Robert strode to the decanter and poured himself a drink before answering. “Her name is Evelyn Ellory. You’d like her. Or perhaps not. Most people don’t know what to do with her.”
“And yet you’re marrying her.”
“Yes.”
Mason raised a brow, clearly expecting more. “So? What happened? Did lightning strike? Did she save you from a duel? Did you, God forbid, fall in love?”
Robert scoffed into his glass. “There is no love.”
Mason blinked. “Then why, in God’s name, are you marrying the girl?”
The question hung in the air a moment. Robert felt the old weight of trust between them, the kind formed in blood and fire and sleepless nights. He wanted, more than anything, to tell Mason everything, every dark corner of his plan, every vow he meant to break, but Mason might try to dissuade him from all of it, thinking it would be the right thing to do.
Robert took a slow sip, his eyes fixed on the amber swirl in his glass.
“I’m tired, Mason. Tired of silence. Tired of walking through this life with no one beside me. If not love, then perhaps… companionship.”
The word usually made him shudder. It was foreign, unnecessary to his way of life. Yet now, it slipped from his mind as naturally as a drop of rain from a cloud. Exactly at the right time, exactly where it needed to be.
Mason’s expression softened, surprise fading into something more earnest. “Well. That’s more honest than most men ever get before the altar.”
He raised his glass in toast. “To companionship, then.”
Robert clinked his glass against his friend’s. Then, Mason settled into the armchair across from Robert, stretching out with all thecomfort of a man who hadn’t been welcome in many drawing rooms and didn’t care a whit about it.
“So, tell me more about her,” he said, swirling the last of his brandy. “This Evelyn Ellory. Is she truly the sort to turn a duke’s life upside down, or is that just you being dramatic?”
Robert chuckled low under his breath. “She’s chaos wrapped in silk. Sharp as a blade and twice as stubborn. She lies poorly but with such conviction, you almost admire her for it.”
Mason’s grin widened. “Sounds entertaining.”
“It is,” Robert admitted. “Infuriatingly so.”
A brief pause followed, filled only by the faint tick of the longcase clock in the corner. Mason’s gaze dropped thoughtfully to the rug before he spoke again.
“You know,” he added, more gently, “it sounds like your mother would have liked her.”
Robert’s smile faltered. His fingers tightened slightly around his glass.
Mason looked up quickly, wincing. “Damn it. I didn’t mean to?—”
“No,” Robert said quietly, setting his drink aside. “You’re right.”
He leaned back in his chair, eyes on the ceiling as though the memory of her lingered there. “My mother would have adored her. She always said she liked women with fire in their blood. Claimed they made the best wives and the most terrifying opponents.”
Mason gave a soft laugh, and Robert allowed himself a small smile.
“It still hurts,” Mason pointed out thoughtfully.
“It does,” Robert replied, his tone steady. “And it always will. But you’re right. My mother would’ve looked at Evelyn and said, ‘That one. That’s the one who’ll keep you honest, whether you like it or not.’”
Mason nodded slowly, the weight of shared loss between them unspoken but understood.
“And your father?” Mason asked, testing.
Robert’s expression darkened, but his voice remained calm. “My father would’ve tried to crush her spirit before the ink on the contract was dry. Even if he were here, I would never let that happen.”
Mason studied him for a long moment, then leaned forward with a grin. “So, not in love, you say?”
