CHAPTER 32
Evan
The heavy oak door of Boodles creaked open, letting in a gust of chilly air. The warm, smoky interior of the club was a stark contrast to the damp London streets outside. Evan paused just inside, letting his eyes adjust to the dim light. The scent of tobacco and polished wood mingled with the faint aroma of port and brandy, a familiar and oddly comforting blend.
The club was a sanctuary of exclusivity and tradition, its paneled walls lined with portraits of stern-faced members from decades past. The ceiling was ornately carved, the flickering light of gas lamps casting dancing shadows. A low murmur of conversation hummed through the room, punctuated by the occasional clink of glasses or shuffle of cards. The plush carpets muffled his steps as he made his way toward the corner where Jonathan sat, a crystal tumbler in hand.
Jonathan glanced up as Evan approached, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You’re late,” he said, leaning back in his chair and gesturing to the empty seat opposite him. “I was beginning to think you’d decided to nurse your wounds at home.”
Evan huffed a laugh, sliding into the chair and motioning for a whiskey. “Wouldn’t give you the satisfaction,” he replied, rubbing his jaw absently. The faint bruise there was tender to the touch, but it wasn’t as bad as he’d expected.
“You don’t look too bad,” Jonathan remarked, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. “Though, if I’m honest, though Wren looks rather worst for wear.”
Evan smirked, taking the whiskey the waiter placed before him and raising it in a mock toast. “I’ll take that as a compliment at my prowess with the fist. Not that I am terribly proud of what I did.”
Jonathan chuckled but quickly grew serious, his expression darkening. “You know, Evan, this isn’t the way you should be behaving. Not when we’re all in business together.”
Evan sighed, taking a long sip of his drink. “I’m not sure I want to be in business with someone like Wren. A man with such a filthy mouth has no place in polite company, let alone as a partner.”
Jonathan raised an eyebrow, his tone wry. “And yet, you’ve tolerated him for years. Why the sudden change? Surely this isn’t just about his insults toward Emma.”
Evan’s grip tightened on his glass, and he set it down with deliberate care. “Maybe it is,” he said quietly. “Or maybe I’ve just reached my limit with men like him.”
Jonathan leaned forward, studying his friend with an intensity that made Evan shift uncomfortably. “I never thought I’d see you so riled up over something like this. Or someone.”
Evan met his gaze steadily, his voice firm. “I love her, Jonathan. That’s why.”
Jonathan’s eyes widened slightly, but the surprise quickly gave way to a knowing smile. “Well,” he said, sitting back in his chair. “That does explain a few things. Though perhaps you should have told her that instead of throwing punches.”
“I already have,” Evan replied, a small, almost shy smile tugging at his lips. “We talked yesterday. I told her everything.”
“Everything?” Jonathan’s tone was sharp, his brows rising.
Evan hesitated, his gaze dropping to his drink. “Not quite,” he admitted. “There’s something I still need to resolve first.”
Jonathan’s expression grew more curious, and he leaned forward again. “Rose?”
Evan’s head snapped up, his eyes narrowing. “Yes, among other things.”
He looked at his friend, having expected some sort of comment about Evan’s sudden decision to stop what Jonathan still believed to be his rakish ways. Yet, it didn’t come. Instead, his friend leaned forward.
“And she does not mind your reputation? Or have you told her the truth? That you haven’t been a rake for many a year?”
Evan stared at his friend. “You knew?”
Jonathan smirked, his tone light but tinged with genuine affection. “Come now, Evan. I’ve known you since we were boys. Did you really think I wouldn’t notice when the infamous rake stopped jumping from bed to bed?”
Evan shrugged, looking away. “I lost the appetite for it. Not entirely, but… the reputation served its purpose.”
Jonathan nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful. “This is all because of your father, isn’t it?”
The question hung in the air, heavy with unspoken truths. Evan exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. “It’s always about him,” he admitted. “Even when I tell myself it’s not. No matter how hard I try to banish him from my thoughts, he’s always there, influencing my decisions.”
“But not anymore,” Jonathan guessed, his tone quiet.
Evan shook his head. “No. Not anymore. I’ve spent so much of my life fighting to avoid becoming like him, and now I’m starting to wonder if I’ve been so focused on that fear that I’ve pushed myself into his shadow anyway. I don’t want that. I want to be better.”
“For Emma,” Jonathan said, his smile returning.
