The forest seemed to hush around them, the kind of quiet that feels deliberate and as though the trees themselves were listening. Only the rhythm of hooves striking the earth and the faint rustle of leaves stirred the air. Evelina tightened her grip on the reins trying not to let the silence unravel her thoughts. The rest of the riding party had fallen behind, laughter and conversation muffled by distance and for the first time in that afternoon, she realized it was just her and Alistair alone.
He rode beside her with the same composure he always carried, a man carved from discipline and restraint. His eyes, gray as a winter morning, lingered on her in a way that quickened her pulse. There was a gravity in his gaze that made her feel both seen and unsettled. He said nothing, letting the silence stretch until it became almost unbearable until she wondered if he intended to let it speak for him.
At last, he broke it. His voice was low. "I owe you honesty, Lady Everleigh. The court may flatter you, whispering of beauty and grace as though they were ornaments to be displayed but when I look at you…" he paused, choosing his words with care. "I do not see a jewel to be admired. I see someone unyielding, someone who will not bend for the sake of expectation."
The words struck her like a sudden gust of wind. Evelina blinked, startled, a laugh almost rising to her lips but catching halfway. "You risk saying too much, my lord," she said lightly, though her throat was tight. "People might mistake such words for… affection."
"Let them mistake it," he answered without hesitation, "I have no desire to speak what pleases the court. Only what I know to be true."
Her heart gave a heavy, traitorous thud then she turned her face away. It was easier to look at the light than at him. "You speak of truth as though it were safe to say aloud," she murmured. "It is not. My family would never forgive me for standing in the crossfire of court or rumors."
"I know," Lucian replied. There was no edge in his voice, only quiet certainty. "And I would never drag you into that storm. But still….." his gaze searched her face, unyielding "…I cannot pretend indifference, not when I see you as you are now. Free. Unmasked. Alive in a way that court walls can never contain."
The confession stirred something deep within her, something she wished she could bury beneath reason and duty. She drew a careful breath and steadying herself, unwilling to let him see her falter. "You presume much, my lord."
"Perhaps." His lips curved, just faintly, the suggestion of a smile that softened his features. "But presumption is better than silence. Silence leaves space for others to invent their own truths, and I will never allow their whispers to be the only story told of you."
Their horses slowed without command, the unspoken tension between them altering the rhythm of the ride. Evelina's fingers tightened around the reins, her thoughts a tangle of caution and something dangerously close to longing. Against her better judgment, she let her eyes drift back to him.
Not the Duke of Ravenscroft, not the figure the court revered and feared, but a man who spoke to her as though she were more than a pawn to be moved, as though he could not look away.
The sound of Margaret's laughter echoed faintly from somewhere behind them, snapping Evelina back to herself. She straightened in the saddle and her voice carefully composed. "We should rejoin the others. If we linger too long, they may think we have truly lost our way."
Lucian inclined his head in silent agreement. His expression was unreadable again, a mask drawn back into place, though the certainty in his eyes remained. "As you wish."
And Evelina knew as they turned their horses back toward the path, that something had shifted. He had spoken words that would not easily be forgotten, words her heart did not wish to forget.
By the time the party returned from Kingswood Forest, the sun had begun to tilt westward, bathing the world in a soft, golden light. Baron Whitcombe, would not let the day end on horseback alone.
"You must both join us for tea and sweets," he insisted warmly as the riders dismounted before his family's estate. "A ride, after all, is never complete without a proper table to conclude it."
Evelina offered polite hesitation but Margaret seized her hand with girlish insistence. "Do stay, Evee. I shall be cross if you refuse me." Her smile was bright while her eyes were playful and refusal would have been almost a cruelty. Evelina relented with a graceful nod and Lucian, silent but steady at her side added his agreement with a brief inclination of his head.
The Whitcombe estate was handsome without being ostentatious, the kind of home that spoke of comfort rather than display. Inside the drawing room smelled faintly of polished wood and lilies freshly cut, the sunlight poured through tall windows catching the gleam of china already set with sugared confections.
They settled in, Evelina between Margaret and across Lucian, though she could feel Baron Whitcombe's gaze settling curiously upon her. Tea was poured, cakes offered, the room soon humming with laughter and the soft clink of porcelain.
Baron Whitcombe, watched the gathering with an easy smile but his eyes lingered most often on her and Lucian. To most, the young Duke appeared as he always did: composed, rigid in posture, his words spare and precise but Baron Whitcombe had known him since boyhood, long before titles and burdens carved him into stone. And Baron Whitcombe saw what others would not.
He saw how Lucian's gaze drifted repeatedly toward Evelina. He saw the way he listened, though he said little, his silence heavy with a kind of intensity that needed no words.
Margaret was chattering brightly about her upcoming wedding and her hands painting the air with excitement. Evelina responded with genuine warmth with her smile lighting the room in a way that seemed almost careless. Lucian, however, did not smile, he simply watched and listened as though every word Evelina spoke mattered more than the rest of the room.
Baron Whitcombe took a slow sip of his tea, masking his thoughts. Neutral he might be and neutral he intended to remain, but even he could not ignore what he saw. This was no idle fancy, Lucian had never been the sort of man to waste attention on what he did not mean. If his gaze lingered, if his silence was filled with weight, then something had already taken root.
And Baron Whitcombe knew well what storms such roots might grow into.
The Grand Duke would not welcome this and he never yielded, not in politics, not in war, and certainly not in matters of the heart. For Evelina to become the center of Lucian's regard was to risk being caught between forces that showed no mercy.
The Baron set his cup down with deliberate calm, arranging his features into practiced ease. He would not intervene, not yet. Better to watch and to wait. Perhaps, by some miracle, this fragile spark could soften the endless rift between factions or perhaps it would ignite it into something far more dangerous.
Either way, Baron Whitcombe understood one truth: whatever bound Lucian to Evelina, it was no fleeting fancy and that, more than rumors or whispers, could shape the course of all that was to come.