He looked away again, jaw rigid.
“I didn’t cry. Not once. All I felt was anger. White-hot rage. I wanted to find the men who did it and make them pay.”
Evelyn was frozen. Her throat burned with unshed tears, and her heart ached as if the grief were her own. She rose slowly, walked over to him, but didn’t reach for him. She didn’t know if he’d want her to.
“Robert…” she whispered.
He exhaled shakily, as if the very act of saying it aloud had winded him.
“For years, I’ve investigated in secret. Looking into every lead, every face, every carriage robbery reported during that time.” His gaze flicked to her. “Your father’s name came up in a ledger that had been brought to my attention recently. His seal has been used on several documents, proving illegal conduct on his part. One of those documents was addressed to one of the two men who had been caught and sentenced for the death of my family. But even with their dying breath, they refused to say who hired them. They claimed it was merely a robbery gone wrong.” He paused there. “That letter, with your father’s seal, was addressed to one of those two men. It doesn’t mention my family or any wrongdoing, and I don’t know what it means yet, but I intend to find out.”
Evelyn stepped closer.
She didn’t speak. She couldn’t. But she reached for his hand tentatively, and when he didn’t pull away, she laced her fingers with his. And in that moment, she understood: the man the world called cold and calculated, the Duke she’d feared and fought, was just a boy who had once hidden in a box, listening to his world being destroyed. He had never stopped listening since.
Robert’s hand stayed in hers though his grip had slackened. His eyes were dark as the night outside and were no longer haunted but sharp.
“I can’t go to your father without something solid,” he said quietly. “Not yet. I need to be sure,absolutelysure, before I confront him.” His eyes narrowed, as if the thought alone was a weight he’d carried far too long. “I had nearly forgotten him, truthfully. Until your mother mentioned the name Wimberly when she came to see me the first time. That was another name I saw in the ledger, someone connected to the man I suspect arranged the attack.”
Evelyn felt her breath hitch. Lord Wimberly… her father’s old business associate. And also, the man she almost married.
“My father…” she began, shaking her head, “he’s no saint, that I know. He’s proud, short-tempered, and cares more for status than for sentiment. But murder?” She met Robert’s gaze firmly. “He could never do something so unspeakable.”
Robert’s expression didn’t soften, but he listened. And when she spoke again, her voice held a strange blend of loyalty and resolve.
“If there’s something to be found, proof one way or the other, then I’ll help you. If only to prove his innocence.”
He nodded slowly, eyes sweeping over her as if truly seeing her for the first time.
“You’d truly do that?” he asked.
Evelyn held his gaze. “Yes. Because you need answers. And because if you’re wrong, if there is nothing to find, then you’ll know. And if you’re right…”
She trailed off, unable to finish. The truth was too horrifying.
He let go of her hand, not unkindly, and walked to his desk, resting a hand there as he stared into the fire again.
“I’ve spent most of my life imagining what I would do when I finally got the name. But now that I might have it…” He drew in a breath through his nose. “I’m wondering if that has been the only thing keeping me alive.”
Evelyn stepped closer, drawn by something deeper than sympathy.
“Then let’s find the truth first,” she said gently. “After that… you’ll know what to do.”
He locked eyes with her. “You truly are unlike anyone I’ve ever met,” he murmured.
And for the first time since she entered his room, Evelyn didn’t blush. She simply met his gaze with quiet steel.
“Good,” she said. “Because I intend to be.”
Chapter Seventeen
Several days had passed since the ceremony, and Evelyn was beginning to understand a new, unexpected kind of misery: boredom.
At first, the sprawling estate, the crisp mountain air, and the ever-silent halls had felt like a balm. But now, the absence of Cordelia and Hazel, of whispers and laughter, of shared secrets and mischief, gnawed at her like an itch just out of reach.
Unable to take another hour of sitting still in the library pretending to read, she marched down the corridor, lifted her fist, and knocked firmly on the heavy oak door to Robert’s study.
It opened after a moment, revealing him in his shirtsleeves with a stack of papers spread out before him.
