Did he and Eleanor really do this? If they had, they were certainly out of their minds.
Evelyn sat frozen, pulse thrumming in her throat, her body betraying her with lingering heat, a cruel echo of his touch. Nathaniel, reclining against the pillows with infuriating ease, had closed his eyes, as if he had already dismissed her, as if she were nothing more than a fleeting amusement.
Her hands curled into fists against the sheets.
She should be relieved. Should take this moment to collect herself, to steel her mind against whatever game he was playing. And yet—
Her skin still tingled where he had touched her.
Damn him.
Evelyn exhaled slowly, forcing her breath to steady. She turned away, rising from the bed with as much grace as she could muster. If he wanted to toy with her, to leave her simmering in frustration, then fine. She would not let him see how deeply he had unraveled her.
She reached for her nightgown, drawing it around her body with measured composure.
She sat back down on the bed and sighed.
"This is all for my brother, so it is fine. I can keep going... until Sir Bastian contacts me again. Maybe I should reach out to Theo tomorrow."
The thought brought little comfort. Theo was sharp—perhaps too sharp. If she wasn't careful, he would see through her, and she couldn't afford that. Not yet.
Evelyn glanced back at Nathaniel, his features softened in sleep, his breathing steady. He looked almost... peaceful.
But it was a deception.
"He confuses me."
One moment, he was cold and unreadable. The next, he burned her with a touch, with a glance that felt like it saw far too much. She had thought she knew what kind of man he was—dangerous, cunning, a necessary figure to deceive. But now... now she wasn't sure.
She exhaled softly, lying back against the pillows, careful to keep a distance between them.
She would think about it tomorrow.
Tonight, she just needed to rest.
The Next Day
Evelyn sat at her writing desk, the morning light spilling through the lace-curtained window, casting delicate patterns across the wooden surface. The nib of her pen hovered over the parchment, ink pooling at the tip as she hesitated.
She had written to Theo countless times before, but today, her hand felt heavier, as if the weight of her deception pressed against her very bones.
Dear Theo,
She paused, exhaling softly. How much could she say without unraveling the fragile illusion she had woven? He could not know the truth—not yet.
I hope this letter finds you in good health. Have you been eating well? The winter has been harsher than expected, and I worry you are neglecting yourself.
She dipped the pen again, steadying herself.
The city remains as lively as ever. The social season is as tiresome as one would expect, but I am managing well enough.
A lie, but one he needed to believe.
Have you been practicing your music? I know how dearly you love it. Do not let it fall by the wayside. If there is anything you require, do not hesitate to write to me.
She hesitated, fingers tightening around the pen.
And Theo… stay safe. You must promise me that.
She signed the letter with her secret intials only her brother knows, sealing it with practiced ease.
Her chest ached as she stared at the folded parchment. He trusted her, and yet every word she wrote deepened the chasm between them.
But it was for his sake.
Placing the letter aside, she rose, drawing her shawl around her shoulders.
She had done what she could for now.
Evelyn turned toward the window, pressing her fingers lightly against the chilled glass. Outside, the city was beginning to stir—carriages rumbling along cobbled streets, the faint chatter of vendors setting up their stalls. It was a world that should have felt familiar, yet standing in Eleanor's place, it remained just out of reach.
A quiet knock at the door drew her from her thoughts.
"Enter," she called, schooling her expression into practiced composure.
Clara stepped inside, curtseying before speaking. "My lady, His lordship requests your presence in the drawing room."
Nathaniel.
Evelyn suppressed the sigh threatening to escape her lips. Their arrangement had always been a game of strategy, of carefully measured steps, yet after last night, the board felt shaken. He had looked at her differently—unreadable, as always, but with something else lingering beneath the surface.
She straightened her posture. "Very well. Inform his lordship that I shall be down shortly."
As Clara exited, Evelyn turned back to her desk, glancing once more at the sealed letter.
She would send it as soon as she had the chance.
For now, she had another performance to give.
Evelyn stepped into the hallway, her movements measured, her expression composed. The house was quiet at this hour, save for the distant murmur of servants attending to their morning duties. The scent of polished wood and faint embers from the hearth lingered in the air as she descended the grand staircase.
As she approached the drawing room, she allowed herself a single breath to steady her nerves before pushing open the door.
Nathaniel stood near the fireplace, his silhouette framed by the soft glow of the flames. He was already dressed for the day—his dark coat tailored to perfection, his cravat knotted with effortless precision. He turned at the sound of her entrance, regarding her with that same inscrutable gaze that unsettled her more than she cared to admit.
"You took your time," he noted, his tone neither impatient nor welcoming.
Evelyn met his gaze evenly. "I was still getting ready."
Nathaniel raised an eyebrow, but instead, he gestured toward the settee opposite him. "Sit."
She hesitated only a moment before complying, smoothing the fabric of her morning gown as she settled onto the seat. "What is this about?"
Nathaniel leaned back against the mantel, arms crossed. "I received a message this morning."
Something in his tone made her wary. "From whom?"
His gaze lingered on her for a fraction longer than necessary before he spoke.
"Sir Bastian."
Evelyn's fingers tightened slightly over the folds of her gown. Sir Bastian.
She had been waiting for his message, yet hearing his name from Nathaniel's lips sent a ripple of unease through her. Bastian was the only one who knew the full truth of her deception. If he had sent word, it could mean many things—none of which she was prepared to discuss with Nathaniel.
She kept her expression calm. "And what did he say?"
Nathaniel studied her, the flickering firelight casting shifting shadows across his face. "He has requested an audience. Today."
Evelyn's breath caught, but she recovered quickly. "Did he say why?"
Nathaniel's gaze was unreadable. "No. But I imagine you might have some idea."
She met his stare evenly, willing herself not to betray even the smallest hint of alarm. "He is my steward. It is not unusual for him to request a meeting."
Nathaniel tilted his head slightly, as though considering her response. "Perhaps. But the timing is… interesting."
He was testing her. That much was clear.
Evelyn straightened her shoulders. "Then I should not keep him waiting."
Nathaniel's lips curved slightly, though it was not quite a smile. "No, you should not."
He pushed away from the mantel, crossing the room in slow, deliberate strides. Evelyn did not move as he approached, even as he stopped beside her chair.
His voice dropped just enough to make her pulse quicken. "Whatever this meeting is about, I trust you will handle it accordingly."
Evelyn lifted her chin, forcing herself to meet his gaze. "Of course."
Nathaniel held her stare for a beat longer before stepping away. "The carriage will be ready within the hour."
Evelyn exhaled softly as he exited the room, leaving her alone with her thoughts.
Sir Bastian had finally reached out.
And she had no choice but to face whatever came next.