Evan hesitated. “Can you… call them off first? I shall find it somewhat difficult to recite my letter if my ribs are being jolted through the door.”
“Try,” she replied, turning at last.
In the silver moonlight that streaked in through the French doors, her beauty radiated, but there was no warmth in her beloved face, no smile upon the lips he had kissed so tenderly, and no patience in the stiffness of her figure. If he wanted to have his two minutes, he had no choice but to begin before the sand in the hourglass trickled away without a single word being spoken.
He took the letter from his pocket, drew in a breath, and started, “My dearest Olivia…”
CHAPTERTHIRTY
Olivia could not breathe, though fresh air wafted in through the half-open doors. She could not move, her heart and mind taking control of a foot apiece, so that one was halfway over the threshold into the outside world, and one was firmly rooted in the small library. Her entire body trembled with the shock of seeing Evan, the shivers rising to something like panic now that she was alone with him.
“My dearest Olivia,” he repeated, his hands shaking as he held the letter, “I have attempted to write this so many times that I believe I ought to make an investment in a paper mill. Perhaps, it is that words are not enough, or thatmywords are not enough. Either way, you deserve an explanation, and I shall do my best to furnish you with one.”
Olivia clasped a palm to her chest. “Do not read from the letter.”
“Pardon?”
“It sounds… hollow when you read like that,” she replied. “So, put the letter away.”
He frowned. “You do not wish to hear my explanation?”
“I will hear it, but not read out to me like a child being asked to recite passages from the Bible,” she said, her tone sharper than she had intended it to be. “Indeed, as you are here, and you are now willing to speak, let us have a conversation. The one we should have had when you rode away from me.”
He bowed his head. “I am sorry, Olivia. I—”
“Why did you leave me like that?” she interrupted.
Evan straightened up. “I encountered my father. He informed me that he and your father had arranged the match between us, and alluded to you being involved in it, also.” He expelled a strained breath. “There was something that you said to me, as our first dance that night came to an end, that sparked a worry in me. After speaking to my father, it transformed into something dark and terrible, making me believe that, yes, youwereinvolved in my father’s scheme. That is why I left you in such an awful fashion, though I have since come to realize that I was wrong… in so many ways.”
“Iwasinvolved,” Olivia said, watching as Evan’s eyes widened to the whites, his expression creasing and twisting and twitching as he clearly struggled to understand her words.
“What?” he gasped, as a thud rang out against the door at his back. He jolted with the sound but held his position as his own blockade.
“Iwasinvolved,” Olivia repeated, “but I did not know that I was. I did not know my father was a friend of your father. I did not know that there was a business exchange attached to our union. Nor did I know that my father had written to yours, pretending to be me—I assume, to further persuade him that I would be a good wife, somyfather would not lose the possibility of a tremendous investment. That is likely why your father alluded to me being a willing participant, but I do not know him, have never spoken to him in a letter or otherwise, and only found out the rest after my departure from Westyork.”
Evan’s expression relaxed, a gleam of sadness replacing the confusion in his eyes. “Since I rode away from you that night, I convinced myself that I needed to be certain of whether you were part of my father’s scheme, but… my heart already knew you were not. It is more sensible than I thought it was, in truth. Far more sensible than this.” He tapped the side of his head. “This is rather foolish.”
Small muscles twitched at the corners of Olivia’s mouth, urging her to smile, but she could not do it. Not yet. Forherheart was more foolish than her head.
“And where did you go?” she said stiffly.
“When?”
“When you left me by the stables, wondering what on Earth I had done wrong?”
He flinched. “I went to the gamekeeper’s cottage. It is on the other side of the forest, not so far from where we encountered that boar. No one uses it these days, for there is another cottage, closer to the estate, that the gamekeeper prefers.”
“Was there no paper and ink at this cottage?” She was determined to make him sweat for a while, for though she could now see where the pieces of the puzzle had gone awry, she could not just forgive the pain he had caused her. Nor the distrust, and that stung far more.
He dropped his chin to his chest. “As I mentioned before, I wrote you countless letters, and every one ended up in the fireplace. None were good enough, none were groveling enough, none were… honest enough.” He sighed heavily. “It has been a torment, Olivia.”
“Yes, it has,” she replied curtly.
“I dreamed of you,” he went on quietly. “Such visceral, terrible nightmares of you, trapped inside Lisbret House. I could not find you, and when I did, there was nothing I could do to rescue you. My father was holding you there as a prisoner.”
Olivia’s heart twinged with thoughts of his wretched childhood. “Yet, I was a prisoner in my own home, unable to set foot outside because I had no strength to, and fearing what might be said about me in the scandal sheets.”
“I took care of it,” he said, lifting his head quickly. “I promised you I would take the blame, and I meant it. I do not care what is said about me, as long as you are protected.”
