Chapter 12
“Devil take you,” Evander gritted out.
He tossed the letter Toby had brought him that afternoon onto the desk.
He had already read it several times, but just as he told himself to stop caring about it, he went back to the desk and picked it up again.
More threats from the same anonymous person.
It was not so much the threats that alarmed him, but the fact that they had been delivered directly to the Winterbourne Estate.
Whoever was threatening him knew he had left his London estate, which told him that he was being watched.
This meant they were also watching his mother, Nora.
Guards were hired as soon as Evander decided to move back to London.
Since his mother lived in the house, he took extra precautions by sending Toby back as well.
There was a reason Evander picked Toby to be his sparring partner, and he would serve well as Nora’s personal guard until Evander could return.
Though he felt sorry for Toby, it was not for what might happen but for the endless questions the dowager would no doubt ask him.
She worried too much about him. That was why he had not been able to say no when she insisted on moving with him after he returned.
Adrian had offered to relocate his family to another home, since the London Redgrave Estate rightfully belonged to Evander.
However, their mother was determined not to let Evander live alone after all that had happened.
“What do you want from me?” Evander said aloud, looking at the letter.
He wanted to crumple the thing up and toss it into the fire, but instead, he let it fall back onto his desk. He had kept every single one, hoping that a clue would be found. So far, though, there had been none.
He shook his head and once more began to pace his room, wondering when the torture would finally end. And he did not only mean the one he had survived.
When he had asked Helena if there had been anyone else in her heart, he had felt a flicker of hope as she looked as if she was about to say yes. Then she said no, so firmly that it extinguished that hope in his chest instantly. It was clear that their correspondence had meant nothing to her.
He had had to walk away then, not because of the migraine he had complained of, but because of the ache that formed in his chest. He had thought over the years that he had managed to let Helena go, but her response in that moment made him painfully aware that part of him had still held on to the idea of her loving him.
Evander suddenly felt stifled by the walls around him. He had paced the expanse of the estate several times, and with each step, it seemed to grow smaller. Needing fresh air and more space, he left his rooms with no particular destination in mind.
For a long moment, he walked in the quiet darkness of the halls, his mind churning with thoughts of threats and his longing for Helena.
Then he heard the faint sound of footsteps.
The soft rustling of fabric. Evander’s thoughts quieted at once as his entire body went on alert.
Flashes of those painful moments aboard Augustus’s ship flickered in his mind.
His chest grew tight; his breathing ragged as he fought to keep himself in the present.
He pressed his back into the wall as soon as he reached an alcove, and fought to settle himself.
I am not there anymore. I am in Winterbourne Estate. A place where… where the mystery writer sent his last threatening letter.
Breathing through his nostrils, Evander focused himself and lowered onto the balls of his feet, hands curved and ready.
He refused to be taken again. He would not be chained, burned, or tortured—and he would kill to prevent it if he had to.
He waited, his body tense as the sounds of footsteps drew nearer, and just as the shadowy figure appeared, his vision turned red, and he lunged.
His hand closed around a slender wrist, and he had the person pinned against the wall in one swift motion, his forearm braced across their collarbone, holding them still.
“What do you want?” he growled, unable to see anything through the red haze that had settled over his vision. “You think you can take me that easily? I will never let you!”
Reminders of those burning ropes, heavy fists, and chains consumed him, dragging him back to a place he thought he would never survive. Then a soft, breathy gasp snapped him out of it, extinguishing the painful memories like water dousing flames.
“Your Grace,” a breathy, familiar voice pleaded with him.
The red haze over Evander’s eyes lifted at once, and his mouth dropped open in shock as he saw Helena before him, close enough that he could feel her heartbeat racing beneath his arm.
“Helena.” He breathed her name like an apology, but he did not step back. Not yet. Every part of him was still braced for a fight, and every part of him was suddenly, achingly aware that the body pinned beneath his was hers. “You should not sneak up on a man like that.”
“I was not sneaking,” Helena whispered, though she made no move to push him away. “I heard footsteps. I did not think—”
He finally eased his arm back, though his hand lingered at her waist, as if he could not quite convince himself to let go completely.
In the dim light of the corridor, he could see she was in her nightgown—a pretty, modest white thing that should have made her look innocent, and instead made her look utterly ravishing, her hair loose over one shoulder, her breath still uneven from the fright he had given her.
“What are you doing out here?” he asked, though it came out low, almost helpless.
“I… Nothing,” she answered, her breath calming down as she touched her neck.
He moved closer again, unconcerned about invading her space, and wrapped his hand around the nape of her neck so that his eyes were only an inch away from her skin.
Even in the dim light, he could see it—the faint circle of bruising around her delicate throat.
It was not from him. He knew about bruises, how long it took for them to form and surface.
Someone else had done that to her—and the thought filled him with rage.
“Who did this to you?” he demanded, his gaze snapping up to her eyes.
Her green orbs glimmered with tears, but not a single one escaped as he felt her pulse kick wildly against his palm.
“I… It is no concern of yours,” she replied calmly. “I am all right.”
Her pulse betrayed the calmness of her voice.
She was lying to him. The realization struck him hard—but why would she trust him?
He had been behaving so ghastly from the very moment they had met.
He leaned back, giving her space to breathe, and let the moment fade into silence.
He would not get any answers by growling at her like some beast.
“Could you not sleep either?” he asked, his tone gentle.
Helena, who was still massaging her throat, shook her head.
“Too much to think about, I suppose,” she murmured. “You?”
“Same,” he muttered. “This week thus far has been utterly…”
“Chaotic?” Helena offered, and he huffed out a laugh as he braced his hands on his hips.
“Yes,” he agreed. “Chaotic. And I am afraid I have taken out my chaos on you. I am sorry, Helena. Not just for grabbing you as I just did, but for how I have been treating you. You are not the one who deserves my wrath.”
Silence answered him for a long moment before Helena sighed and let her hand slip away from her throat.
“Maybe not,” she replied. “But I am guilty of pushing you to discomfort.”
Through the darkness, he saw her give him an apologetic look as he raised a questioning brow.
“I cannot have made it easy on you,” she went on. “Taking off your gloves. Taking your scarf away. My actions were downright scandalous, and I cannot even fathom what came over me.”
She bowed her head, as if she felt guilty, and suddenly Evander wondered if she was drawn to touching him as well.
Could she be… Is it possible?
“What I have done and how my brother spoke to you last night…” she went on. “It all must surely remind you of your ordeal. I cannot imagine what it would be like to battle both the present and the past at the same time.”
Evander’s brows lifted in surprise as his heart skipped a beat. No one had spoken of his troubles so eloquently or precisely, and what was more, she said it without pity in her eyes. Just pure acceptance.
“How can you know about it?”
“I do not, but… Is that what happened a few minutes ago?” she asked, tilting her face up to his with searching eyes. “Were you afraid I was someone out to hurt you?”
Evander swallowed the lump that had suddenly grown in his throat and let out a shuddering breath.
“Yes,” he forced out.
Helena nodded, her eyes glimmering with understanding.
“It can be troubling at times,” he confessed, shifting into a more comfortable stance. “Constantly caught between two timelines. But that does not excuse the way I have treated you. I implore your forgiveness; however, I understand if you cannot give it.”
“There is nothing to forgive,” Helena replied, her hand drifting to her throat, then falling still when she caught the way his gaze followed it. “I believe I am the one who should apologize to you.”
Evander cocked his head, confused. Whatever could she have to apologize for when it was he who had pinned her to a wall and demanded answers like a madman?
“Whatever for?”
Even in the darkness, Evander watched a blush bloom on Helena’s cheeks.
“You can speak to me plainly, Helena,” he encouraged. “I know all about secrets. I can keep yours just as I can keep mine.”
Helena looked at him hesitantly for another moment, as if unsure. Then she sighed, as if the secret she was holding was simply far too difficult to keep, and she was relieved to finally have someone to share it with.
“I am still very displeased with how we argue and how you have treated me,” she warned, giving him a stern look.
“Noted,” he murmured, though his eyes had already dropped to her mouth.