“There is that,” she acknowledged. “But also because…I’m not sure how to say this, actually, but…”
“You’re in love with Weston.” Taking out his flask again, Sterling gave it a shake. “Did you drink the rest of my brandy?”
“No. Your Grace–”
“Sterling.”
“Sterling, I…how do you know that?” she blurted. “That I’m…I’m…”
“In love with Weston,” he repeated.
Her face heated. “Yes. I haven’t told anyone. I’ve barely admitted it to myself. So how do you know?” Hope kindled in her breast, slight as the breeze created by a butterfly’s wing. “Did-did Westonsaysomething? Or do something to indicate that he…he may feel a similar way about me?”
“Not a thing,” Sterling replied.
“Of course he didn’t,” she said, unable to keep the bitterness from creeping into her tone as her hope was extinguished. “Why would he? I am alapse in judgment.”
How she hated those words! Almost as much as she hated that she couldn’t get them out of her head.
The duke snorted. “Is that what he told you?”
“Among other things,” she muttered, glancing at the ground.
“Weston’s a bloody idiot, especially when it comes to anything to do with love. Due to his father, I suspect.”
“His father?” Evie looked up. “What did the marquess do?”
“More like what he didnotdo. Men don’t discuss such things, you understand.” Sterling gave her a stern look. “It is a threat to our masculinity. But as my odds of remembering this conversation are slim to none, I suppose it won’t cause permanent damage to my exceedingly fragile manhood to tell you that the Marquess of Dorchester was, shall we say, apathetic towards his children. And that is putting it kindly.”
Evie gasped in dismay. “You mean…you mean he beat them?”
“No, no, nothing like that. But it might have been kinder if he had, as that would have shownsomeemotional investment. No, Weston’s father was simply…nonexistent. As much as I could tell, anyway. Weston and I were schoolmates at Eton, and never–not once in four years–did I see the marquess step foot on school grounds. For some reason, Weston still believed he would be there for our convocation. It was the most excited I’d ever seen him.”
Evie’s heart wrenched as she imagined a young, hopeful Weston, waiting to see his father’s face in the crowd of proud parents. “But the marquess never came, did he?”
Sterling shook his head. “Sent his solicitor in his place. The cold-hearted bastard. Weston never said a word. Never complained. Never even got angry, as far as I could tell. But the next I saw him, he was…different. More contained. More reserved. As if he’d decided that by shutting himself off from everything and everyone, he would never have to be disappointed like that again.”
“That’s horrible,” she whispered. But it did help to explain the earl’s standoffish behavior. The way he could burn hot one second, and freeze her out the next. The internal battle he always seemed to be fighting.
She could barely remember her mother. But her father had helped shape her into the woman she was today. If he hadn’t shown her compassion, or empathy…if he’d never wrapped his arms around her when she was feeling sad, or rested his hand on her shoulder when she needed support…wouldn’t she, too, have become hard? Like clay left untouched when it should have been molded, and shaped, and loved.
“Maybe if the marchioness had lived…” Sterling shrugged. “Who is to say? All I know is that Weston is who he is, and barring some unforeseen miracle, that’s unlikely to change. But if you should ever like to reconsider being my mistress, I remain at your disposal.” He gave another bow, even more elaborate than the last, and nearly followed his hat over the railing.
“I should think it is time for both of us to seek our beds,” said Evie, reaching out to steady him. “I am glad we had this opportunity to speak, and I am grateful to have made a friend. But to be clear, I will not be reconsidering anything.”
Sterling slapped a hand over his heart. “A crushing let down, to be sure.”
She bit the inside of her cheek to contain her grin. “I am fairly confident that you will not be lacking for attention over the next few weeks.”
“That is true,” he said, brightening.
They walked through the terrace doors together and stopped at the base of the staircase. She did not know for how long they’d been outside, but the sconces on the walls had sputtered down to their wicks, causing her to reach for the railing as a guide as she made her way up the steps with Sterling trailing behind.
“Goodnight,” she told him once they’d reached the top.
“Sweetest of dreams, darling Evelyn,” he mumbled, his eyes closing as he leaned heavily against the wall. “The one who got away.”
Rogue, she thought with the same sort of mild affection she might have bestowed upon a brother. “Evie is fine, but I’d prefer Miss Thorncroft in public lest people be led to believe I entertained or even accepted your incorrigible offer.”
