He had lived for this, for vengeance, for answers, for the blood-pounding, obsession-driven need to know who had orchestratedthe carriage attack. Who had stolen his parents from him? Who had taken his brother’s future and left only cold, dry earth behind?
But what had it given him? Nothing but years wasted, nights lost, the heavy drag of fury in his chest like an anchor. And now…
Now, he saw Evelyn’s smile when she was planning a village school. Her eyes were bright with purpose. He felt the ghost of her kiss on his cheek, the curve of her laugh trailing through the halls like sunlight.
A new life was blooming around him, soft and unsteady and utterly precious. And vengeance had no place in it.
He stood still at the window at the end of the corridor, watching the gardens below. A breeze stirred the hedgerows. Somewhere far off, a fountain splashed gently, indifferent to the war that had just quieted in his soul. For the first time in years, Robert allowed himself to exhale the burden.
He would not chase shadows anymore. He would build something solid. Something good. Something with her. Let the past bury its dead. He was done carrying their ghosts.
Those were the thoughts nestling inside his mind as the carriage lulled him into a sense of comfort on his way home. The soft patter of rain had begun while the carriage rumbled through the streets. It was gentle at first, a mere mist on the windows, then steadily thickening to a persistent drizzle that streaked the glass in trembling rivulets.
He would tell Evelyn tonight.
He would take her hand and tell her everything, starting from his decision to let the hunt go, the weight he was no longer willing to carry, and finally, the life he wanted with her. Not just under the same roof, not just as partners in investigation or responsibility, but truly, as a husband who could be worthy of her fire, her light, herheart.
He found himself smiling, faintly, at the thought of how she would react. She’d probably tease him, he thought, accuse him of growing soft. She’d arch that brow in mock skepticism, only to reveal her pride in the next breath, too bright to hide.
The wheels crunched over the gravel drive. He leaned forward as the coach slowed before the townhouse which was his… no,theirhome. And then he saw it.
A figure, cloaked in soaked gray, standing too close to the front door.
He blinked, rain lashing softly against the carriage as he stepped down into it. His boots met the wet stone, water seeping into the fabric of his coat. The figure didn’t move. She was peering through the parlor window, one gloved hand pressed to the glass.
His first thought was that it might be another vagrant. He had seen them before and always instructed his staff to help where they could. Some sought food, some warmth, some place to disappear for the night. He never turned them away.
He took a few steps forward, prepared to address her gently, and then she turned. The hood slipped back just enough for the lamplight above the door to catch her face. His steps faltered. His breath stopped.
It was Matilda.
Her hair clung to her pale face in wet strands, her eyes wide, frantic, locked on his as if she had only just realized he was there.
She looked nothing like the proud girl who had once swept into a scandalous elopement.
She looked lost.
Ruined.
And Robert could only stand there, frozen in the rain, the words he’d rehearsed for Evelyn falling from his mind like water through his fingers.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The door slammed open with a crack like thunder.
Evelyn leapt to her feet, her book tumbling to the carpet as her shawl slipped from her shoulders. The wind surged in with the storm, and with it came Robert, all drenched from head to toe, his dark coat heavy with rain, and his hair slicked back against his brow.
But he wasn’t alone. Clutched tightly against his side was a woman, who was half-collapsing into him with each uneven step. She had her hood pulled over her head entirely while her whole body trembled with cold.
Evelyn froze, feeling her breath catch in her throat, then the hood slipped back.
“Matilda?” Her voice sliced through the air like a blade.
Her sister’s face was pale and pinched while soaked strands of hair stuck to her cheeks. She looked like she’d run from death itself.
“Help her to the settee,” Evelyn said sharply, already moving. “Now.”
Robert didn’t hesitate. He guided Matilda down onto the cushions as Evelyn yanked the bell cord with a violent jerk. The storm outside beat at the windows, thunder rolling low through the sky like a growl.
