Chapter 16
Evander watched Olivia across the breakfast table, his appetite forgotten.
Something about her was… different. A shift in the air, subtle but undeniable.
Her posture was rigid, her fingers toying with the edge of her napkin, and when she lifted her gaze, the warmth he usually found in her eyes was noticeably absent.
He leaned forward, concern tightening in his chest. “Olivia… is something troubling you?”
Her smile came, but it was all wrong—strained, tight, the kind one wore when pretending all was well. “There is, actually,” she murmured.
“What is it?” he asked softly, his voice careful, coaxing.
Her lips parted, and she started, “I… uh…” but whatever she meant to say vanished as Gillingham stepped into the room.
The butler gave a respectful bow. “I apologize for the intrusion, but Lord Harwood has arrived and requested a moment of your time.”
Evander’s jaw tensed. Of all the wretched timing. He did not care to speak with Harwood—not now, not when Olivia had clearly been on the brink of revealing something important.
With a brisk wave of his hand, he dismissed the suggestion. “Inform Lord Harwood this is not a good time.”
“Yes, my lord.” Gillingham bowed once more and turned to leave.
But Olivia’s voice stopped him. “Wait.” She turned to Evander. “You should go speak to him.”
Evander frowned. “I would rather have breakfast with you.”
She reached across the table and placed her hand atop his. The warmth of her touch contradicted the guarded look in her eyes. “I know, but I will be here when you get back. You should see what he wants.”
He studied her, unsure what he was seeking—an opening, perhaps. An invitation to stay. “Very well,” he relented, though every instinct told him not to let the moment pass. “But I want to hear what you were about to say before we were interrupted.”
Color rose to her cheeks, pink and sudden.
Interesting. That reaction was new. Olivia was not a woman easily flustered, especially not by him.
He rose and stepped towards her, then bent low and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “I will return, my Kicksy-Wicksy.”
She made a face. “I would prefer if you called me something else.”
He smirked, keeping close. “I could call you ‘my dear.’ It would be perfectly proper, considering we are married, after all.”
Her lips curved into a small but genuine smile. “I would like that.”
“Good,” he murmured. “Then it is settled.”
He lingered for a moment too long, committing to memory the gold flecks in her blue eyes, the slight tremble in her breath. Something was shifting between them—and for once, it felt like it might be in his favor.
But Olivia, ever composed, gently broke the moment. “You should go. Lord Harwood is waiting.”
He groaned. “Let him wait.”
She tilted her head in mock reprimand. “That is rather rude. He came all this way to see you.”
Evander sighed and straightened, tugging down the hem of his waistcoat. “Very well. But that is only because you requested it, not him.”
The smile she gave him then was the one he had been waiting for—warm and real. “I will be waiting for your return.”
He returned her smile with a nod and turned on his heel, his thoughts still lingering on her unfinished words as he made his way to the drawing room. Whatever Harwood had to say had best be worth the interruption.
He found the man standing near the hearth, already pacing.
Harwood’s eyes lit with urgency the moment he entered. “I’m sorry to disturb you so early, but I’m afraid it couldn’t wait.”
Evander folded his arms. “What is it that you need?”
“I intend to sell my indigo plantation,” Harwood began. “And I’ve found a buyer—on the condition that your land is included in the deal.”
Evander’s brows lifted. “Who is this buyer?”
“I don’t know his full intentions. He claims to represent a company, Walter Textiles, which is looking to expand its holdings in India. Gave the name Mr. Robert Taylor.”
That name landed uneasily in Evander’s mind.
“I’ll pay you one hundred and ten percent of what you paid for your land,” Harwood added, his tone clipped.
Evander strode to the drink cart, unease curling in his gut. “Why wouldn’t I just deal with Mr. Taylor directly?”
“You could,” Harwood allowed, “but has he approached you?”
Evander took his time uncorking the decanter. “Would you care for a drink?”
“Not at this time,” Harwood said impatiently. “This is a good deal. You should take it.”
Evander poured himself a measure of brandy, slowly. “We both know the land is worth far more.”
“Which is why I’m offering ten percent more.”
Glass in hand, Evander turned back to him. “What is he offering you?”
Harwood shifted in his stance, clearly uncomfortable. “That doesn’t matter.”
“But it does. To me.”
Harwood moved a step closer. “I’m tired of the threats. I want out of India. I want to start over.”
Evander sipped his drink and watched the man carefully. “I would like to meet Mr. Taylor myself.”
“Whatever for?”
“To know who’s buying up these lands. And why.”
Harwood’s expression darkened. “Why do you care? Aren’t you tired of fearing for your life?”
“Of course I am. But that doesn’t mean I can sell our family holdings without my father’s approval.”
A flicker of frustration crossed Harwood’s face. “I’m trying to help us both.”
“By profiting more than you let on?” Evander said. “Because I suspect you’re getting a far better price if I hand over my share.”
“That land never should have been yours. My idiot brother sold it to Bryon without my knowledge.”
Evander narrowed his gaze. “Why is that land so important?”
Harwood hesitated, then shrugged. “It’s not. Not on its own. It’s the combined holdings that make the difference.”
Evander didn’t believe him. “Then you shouldn’t mind if I speak to Mr. Taylor myself. Unless you have something to hide.”
Harwood’s jaw tightened. “We’ve known each other for years, and you accuse me of deception? That’s insulting.”
“No,” Evander said. “That’s business.”
Harwood’s composure cracked. “Someone threw a rock into my mother’s bedchamber. She’s shaken.”
Evander’s eyebrows rose. “Is she all right?”
“She’ll recover. But it rattled her—and me. That’s why I want out. You’d be wise to follow suit.”
“I shall think on it.”
Harwood scoffed, throwing up his hands. “What is there to think about?”
Evander took another drink, more to buy time than anything else. Harwood’s outburst felt too practiced. Too performative. “It’s my father’s decision, not mine.”
Harwood muttered a curse. “Then convince him to sell before it’s too late.”
He strode past Evander, clearly done with the conversation. Evander turned to follow and found Olivia standing in the entry hall.
Her eyes flicked between the two men. “I heard shouting.”
Harwood offered a stiff bow. “My apologies, my lady. I was merely venting some of my frustrations.”
“Is everything all right, Joseph?” Olivia asked.
A tight, unconvincing smile stretched across Harwood’s lips. “It is,” he said with ease. But it was too smooth, too measured. “Your husband and I were just discussing some business.”
Evander’s jaw tensed. That wasn’t business. It had been pressure veiled as persuasion, and Harwood knew it.
“By shouting at one another?” Olivia questioned.
Stepping closer to her, Evander informed her, “Harwood was just about to leave.”
“I was,” Harwood agreed, his exit abrupt and purposeful as he disappeared out the main door.
The moment the door clicked shut, Evander felt Olivia’s gaze land squarely on him. When he turned, she had already placed one hand on her hip, and her expression was all demand.
“Would you care to explain what that was about?”
He did not want to explain. Not when they’d been teetering on the edge of something unspoken earlier. He would have much rather returned to that—her unfinished sentence, her blush, the way she’d looked at him like she might let something slip.
But Olivia, he knew, would not let this go.
With a sigh, he ran a hand down his waistcoat. “Harwood wants me to sell the indigo plantation to him.”
“Would that be a terrible thing?”
“As you know, I’m not opposed to selling the plantation. I’ve considered it. But something about the deal feels… off. Too tidy. As if it’s already been decided without me.”
She tilted her head. “Do you think Joseph would cheat you?”
That was the heart of it. It was the question that had been gnawing at him since Harwood first brought up the deal. “I don’t know,” he admitted.
Olivia stepped closer. “I’ve known Joseph for a long time,” she said. “He’s always been kind to me.”
He grinned. “People tend to be kind to beautiful people.”
“That wasn’t why.”
Evander lifted a hand and set it gently on her shoulder. “I’d rather not talk about Harwood anymore. I’d prefer if we could return to our previous conversation. The one we started over breakfast?”
At his words, the color bloomed in her cheeks again, and her gaze dropped to his chest as though unable to meet his eyes.
“I would prefer not to,” she murmured.
Evander’s hand shifted. He brought his fingers under her chin, tilting her face upward until her eyes met his.
“What has you so flustered, my dear?”
The endearment caught her by surprise. He saw it in the slight widening of her eyes, the way she hesitated before answering.
“I’m not flustered,” she attempted, but the softness of her voice betrayed her.
“You are,” he responded, his thumb brushing along her jaw. “And it is rather adorable.”
Her blush deepened to something almost crimson.
“I feel…” she began, and then faltered.
His pulse ticked up. “You feel?” he prompted, careful not to push too hard.
Her lips parted, but before she could form the words, a sharp knock echoed from the main door. Both of them turned at once.
Gillingham appeared, striding across the entry hall. He pulled open the door, and there stood Warwicke, broad-shouldered and grim.
His eyes locked on Evander. “We need to talk,” he said, his tone brooking no argument.