Watching Pembroke's interaction with Evangeline filled Lucian with a familiar sense of inadequacy that he had hoped marriage might somehow diminish but which seemed instead to have intensified. Here was everything he was not—young, handsome, charming, unmarked by the brutalities of war—and here was his wife, beautiful beyond description, being subjected to the sort of practiced seduction that had undoubtedly proved effective with countless other women of her station.
That Evangeline appeared immune to Edmund's considerable charm provided some small comfort, though Lucian could not help but notice the way his cousin's eyes lingered on her face, cataloguing her beauty with the sort of calculating appreciation that suggested he viewed her as a prize to be won rather than a woman to be respected. The knowledge that Edmund found his wife attractive was both gratifying andterrifying, for it meant that his cousin would view her as both an asset worth acquiring and a weapon potentially useful against her current husband.
The conversation's progression from superficial pleasantries to direct threats had been as predictable as it was infuriating. Edmund had always possessed a talent for wrapping his malice in such elegant courtesy that his victims often failed to recognize they were being attacked until the damage had already been inflicted. His suggestions about Lucian's mental competency were particularly galling, not merely because they were insulting but because they represented a genuine legal threat that could not be dismissed as mere family spite.
The law regarding mental competency was complex and potentially treacherous for someone in Lucian's position. His visible injuries, combined with his years of reclusive behavior, could indeed be construed as evidence of mental instability by a court inclined to listen to such arguments. If Edmund possessed sufficient evidence to support a formal challenge—testimony from servants, perhaps, or documentation of neglected responsibilities—he might well succeed in having the marriage declared invalid or, worse still, in having Lucian declared incompetent to manage his own affairs.
The thought of losing everything—his title, his estate, his freedom to manage his own life—was terrifying enough. But the prospect of Evangeline being drawn into such a legal battle, subjected to public scrutiny and potential humiliation, filled him with a rage so pure and overwhelming that he struggled to maintain even basic civility in Edmund's presence.
He had married her to provide security and position, to discharge his debt to her father and ensure that she would never again face the sort of destitution that had driven her to accept his proposal. The idea that his own family obligations might instead expose her to scandal and social destruction was almostunbearable to contemplate.
Watching his wife face down Edmund's calculated cruelty with such magnificent composure reminded him forcibly of why he had found her so intriguing during their initial encounters. She possessed not merely beauty but the sort of inner strength that marked true nobility of character. She had recognized Edmund's attack for what it was and had responded with the sort of cutting wit that drew blood while maintaining perfect propriety.
Yet he could not escape the knowledge that she was defending a marriage she had entered from necessity rather than choice, standing by a husband she barely knew against a threat she should never have been forced to confront. Her loyalty was admirable, but it was the loyalty of duty rather than affection, and he was bitterly conscious that she deserved far better than the circumstances fate had forced upon her.
"How refreshingly pragmatic of you, Your Grace," Edmund was saying with the sort of condescending smile that made Lucian's hands clench involuntarily. "Though pragmatism based on incomplete information can sometimes prove inadequate to the complexities of one's situation. Perhaps, in time, you will come to appreciate the full scope of your circumstances more thoroughly."
The suggestion that Evangeline had been deceived about the nature of her marriage, combined with the implicit threat that Edmund possessed information that might change her feelings about her husband, pushed Lucian's self-control to its absolute limits. He found himself moving around the desk with the sort of predatory grace that his military training had ingrained so deeply that no amount of physical injury could entirely erase it.
"Edmund," he said with the sort of quiet authority that had once commanded battlefields, "I believe this interview has served its purpose. Your concerns about the family's welfarehave been noted and dismissed. I suggest you take your leave before our conversation deteriorates further."
His cousin's pale eyes widened slightly at the implicit threat in Lucian's tone, though his charming smile never wavered. "Naturally, cousin. I would not wish to overstay my welcome, particularly when my presence appears to cause such distress. Though I do hope we might have occasion to continue our conversation at some future date?"
"I think not. Any future communication between us should be conducted through our respective solicitors, should circumstances make such correspondence necessary."
"How very formal of you, Lucian. Though I suppose formality becomes necessary when one's situation is precarious enough to require legal protection."
The parting shot was delivered with Edmund's characteristic blend of courtesy and malice, designed to leave its target uncertain whether they had been insulted or merely subjected to an unfortunate choice of words. Lucian, however, had long since learned to recognize his cousin's tactics and was not inclined to give him the satisfaction of a visible reaction.
"Higgins will show you out," he said with the sort of dismissive finality that marked the end of the interview. "I trust you can find suitable accommodations in the village, as Ravenshollow Manor will not be offering hospitality to uninvited guests."
Edmund's smile grew sharper at this deliberate breach of family courtesy, though he maintained his facade of wounded innocence. "How unfortunate. Though I suppose reduced circumstances sometimes make hospitality challenging. Good day, cousin. Your Grace."
The bow he offered Evangeline lingered just slightly longer than strict propriety required, his pale eyes studying her face with an intensity that made Lucian's protective instincts flaredangerously. Then he was gone, leaving behind only the faint scent of expensive cologne and the sort of atmospheric poison that marked truly skilled practitioners of social warfare.
"Well," Evangeline said after Higgins had escorted their unwelcome visitor from the premises, "that was certainly illuminating."
Lucian found himself studying her face with anxious intensity, searching for signs that Edmund's subtle poison had found its mark. "I apologise for subjecting you to such an unpleasant encounter. Edmund has always possessed a talent for causing maximum discomfort with minimum effort."
"He is concerned about the succession, I take it?"
"He is concerned about his own financial difficulties and had hoped to remedy them through inheritance rather than honest effort," Lucian replied with bitter accuracy. "My survival and subsequent marriage have complicated his expectations in ways that he finds inconvenient."
"I see. And his suggestions about the validity of our marriage—are such challenges legally possible?"
The direct question struck at the heart of his deepest fears about their situation. "They are possible, though not necessarily successful. Edmund would need to prove either that I lacked the mental capacity to consent to marriage or that you were somehow coerced into accepting my proposal. Neither accusation would be easy to substantiate."
"Yet he seemed quite confident in his threats."
"Edmund has always been confident in his ability to manipulate situations to his advantage. Confidence, however, is not the same as capability."
Evangeline moved to the window overlooking the estate grounds, her expression thoughtful as she gazed out at the landscape that had become her new domain. "What manner of man is he, truly? Beyond the obvious charm and questionablemotives?"
The question required careful consideration, for Edmund's true nature was complex enough to defy simple characterization. "He is intelligent, ruthless, and entirely without scruple when his interests are at stake. He possesses considerable social skills and has never hesitated to use them in service of his ambitions. He is also, I believe, genuinely desperate at this point—a combination that makes him particularly dangerous."
"Desperate in what way?"
"Gaming debts, primarily, though I suspect his difficulties extend beyond mere cards and dice. Edmund has always lived far beyond his means, expecting to inherit sufficient wealth to discharge his obligations eventually. My survival and subsequent marriage have complicated those expectations considerably."
