With slumped shoulders, Anna followed the others out of the room, leaving Olivia’s mind no clearer than when they had begun. If anything, it was in greater turmoil, for she could not figure out if falling for Evan was fate’s cruelest trick or a precious gift to soothe the pain and break the chain of what she had seen her mother endure. What if itwasdestined to be love, loyal and steadfast? What would be the price for shunning such a blessing?
“I cannot trust you,” she murmured, pressing her hand to her heart, cursing both the organ and the man it called for.
CHAPTEREIGHTEEN
Evan could not sleep and was tired of trying. Olivia had not made it to dinner that evening, on the advice of the physician who had prescribed rest and as little movement as possible to the injured joints. Evan had caught the physician on his way out of the Dowager House, demanding information before he allowed the fellow to leave, and though the verdict should have calmed Evan, Olivia’s absence at dinner and through the rest of the evening had been keenly felt.
I must know if there is distance between us again,he grumbled inwardly as he flopped down onto the armchair by the fireplace in his chambers.I must know if something has changed for her, as it has for me.
“I am falling in love with her,” he groaned, running his hands through his hair. “I am falling in love with the one woman who does not wish to be fallen in love with.” He had to laugh, albeit bitterly.
In his helpless attempt at sleeping, he had already managed to convince himself that Olivia was punishment for all of the lies he had told about himself to make himself unattractive as a prospect, thus hoisting himself with a noose of his creation.
“I should just give her what she wants,” he said quietly, shaking his head. At the party, if he saw no signs that her feelings toward him had changed, he would do the honorable thing and break the betrothal. He would wave the white flag, even if that was all that he and his blossoming love could ever do for her.
Rising from the armchair, he decided that a walk might help him clear his head and, eventually, wear him out so much that he had no choice but to fall asleep. He grabbed his greatcoat from the stand by the door, only to replace it, for it was a balmy evening, and he wanted to feel the warm night breeze instead of boiling inside thickly woven wool.
An owl hooted a welcome as he strode out into the shadowed world beyond the slumbering safety of the Dowager House. He bowed his head back in the general direction of the creature, just to be polite, and headed up the path to Westyork Manor. He had a hankering for a particular bench in the walled rose gardens, where a charming fountain trickled slowly, the sound always soothing. He had often sought peace and refuge there in his youth, though it had been a while since he had gone there under cover of darkness.
His face caressed by the temperate breeze, he soon settled into the rhythm of his footfalls, matching the steady beat of his heart. It grounded him, anchored him, made him feel less untethered by the new and confusing emotions that clouded his mind, and had his home feeling like strange territory.
It will pass,he told himself, his palms tingling at the memory of lifting Olivia into the saddle, his heart quickening at the thought of what might have happened in the forest if she had just continued to gaze into his eyes. Had he frightened her? Had she seen something inhiseyes that made her push him away? Had she mistaken his affection for her and only her as the lust of a rake? He wished he could go back to that moment and confess just a morsel of his fledgling love for her.
“So much for clearing my mind,” he grumbled as an owl hooted again. Whether it was the same one or a different one, he did not know, but he did not like the bird’s tone. It was mocking him. Indeed, being a symbol of wisdom, it likely knew that the only reason a man would be wandering alone at night talking to himself was because of a woman and wanted him to know how foolish it was.
Reaching the gardens of Westyork Manor, Evan let himself in through the gate farthest from the house and closest to the path. A heady perfume of summer blooms smacked him in the nose, overwhelming him for a moment. It reminded him of the time he had taken Caroline to the perfumier in Mayfair and immediately walked out again for fear of suffocating on the scent of amber and bergamot and vetiver. Caroline had been mortified, but she had forgiven him.
Would I take you to places such as that, Olivia?he wondered.Would we walk together in Hyde Park, gazing fondly at the awkward courtships unfolding around us? Would we drink too much tea and eat too much cake in a tea room? Would you hold my hand, not caring about the glares of our seniors?It struck him like a lightning bolt how much he wanted to do ordinary things with Olivia. He could picture the scenes so vividly, like memories of a happy life they were already living.
Startled by the intensity of his visions, he pressed on through the gardens, his boots crunching the gravel while nightbirds sang in the dark.
A short while later, he arrived at his once-beloved spot and sat down on the bench, closing his eyes to listen to the comforting babble of the fountain at his back. The statue at the center of the fountain, trickling water, had once been a twisting fish that spouted an arcing stream, but years of lichen and moss and algae had shrouded and slowed it. Evan preferred it that way.
He was just settling into the calming sound when a different noise intruded on his peace: a second crunch of footsteps not coming from him.
His eyes shot open in time to see a figure halting at the opposite entrance to the walled garden, her body half-turned as if she meant to creep away again, unnoticed. But it was too late for that; he had seen her or thought he had, for he was not entirely convinced that she was not a mirage.
“Olivia?” he gasped.
She grimaced. “I did not know anyone was here. I shall leave you.”
“No, wait!” Evan jumped up, running to her. “You startled me, that is all. I thought you were a thief.”
Come to steal my heart,…he neglected to add.
“Nevertheless, you looked… peaceful. I have intruded, so I ought to leave,” she said hurriedly, trying once more to turn away.
Evan caught her by the hand, spinning her back toward him. “Do not go,” he urged. “At least, not before I have scolded you.”
“Scolded me?” Her eyes narrowed in confusion. “Because I fell from my horse? I cannot be blamed for that—you ought to try keeping your seat in the saddle when there is a bloodthirsty boar charging hither and thither underneath.”
Evan shook his head, panting slightly. “Because you are wandering these gardens by yourself, in the dead of night, when you were given strict instructions to remain in your chambers and rest.” His other hand reached for her injured wrist, his fingertips gliding up the full length of her arm, where they paused in a tender caress at her shoulder. “How is the war wound?”
“Better,” she replied stiffly. “And my night wandering is none of your concern. I am neither a child nor a prisoner, and I saw no reason to put anyone through the rigmarole of waking a suitable chaperone just so I could take a walk.”
He had annoyed her already, which should have earned him a prize. Usually, it took longer than a minute to irritate her. Yet, there was something different in her demeanor; her tone was not as sharp, her body as stiff as her voice, and she could not look at him as she chided him in return as if she did not dare to. Were those the signs of a change that he had hoped to see?
“As you will soon be my wife, and as a witness to your brush with death today, I should say that itismy concern,” he countered, his heart lurching. “I have not stopped thinking of that horse’s hoof, so close to crushing you. It has tormented me, Olivia. Of course, I know that you are alive and have not suffered too greatly from the ordeal, but… it terrified me. Just as you claimed you thought you were going to die, I thought I might lose you, and… it makes me sick to even contemplate it.” The words tumbled out before he could stop them, his hand trembling with the passion of his fear as he rested it gently upon her sore shoulder.
