Page 31 of The Earl's Reluctant Artist

Tristan stopped before the door to Eliza’s chambers and took a few breaths. This was an important discussion that he needed to have with her, and it was now or never. Taking one more deep breath, he raised his knuckles and knocked gently.

“Enter,” Eliza’s voice came from behind the door.

He swallowed and stepped inside, his eyes darting through as he closed the door behind him. Clara and Eliza sat on the bed, their silence louder than his heartbeat as they both looked at him.

“Lady Clara,” he greeted, his voice low.

Clara rose at once, running her hands down her dress.

“Lord Vale,” she said, bowing her head slightly.

“If this is a bad time, I can always come—”

“No!” Clara interjected, her voice a bit too sharp. Her cheeks rose in a smile as she took a few steps forward. “I should excuse myself,”

“Thank you,” Tristan answered.

Clara smiled faintly at Eliza, then moved past him and slipped out, shutting the door behind her. Tristan crossed the room and sat beside Eliza on the bed.

“We need to talk,” he said quietly.

“Yes,” she agreed at once, her fingers tangled together in her lap. “I know.”

A mild frown crossed his face as his eyes searched hers. “You have something to say?”

She nodded but hesitated. “I do. And I would like to go first. It is important.”

Tristan gave a slow nod. “Go on.”

Eliza inhaled deeply, her voice shaking as she began. “This marriage, you must understand … It was never truly my choice.”

Tristan frowned but did not interrupt.

“My brother,” she said, her throat tight. “Marcus. He engineered the whole thing. He walked into my room one day and said I was to get married to the Earl of Evermere.”

“I am confused,” Tristan said, narrowing his eyes at her. “You knew we would get married before the matchmaker?”

“All I know is that Marcus was behind it all. I tried to stop it, Tristan. I did. I looked for a way out. But he gave me none. He planned everything from the start, and I had no choice but to follow it.”

Tristan’s jaw set hard, though he stayed silent.

“After our parents died, I became Marcus’ responsibility, and he did not exactly like that at all.

He hated having to think of me in every plan he made, so when he told me he was marrying me off, I thought it was his way of getting rid of me.

He was not exactly pleasant to live with, so I did not fully reject the idea.

I should have known something was wrong when he was insistent on this marriage working. ”

He ground his teeth together, his eyes shifting to her hands and the way they trembled in her lap.

“And I went along with it,” she whispered. “Because I felt trapped. Because I thought I had no choice.”

Tears filled her eyes. She brushed them away with the back of her hand, but they kept coming.

“I should have told you from the beginning. I should have told you the truth on the day we married, I know that now. I could say I was afraid that you would hate me or that you would look at me and see nothing but a pawn, but I have no excuse.”

Still, Tristan did not speak. His silence pressed down like a weight.

Eliza’s voice broke. “And I could not bear that. Not now. Because—” She stopped, her breath catching. Then she forced the words out. “Because I love you.”

Her shoulders shook with sobs. “I love you, Tristan. I did not plan it. I did not want it. But it is true. I love you. And it terrifies me.”

Her words tumbled faster. “I am sorry. Sorry I kept this. Sorry for the lies. Sorry for everything. If this ruins our marriage, then so be it. But I could not carry it anymore.” She looked at him through her tears. “Please. Say something.”

Tristan leaned forward, and without a word, he kissed her.

Eliza gasped against his mouth, startled, her sob cut short. His hand rose to her cheek, brushing away the wetness there. The kiss was steady and patient. It was deliberate, like it was Tristan’s way of responding to her.

She froze at first, then melted into him. Her hand slid to his jaw, her fingers trembling as they touched his skin.

He pulled back, resting his forehead lightly against hers. The quiet stretched on. It was less a silence of mistrust, rather than the heaviness of a shared burden. It was simple. He believed her.

From what he had seen of her in the past few days, Eliza wouldn’t deliberately try to involve herself in a scheme like that. He said nothing about it, though. Instead, he let the silence continue to do its work between the two of them.

They sat close, their breaths uneven. Eliza turned slightly, and her hand brushed against his. She did not move it away. He did not either. Her gaze lifted to his face. His features were lined with fatigue, yet beneath, it she saw something she had not before.

Trust.

She lowered her head onto his shoulder, and Tristan stiffened at the sudden gesture, but then he let it be. Her hair brushed against his jaw, light and soft. They remained that way for the next few moments, almost like a pair that had discovered the next step in their relationship.

Eliza’s tears slowed. Her breathing steadied against him. He sat still, listening to the faint rhythm, feeling the weight of her leaning there.

At last, she spoke in a low murmur. “I thought you would despise me.”

“I do not,” Tristan said simply.

She lifted her head, eyes wide. “You do not?”

“No.” His voice was calm. “I have my feelings against Mr. Harwood, but not you.”

Eliza’s lips parted as if to speak again, but no words came. She dropped her gaze, blinking quickly as another tear slid down.

“Do not hide from me again,” Tristan said. His tone was even, but it carried a quiet command. “If there is truth I should know, speak it. I would rather hear the truth from you than from anyone else.”

Eliza’s chest rose and fell. She gave a small nod. “I promise.”

Tristan’s hand shifted, covering hers. The gesture surprised him as much as it did her. His thumb brushed once against her knuckles.

She looked up at him, eyes shining. “Thank you,” she whispered.

He did not answer, but the way he held her hand said enough. Minutes passed, and neither of them pulled away. The silence between them had stretched long enough. Tristan broke it first.

“We must talk about your brother.”

The words seemed to hang in the air. Tristan felt Eliza’s shoulders grow stiff, though her gaze stayed steady. “We must?”

“Yes. That was why I came here in the first place,” Tristan responded.

He rose to his feet and walked to the table at the far end of the wall and leaned gently against it. The weight of Eliza’s gaze continued to press on him as he folded his arms. The weight of his own thoughts pressed heavily on him.

“There is no easy way to say this because he is your brother at the end of the day, but we need to stop him. And we need to do so before he destroys everything.”

Eliza said nothing, and he took that as an approval to continue his words.

“He has played a game behind my back. He has used you to open doors and move his chest pieces. I will not let it go on.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line, and she lowered her eyes to the floor before looking back at him. “I agree. Marcus needs to be stopped. But what can we possibly do without any solid proof? My brother is always ahead.”

Tristan shuffled his feet, his arms folded as Eliza’s helplessness grew even more obvious with each passing second.

“I thought I had escaped when this marriage was settled, but now it is clear I only stepped deeper into his schemes.”

“Well, another thing is also clear, Eliza,” Tristan responded. “You will not fight him alone anymore.”

Eliza stared at him, her eyes blank.

“We can do it together now.” His voice came out sharper than intended, but he did not soften it. His jaw was tight, his chest rising steadily with controlled breath. “Leave the strategy to me. I only ask one thing of you … stand beside me. No more hiding. No more silence.”

“Yes. I agree.”

“And no more secrets.”

Eliza nodded. “I agree with that as well.”

“Good. Now I just need to figure out what to do and how to stop him from going ahead with the project.”

Eliza’s eyes softened, but the worry still lingered. “And you truly believe stopping him is enough to free us from his shadow?”

“I do.” Tristan straightened, pushing off the table. The decision had already been carved into his mind. “But it requires honesty and courage. You have given me both tonight, and I owe you the same.”

For a moment, something flickered in her face. Tristan recognized it. It was the furthest thing from fear or hesitation. It was hope. It wasn’t very prevalent on her face, but he knew what it was.

“Then tell me,” she whispered, leaning forward. “What is it you mean to do?”

“We can start tonight by exploring the west wing of the manor,” Tristan said quietly.

Her brows arched. “The west wing?”

He nodded once. “Yes. It holds the archive room so we can find ledgers, maps, titles that go back centuries. If Marcus is trying to rope Evermere into his plan, we can find what we need to stop him.”

She tilted her head slightly, studying him. “And you trust me with that search?”

He looked directly at her, his voice steady. “You are my wife, Eliza.”

***

When night came, it was heavy on the manor. Tristan and Eliza made their way to the archive room, their steps light but the floor creaking anyway.

“Are you certain no one can hear us?” Eliza asked, the worry in her voice evident.

Tristan, who held the lamp, laughed slightly. “We are not thieves in the night, Eliza. We are not trying to escape something. This is our manor. It does not matter who hears us or not.”

“Right,” Eliza whispered, her voice soft. “Right.”

They proceeded down the West wing, the paneled walls growing even more desolate as they moved. The air was thicker there, and so was the silence.

“It feels abandoned,” Eliza whispered.