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“One of the reasons I never wanted to marry,” he said, “was because I feared I’d turn out like my father.”

The words hung in the air between them, heavy and unexpected. Emma blinked, recalling bits and pieces of what she’d heard about the old duke over the last few weeks. Evan had never spoken of him with warmth, but she’d assumed it was because of the man’s absence or indifference. The servants often spoke highly of Evan’s mother but never of his father. And servants, as she knew, often knew more about their masters than even their own families.

“I’ve heard some things about him,” she said cautiously. “I know you didn’t care for him.”

Evan’s lips twisted into a bitter smile. “That’s putting it mildly. My father was a cruel, horrible man.” He paused, the flicker of pain in his eyes unmistakable. “He mistreated my mother in every way you can imagine. He was violent—physically, emotionally. His words were daggers, and his hands were worse.”

Emma’s breath caught, her fingers tightening around the stem of her glass. “I… had no idea.”

“No one does,” Evan said grimly. “I instructed the staff never to speak of him. I wanted to erase him from this house, from my life. But…” He trailed off, his jaw tightening. “The memoriesremain. I still hear it sometimes. The sound of his hand striking her. The way she’d cry quietly, hoping I wouldn’t hear.”

Emma’s heart clenched, the image vivid and unbearable. “That’s… terrible. I’m so sorry, Evan.”

He waved off her sympathy, though his expression remained dark. “I was just a boy. Helpless and angry. I hated him more than I thought it was possible to hate anyone.” His voice grew softer, tinged with guilt. “And I hated myself for not being able to protect her.”

Emma leaned forward, her voice gentle but firm. “You were a child. That wasn’t your burden to bear.”

He glanced at her, his eyes shadowed. “Perhaps. It wasn’t just his physical cruelty. He’d belittle her, he’d make her feel small. I heard the way he would talk to her – so demeaning, so horrid as if she were a scullery maid. Not that it is alright to talk to a scullery maid in such a way either.”

She wetted her lips. “Of course not. But … Why does that prevent you from having a true marriage?”

“Because the fear lingers. I swore I would never become like him. Never put someone through that kind of misery.” He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “That’s why I avoided marriage. I didn’t trust myself.”

Emma nodded slowly, understanding dawning. “You were afraid you’d hurt someone the way he did.”

“Yes.” He gave a bitter chuckle. “Not that my… other ways were any better. Although I must say, the reputation you know so much of, the reputation that made you step in is not reflective of reality either. I was a philandering dandy for many years but I stopped. I found it better to pull back from such action for fear of…” he shrugged. “Forming a connection. But I allowed the gossip mongers to continue on.”

Emma frowned, but her curiosity outweighed her judgment. “Then why did you marry me? Or even Ophelia before me? I understand it was for pretense buy why not stay alone?”

Evan’s gaze met hers, steady but conflicted. “Ophelia… it wasn’t about romance as you know. It was about duty. A way to prove to myself that I could be better. That I could help someone else. Make their life better. That I could protect someone without… becoming him. You? Well. You know why I married you. The scandal and I was angry. The truth is when I first demanded you marry me, I gave in to my horrible impulses. I knew it wasn’t right but I … I …I suspect if you had not come to me, I might have let it go. Sometimes I hold on to plans like anchors even if they come to night. Besides, there was also the part about not wanting thetonto gossip about me endlessly. The marriage was a bit of a scandal, yes, but it would all stop, they talk has already.”

Emma absorbed his words, the raw honesty behind them. “Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?”

“Because it’s not a story I enjoy reliving,” he admitted. “And because…” He hesitated, looking away. “Our arrangement wasn’t meant to invite this kind of understanding. At least, I didn’t think it was.”

Emma’s chest tightened at his admission. She couldn’t say she entirely trusted him—not yet. But in this moment, with his defenses lowered, she felt she was finally beginning to see the man behind the mask.

“You’re trying to be different,” she said quietly.

“I am,” he replied, his voice soft. “But that doesn’t mean I always know how.”

The vulnerability in his tone made her heart ache. She reached out, her hand brushing his briefly, a silent gesture of support. Evan didn’t pull away.

The thunder growled again, closer this time, but Emma barely noticed. The storm outside was nothing compared to the one they were navigating within.

The drawing room was bathed in the warm glow of firelight, the faint crackle of flames breaking the silence. Outside, the rain beat steadily against the windows, a rhythmic drumming accompanied by occasional bursts of thunder. The scent of pinewood mingled with the faint aroma of freshly lit candles. Emma’s hands trembled slightly as she smoothed the fabric of her gown, gathering the courage to cross the room.

Evan sat by the fire, his gaze distant as he stared into the flames. His usually composed demeanor seemed softened, the weight of the evening's events etched into the set of his jaw and the faint furrow of his brow. Emma took a deep breath, summoning her resolve, and stepped closer. Her footsteps, soft against the carpet, drew his attention. He glanced up, his blue eyes meeting hers with an intensity that made her falter for just a moment.

She lowered herself onto the settee beside him, her skirts brushing against his leg as she turned slightly to face him. For a moment, neither of them spoke. The silence stretched, filled only by the crackle of the fire and the soft patter of rain against the window.

“Something else weighs on you.”

Evan exhaled, leaning back slightly as he regarded her. “I lost my temper. I could not control it when Wren disparaged you.”

“You defended me,” she said softly, a hint of wonder in her tone.

His lips twitched into a wry smile. “I did. But it showed me that I could not trust myself. What if I…what if….”