed!”

“Ollie, boy, look who you are talking to.” Mr. Lydon spread his hands wide.

“Are you saying we aren’t really married?” Evelyn asked. What this meant, she couldn’t comprehend quite yet. All she knew was that it felt like she was going to vomit.

“Legally? No.”

“You couldn’t forge something like that in a day or two. I don’t care how talented you may or may not be. The decorative imagery on it would take weeks, even for you!”

“Oh, the paper itself was real, lass. Stole it myself.”

“You stole from the Archbishop of Canterbury?” Evelyn nearly shouted.

Mr. Lydon’s eyes went wide. “Of course not! I stole it from the people who make them. The paper factory is right in London, you know. Broke in overnight, took what I wanted. Then I wrote your names, the date, and then of course forged the signature.”

Evelyn spun her head in Ollie’s direction. He stared back at her, pale, and rubbed a hand over his jaw.

This was too much for Evelyn now. They weren’t married. She was still at risk from the earl. How foolish she was to have taken something from a thief as truth! It had never occurred to her to question the legitimacy of the license.

“Why?” Ollie nearly whispered. But his voice rose louder as he continued. “Why would you do that to us?!”

Mr. Lydon looked at all of them. “To help you, obviously. And it worked, didn’t it?”

Evelyn went to deny it but found she couldn’t. She wasn’t protected anymore. She wasn’t Ollie’s wife.

She wasn’t Ollie’s wife.

“You can, of course, still get married if you…” Mr. Lydon said helpfully.

“No,” Evelyn replied immediately. She began shaking her head and walking backward. “No.” She needed to leave. Now.

Ollie hurried over to her. “Evelyn.” He tried to sound stern, but Ollie couldn’t be convincingly stern to save his life. “I know what you’re about to do.”

She didn’t respond—only stared back as her breathing became erratic again.

“Don’t run away from me.” Ollie’s eyes pleaded with her. “Please, Evelyn. Don’t run away. Let’s figure this out without anyone running. I won’t run after you this time. I’m not doing that anymore.”

Her heart knocked against her ribs.

Ollie continued. “This is a horrific mess, yes. But I don’t want you to run.” He stammered. “I don’t want you to leave.”

“I have to go,” she choked out, and the backs of her eyes began to burn. Her breathing became more erratic.

“Please,” Ollie whispered, a hint of a plea in his voice.

“I’m sorry,” Evelyn replied. With that, she turned and ran.

As promised, Ollie did not follow.