Chapter 19 #2
Olivia’s heart swelled. She looked at the man beside her and realized—utterly, completely—that he was her home, her haven, her future.
Evander turned to her. “What do you think, my dear?”
My dear.
The words sent warmth flooding through her chest and she gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “I’ll support whatever decision you make.”
He arched a brow. “That doesn’t help,” he teased softly, though his eyes were still shadowed with concern.
Before she could say more, a knock came at the door and Gillingham entered once again. “Lord Harwood is requesting a moment of your time.”
“Inform him that we are not taking callers…” Evander started.
“Send him in,” Lord Everwyck ordered, speaking over his son. “I want to see what he wants.”
As Gillingham turned to leave, Olivia tightened her hold on Evander’s hand and whispered, just for him, “After this… we finish our conversation.”
Because she wouldn’t let the moment pass again.
She would tell him she loved him.
And this time, nothing would stop her.
Evander stood beside Olivia, her presence grounding him even as his mind churned with the weight of his decision.
The indigo plantation had once been nothing more than a grim inheritance—now it had become a battleground.
He didn’t want to sell. Selling would mean relinquishing a fortune.
But how could he cling to principle when it might cost Olivia her life?
He glanced at her out of the corners of his eyes—so composed, so beautiful, and so very vulnerable in the wake of her abduction. No, he couldn’t risk her safety. Nothing mattered more than that.
Before he could speak, the door opened and in stepped Lord Harwood, the familiar frown fixed on his mouth. His eyes immediately found Olivia.
“I heard you were abducted,” Harwood said, the words too casual for Evander’s liking.
Olivia gasped. “How did you hear it so fast?”
Harwood offered a smooth, apologetic smile. “News travels quickly through the ton. I am relieved to see you well.”
“Thank you,” Olivia murmured, her voice guarded.
Harwood’s attention shifted to Evander. “Do you intend to sell the indigo plantation now that the reformers have turned their attention to Olivia?”
Evander hesitated—but only for a moment. “I think that would be for the best,” he said, the words leaving a bitter taste in his mouth.
Harwood visibly relaxed. “I’m glad to hear that. I’ll have my solicitor draw up the contract tomorrow.” A pause. “You’re doing the right thing.”
Just then, Warwicke’s voice rang out from the doorway. “Is he?”
Evander turned sharply, heart tightening at the sharp edge in his friend’s voice. Warwicke entered the room, his expression unreadable, yet charged with intent.
Harwood gave him a dry smile. “I think it’s only wise, given the circumstances.”
“And what circumstances are those, exactly?” Warwicke asked.
Evander frowned. “Is there a problem?”
Warwicke looked straight at him. “My contacts uncovered something curious. It seems Harwood is the sole owner of Walter Textiles.”
Turning towards Harwood, Evander asked, “Is that true?”
Harwood gave a nonchalant shrug. “It’s not illegal to own a business.”
“No,” Warwicke agreed, “but it becomes rather problematic when you’re coercing landowners into selling to you.”
Harwood’s eyes narrowed. “I’ve never forced anyone’s hand.”
Evander stepped forward. “Why didn’t you disclose you owned Walter Textiles when you first expressed interest in the plantation?”
“I’ve worked hard to build that company,” Harwood replied, voice tightening. “I didn’t think it necessary to share every detail.”
Evander studied him, and he saw the shift now, the small cracks forming in Harwood’s polished exterior.
“It makes me wonder what else you haven’t shared,” Warwicke pressed.
Harwood let out an irritated breath. “Why are you even here?”
Warwicke wandered over to the mantel, his movements deliberately casual. “Because once I discovered your little secret, I dug deeper. And do you know what I found?”
“I don’t care—”
“Your company owned the ship that supposedly carried your brother and the late Lord Westmere to India. The one they allegedly died on.”
Evander stiffened.
“That’s a coincidence,” Harwood snapped.
“Is it?” Warwicke’s smile was thin. “Because when I tracked down the captain, he didn’t remember your brother or Bryon ever boarding the vessel. Though their names were on the manifest.”
Harwood’s expression remained impassive. “A clerical oversight.”
Evander’s mind raced. Nothing about this was a coincidence. Too many puzzle pieces were falling into place.
Warwicke stepped closer. “Let’s consider this, shall we? Olivia was taken to The Dragon’s Head. It is well known as a reformers’ stronghold. Too convenient, don’t you think?”
Evander’s chest tightened. “You’re saying someone wanted it to appear the reformers were behind it.”
“Exactly. But what if they weren’t?” Warwicke’s eyes turned determined. “What if it was someone who stood to gain the most from you selling your plantation?”
There was only one name left in the room.
“You,” Warwicke said, eyes locked on Harwood.
Harwood gave a derisive laugh. “This is absurd. Wild speculation. You have no proof of what you are saying.”
“Interesting that you mention proof,” Warwicke replied. “Because once I got hold of Walter Textiles’s financial records, I found the payments—direct, traceable—made to the men who threatened Westmere and his father.”
Harwood blanched. “That’s impossible.”
“Your man of business is very bad at keeping things secure,” Warwicke added. “He really should lock his desk drawers.”
“You’re lying,” Harwood growled.
“I am many things,” Warwicke said, “but being a liar is not one of them.”
Evander’s father, who had remained deathly silent, now rose to his feet. “Are you telling me that this man was behind my son’s death?”
“I had nothing to do with Bryon’s death!” Harwood exclaimed, visibly rattled now. “Don’t believe him.”
“I wish it weren’t true,” Warwicke replied. “But the money trail is undeniable.”
Evander stepped forward, cold fury building in his chest. “You killed my brother?” he asked, his voice a low growl. “Why?”
Harwood raised both hands in a calming gesture. “Evander, you know me. Do you really think I’m capable of murder?”
Warwicke’s expression darkened. “It turns out Westmere’s indigo plantation property comes with the water rights. Which means Harwood has to pay him a fortune every year to maintain his factory.”
Harwood let out a disgusted sound. “I don’t know what my brother was thinking, selling it to Westmere, but that’s irrelevant now.”
“You were furious,” Warwicke said, lifting a vase from the mantel and studying it absently. “You built everything up. Property by property. And then your brother threw a wrench in your empire.”
“I was,” Harwood admitted. “He didn’t understand what I was building. He kept losing money with bad investments.”
“And worse yet,” Warwicke said, his voice dropping, “he wanted Bryon to marry your sister.”
Harwood sneered. “Bryon was a cad. Jemima deserved better.”
“And what did you do about it?” Warwicke asked.
“Nothing,” Harwood asserted. “But I won’t pretend I mourned him.”
“You made a mistake,” Warwicke said.
“I don’t make mistakes.”
A new voice rang out from the door.
“You underestimated how much the reformers despise you,” Lord Luca said as he entered, his expression grim.
Harwood let out an exasperated sigh. “Wonderful. You’ve decided to join the circus.”
Lord Luca nodded towards Warwicke. “The men who abducted Olivia are in Newgate. They’ve started talking. And they’ve named Harwood as the person who orchestrated it all.”
Olivia gasped behind Evander. He didn’t need to look at her to feel her betrayal.
Harwood rolled his eyes to the ceiling. “They’re lying. They want the plantation for themselves.”
“I’ve been tracking the indigo operation for months,” Lord Luca said. “You were the one piece I couldn’t confirm—until now. Faking a reformer attack was brilliant. But not brilliant enough.”
Evander turned fully to Harwood, his voice steady but low with rage. “Is it true?”
“Good gads, no!” Harwood cried. “You’d take their word over mine?”
Evander stared at him for a long, agonizing moment. “Yes,” he said. “I would.”
Harwood’s voice was filled with scorn. “You are a fool, then,” he responded. “And I don’t have to stand here and listen to these blatant lies.”
He turned as though to leave, but Lord Luca moved quickly, blocking his path. “You should know that everything I’ve uncovered will be printed in the newssheets in the morning,” he said. “It’s over.”
Harwood’s jaw tensed. “Then I shall enjoy suing you for slander.”
“Nothing I’ve written was untrue,” Lord Luca said. “And you know it.”
A smirk slowly crept onto Harwood’s face. “It matters not,” he sneered. “You’ll all be dead soon anyway.”
Before Evander could react, Harwood gave a sharp whistle.
Evander immediately stepped closer to Olivia, his instincts on high alert.
“If you’re waiting for your thugs to come bursting in, you should know,” Warwicke drawled from beside the hearth, “the constable rounded them up before I stepped into the room. Every last one.”
The smirk slipped from Harwood’s face. “Impossible,” he muttered, the first flicker of uncertainty entering his eyes. “They were stationed just outside the door. Waiting for my signal.”
In the next instant, Harwood’s hand moved fast—too fast. He drew a pistol from inside his jacket and pointed it directly at Olivia.
“I am leaving and taking Olivia with me,” Harwood shouted.
Evander surged forward, placing himself squarely in front of her. “Over my dead body,” he growled. If Harwood thought he’d so much as touch Olivia again, he’d have to kill him first.
With a tsk, Warwicke said, “It is always a shame to see someone unravel right before our eyes.”
“Be quiet!” Harwood shifted the pistol towards Warwicke. “Perhaps I’ll just shoot you and be done with it.”
Warwicke remained calm, as ever. “You have one shot,” he remarked. “I wouldn’t waste it.”
Harwood’s hand shook slightly, but the rage in his voice grew. “Why did you have to get involved?” he shouted at Warwicke. “Everything was going according to plan! I was going to be the largest landowner in India. No one would have dared disrespect me again!”
Evander’s stomach twisted. “This was about… respect?”
Harwood’s lips thinned. “My brother always acted superior. My mother adored him. He could do no wrong. But I—I—was the smart one. I was the one building something. I was the one who made everything work. And still, he looked down on me.”
“So you killed him?” Evander asked.
“I did what was necessary,” Harwood snapped. “He deserved it. So did Bryon. And now, I’m leaving. And if anyone tries to stop me, I’ll kill Olivia.”
Evander didn’t flinch. His voice was quiet but resolute. “I can’t allow that.”
“You don’t have a choice,” Harwood said, amusement flickering back into his expression.
But Warwicke spoke up behind him. “Actually, he does.”
Evander turned his head and saw that Warwicke had drawn a pistol of his own, aimed directly at Harwood’s chest.
“We both have one shot,” Warwicke said. “And I assure you, mine will count. Lower your weapon, and you can live another day.”
Before Harwood could respond, another sound rang out.
A loud crack, sharp and deafening.
Harwood cried out and collapsed to the floor, the pistol clattering from his hand as blood spread from his shoulder.
Evander jerked towards the source of the shot and saw his father standing behind the desk, smoke curling from the barrel of a flintlock pistol.
“You killed my son,” the earl said in a voice that sent a chill through the room. “You deserve to die.”
Harwood writhed, clutching his shoulder, but he still managed to scoff. “You think you’ve won?” he spat. “I’ll claim privilege of the peerage. I’ll walk free.”
Warwicke stepped forward and kicked Harwood’s dropped pistol aside. “We’ll see about that,” he said. “There’s a long list of charges waiting. And I made sure your name is on every one of them.”
At that moment, a tall, broad-shouldered man stepped into the room. Evander recognized him immediately—Constable Banfield. His no-nonsense presence filled the space.
“I heard everything,” the constable said grimly. “I’ll see to it he’s taken straight to Newgate.”
“Thank you, Constable,” Warwicke said as the man took Harwood by the arm and began dragging him out of the study.
As soon as the door shut behind them, silence fell. Then Evander felt a gentle touch on his sleeve. He turned, already knowing who it was.
Olivia. Her eyes, full of compassion and worry, searched his.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
He placed his hand over hers. “I’m not,” he said softly. “I’m glad we finally know the truth.”
And he meant it.
Because no matter the cost, the shadows had been banished—and she was still by his side.