The walk to Evan’s study felt exactly how he imagined a trip to the gallows would feel. His feet were heavy, but not half so much as his heart. He should have turned his back and walked inside, honor be damned. He should have sent them on their way, knowing full well that this minor, practically manufactured scandal would hardly be worse than that of her sister’s elopement.
But he’d seen the look on Sophie’s face. He’d seen the heartache, the upset, the anguish at not knowing what to do. And she had done her best to avoid trapping him into this situation once they were confronted outside by her mother. The thought of saddling her with even more shame, ruining her in a way that would follow her for years to come . . . In the end, he simply couldn’t do it.
But the question was, would she be any better with him? Stuck in a forced marriage that could never be real, for fear of the consequences he’d spent his whole life avoiding? His jaw hardened as they walked into the study. Turning abruptly, he held up a hand to Mrs. Wembley. “If you would be so kind, I would like to have a moment to speak with Miss Wembley alone.”
Her brow wrinkled as she looked up at him with ready indignation. “I should think not. You’ve had your time alone with her this morning.”
He straightened his back and looked down on her with all the patience he had left—which was exactly none. “Allow me to rephrase. You will wait in the drawing room while I speak with Miss Wembley here. Is that understood?”
She faltered, her bravado slipping beneath his commanding tone. “Well,” she said, brushing at her sleeve, “I suppose a little time alone together at this stage is to be expected. I shall rejoin you in five minutes.”
“You will rejoin us when we send for you.”
She lifted her chin but didn’t challenge his authority. Evan nodded to Higgins, who quickly led Sophie’s mother away, shutting the door behind them. For a moment, neither Sophie nor Evan moved or spoke into the ringing silence around them. Clearing his throat, he gestured to the pair of chairs situated in front of the desk. “Please, let us sit.”
Sophie, the most irrepressible soul he had ever met, seemed fragile for perhaps the first time since he had known her. Her features were drawn with worry, her eyes brimming with deep regret and guilt. His heart squeezed with the need to comfort her, but there was too much for them to discuss. This was the rest of their lives; she deserved to know what she was getting into, so that she could make an informed decision.
Sinking into the chair, she tugged at the ribbon of her bonnet and pulled it off. Her dark hair sprang free, spiraling up in a halo of dampened curls. Setting the hat aside, she waited, hands folded, while he sat in the opposite chair.
When he opened his mouth to speak, she broke in, as if unable to stay quiet a moment longer. “Please, let me just say how terribly sorry I am for what has happened. I never dreamed such a thing could have resulted from my silly, stupid desire to say good-bye. I hate it for you, and I promise to do everything in my power to somehow make it up to you. I know it’s not what you wanted, but we can make it work, I’m sure of it.”
She nodded, but he wasn’t sure if she was assuring him or herself. Perhaps both. He sighed, slicking his wet hair back from his face. “Yes, I know. Sometimes things happen that are beyond our control, and it is up to us to figure out how to live with the consequences.”
The story of his life, really.
Leaning forward, he set his elbows on his knees and peered at her, trying to find the best way to say what needed to be said. There were two things that he was certain of: Sophie believed herself to be in love with him, and he knew himself to be in love with her.
Painfully, almost desperately so.
So much, in fact, that he could barely stand the thought of sentencing her to a life by his side in a marriage that could never be what she deserved. He wanted to protect her, to keep her from suffering if things went the way he feared they would.
He had to tell her the truth about his past.
He knew it, was resolved to it, but saying the words that hovered on his tongue was still daunting. Meeting her eyes, he said, “Sophie, there is much that you don’t know about me. Before we move forward from this moment, before any decisions can possibly be made, there is something I need to share with you. It’s something I’ve never spoken of to another person, other than my sister, and I hope that no matter what we decide today, you will keep what I am about to tell you in strict confidence.”
Eyes wide, curiosity burning bright, Sophie dipped her head in a single nod. “Upon my word, Evan; you can trust me with anything.” Whatever it was, obviously it was important to him. She may have utterly failed him this morning, but by Jove she would take his secret to the grave.
He nodded and leaned back, idly rubbing his hands together. “I wonder, what do you know of my father?”
Sophie blinked, taken off guard by the unlikely question. “Your father?” What did he have to do with anything? “Only that he died when you were young—fifteen, I think you said? It was a riding accident, if I recall correctly.” It would have happened when Sophie was still in the nursery, so it was hardly worth speaking of other than to mark how long Evan had been earl.
Across from her, his shoulders sagged the smallest amount, almost as though he was relieved by her answer. Pressing his lips together, he dipped his head in a nod. “That is correct, in the strictest of terms. But there is much more to the story, I’m afraid.” His voice was quiet, serious.
Curling her fingers into her palms to stave off her growing anxiety, she said, “I see. Well, actually I don’t see, not at all, but do go on.” She bit down on her bottom lip hard, stopping the nervous flow of words.
He looked off toward the window. “My father was very distant when I was growing up. No fond trips to the nursery or doting first riding lessons. When he was in residence, we saw him perhaps once or twice a week. He preferred for children to be out of sight, for the most part.”
Sophie nodded, not wanting to interrupt him. It was the kind of upbringing that was all too familiar in the ton. While her own father was far from ideal, at least he had interacted with his daughters regularly.
“Most of the time, however, he was either in London or at the small estate we own in Northampton. Truly, if not for his brother’s frequent visits when I was young, I doubt I would have known a man’s influence at all. But then, when I was fourteen, my father came home one day, and he never left again. He was different, somehow. Obsessive, angry, given to fits of rage and days of melancholy that kept me and my sister walking on eggshells whenever we saw him. My mother let go much of the staff, keeping only the most loyal, and paying them handsomely for their discretion.
“Things grew worse and worse as the months went on, and my mother became fearful and tried to keep us from him. I was old enough to think I could intervene, but—” He stopped, his throat working as he swallowed. Looking over at her, he said, “Suffice it to say, it was a very, very bad time in our lives. In less than five months, he had descended into true madness.”
Sophie gasped before she knew what she was about, and quickly put a hand to her mouth. “My apologies. That must have been terrible.” It was the understatement of the year, but words could scarcely encompass how he must have felt. Her heart broke for the boy who witnessed such a thing in his father. “What of your uncle? Couldn’t he have helped?” Surely someone could have stepped in.
Evan shook his head. “Unfortunately, he had died earlier that year. And with my father’s position, it was of the utmost importance that no one learn of his illness. We tried so hard to pull him from the depths of his madness, but nothing seemed to help.”
The muscles in his jaw flexed as he drew a deep breath. “In the end, he did die in a riding accident, but it was of his own doing. He stole the horse in the middle of the night, then led the grooms who tried to catch him on a merry chase. He was . . . mostly unclothed, riding bareback through the countryside in the dead of winter.
“He drove his mount directly at the shallow creek that ran along the south end of the property, and when the horse came up short instead of plowing into the icy water, my father was thrown. He hit his head on the rocks and lay submerged until the groom caught up to him several minutes later.” He shook his head. “There was nothing to be done.”
A cold shiver raced down Sophie’s spine at the very thought. Such a horrible way to die. What Evan and his family must have gone through after that, Sophie could only imagine. No wonder he and his sister were so close.
Evan ran a hand over his still-damp hair, cutting sober eyes in her direction. “There is madness in my blood, Sophie.” The bleakness in his voice was even more chilling than his story. “It is something that we have managed to keep secret, but it is still there.”
Sophie sat back, attempting to grasp the enormity of such a confession. All these years, holding the world at arm’s length so no one would learn their secret. If the madness had been discovered, the whole family would have suffered tremendously. The fear that lunacy would be hereditary would have meant a lifetime of scrutiny for him and his sister. The title would have been irreparably tainted. Sophie sat forward, understanding dawning.
“Is that why you were so upset about your sister’s marriage?”
His nod was curt. “We made a pact, shortly after Father’s death. Neither of us would marry, nor would we have children. If one of us were to fall victim to madness, the other would care for them. No wife or progeny to go through what my family has endured, and no danger of passing the madness on to the next generation.”
“But . . . what about an heir?” she asked numbly, unable to believe what he was saying. How could he have been able to cope with such a fate? He and Julia had sentenced themselves for a crime they never committed.
Tipping his chin up, he said, “I have a very capable cousin who will inherit. I see it as my duty to ensure that the title remains unblemished until that time.”
It was more than she knew how to take in. He’d been living his life as some sort of pass-through? Living with no real purpose other than protecting the family’s secret and preserving the title for another who might be considered untainted? “How dreadful, Evan. You deserve so much more than that.”
It was clear her words surprised him. Had he never considered that he was worthy of a normal life, despite what had happened to his father? He shook his head twice, his eyes intense. “No, you deserve more. I’m telling you all this because you deserve a choice. Neither option is fair, but they’re the only ones you have: Live with the scandal of having damaged your reputation, or live with a shell of a marriage, one that will never be anything more than signatures on a piece of paper.”
His forehead creased with lines of strain as he lifted his hands. “Ruined but free, or married and miserable: Which will you choose?”
The stark reality of the situation hit her like a slap in the face. She stared at him, caught in the hopelessness etched in his features. She knew what he was saying: He would be miserable if he were married to her. To anyone. He’d made his choice, and she and her mother had destroyed his plans. It was a wonder he hadn’t slammed the door in both their faces.
Exhaling grimly, she shook her head. “Then it appears we have been brought to Point Non Plus.”
Confusion brought his brows together. “Whatever do you mean? There are options—two of them, to be precise.”
She shook her head, feeling worse and worse by the moment. “No, there are not. I have a better chance of walking to France than I do of getting my mother to back down. I can tell you with one hundred percent accuracy that nothing I say will persuade her to release you.”
His curse was sharp and low. He came to his feet and paced a few steps before turning back to her. “She has no say in the matter. I cannot be forced by her, no matter how she may wish it. What I want to know is, what is your decision?”
What, indeed. Both options seemed bleak beyond bearing. To live her life married in name only to a man who desperately didn’t want her seemed the worst kind of fate—especially since she loved him so much. Even now, her heart twisted with the pain of it, knowing that he had set his own heart against her so completely.
But . . . at least then she could try to make him happy. He might never accept her as a true partner, but what if she could make him laugh, and sing, and live with some semblance of normalcy? What if she could soften the brittleness that bracketed his face when he spoke of his past?
Coming to her feet, she walked over to where he stood. She hated the pain she saw in his eyes, hated the way he held himself so stiffly. Looking into his face, she knew she was fooling herself to think that she could somehow make him love her someday. That by sheer force of will she could make him happy to be wed to her.
No, there was only one way she could make him happy.
Lifting on her toes, she cupped his jaw and kissed him oh so lightly on his lips. He closed his eyes briefly, then met her gaze. Her heart seemed to splinter as she peered into the pale, troubled depths of his eyes. Swallowing, she whispered the words she knew he needed. “I choose freedom.”
Freedom for him. Ruination for her.