Chapter 55: Let Me Burn

The Ashcombe Estate - Drawing Room, Afternoon

Sunlight poured into the parlor through sheer curtains, casting warm amber patterns on the marble floor. Lord and Lady Ashcombe sat side by side, taking tea in their usual spot, an old ritual they had fallen into since their daughter's departure to the countryside. It had been months now, and still, the silence in the house felt heavier than ever.

"I do hope she's adjusting well," Lady Ashcombe murmured, setting down her porcelain cup with a soft clink. "The Wycliffe estate is... daunting. And the Duke, well...he isn't the warmest man."

Lord Ashcombe chuckled, though his eyes remained fixed on the street beyond the window. "She's always had more strength in her than we gave her credit for. Our Evelyn isn't the child we used to shelter."

"She shouldn't have been sent like that," Lady Ashcombe muttered under her breath, "to a far away place away from her family. I hope she's doing well and happy…"

Before he could reply, the butler entered and bowed with a practiced elegance. "Apologies, my lord, but Master Graham Ashcombe has arrived."

Lord Ashcombe frowned. "Bring him in."

Graham shuffled into the room, clearly recovering from the aftermath of his gambling fiasco. Though his coat was freshly pressed and his hair combed, the dark circles under his eyes and twitch at his jaw betrayed him.

"I have news," he said, voice thin. "He is back in London."

Lord Ashcombe blinked. "What the devil are you on about, boy?"

Graham tossed himself into the armchair across from them, clearly pleased to have startled them. "Julian Hartmoor. He's back in England. In London, as of last night."

The silence that followed was instant and chilling. Lord Ashcombe's teacup paused midway to his lips.

Lady Ashcombe's hand froze mid-stitch. Her gaze flicked up. "You must be joking."

"I saw him myself," Graham insisted, voice swelling with self-importance. " He paid off my debt like it was spare coin. The man's rich again, or pretending to be."

Lord Ashcombe stood slowly. His fingers trembled just slightly as he set the glass down. "Hartmoor… Are you certain?"

Lord Ashcombe sank back into his chair with a low exhale, eyes shadowed with the weight of memory. "I never thought I'd hear that name again."

"You were close with his father," Lady Ashcombe said, carefully.

"He was my dearest friend," the old man muttered. "Our families were tied in friendship, in bond. And I watched him fall. Watched him destroy everything he built." A pause. "And I had promised him my daughter. His son was to be my son-in-law until the scandal."

Lady Ashcombe's brows creased. "That was before the scandal."

The scandal. The crumbling of the Hartmoor name, the foreclosure of their lands, the whispers of Lord Hartmoor's debts. And the quiet engagement between Evelyn and Julian had been quietly snuffed out, like a candle in a storm. No formal announcement, no public disgrace. Just silence.

Lord Ashcombe sighed. "If he's returned, then he must want something."

Graham shuddered. "You should have seen him. Calm, controlled and dangerous, even. He's not the same man."

"None of us are," Lord Ashcombe muttered.

The Wycliffe Manor - A Quiet Afternoon

The manor had settled into a rare moment of calm. The autumn wind whispered through the trees in the garden beyond the tall windows, scattering golden leaves across the gravel paths. Inside the drawing room, life was peaceful for the person sitting in it.

Evelyn sat down, embroidery hoop in hand, though her thread had long since stilled. Her thoughts wandered as they often did now toward him. Toward the man who, just nights ago, had touched her as if she were both a treasure and a tempest. The same man who now moved through the house with unreadable calm, never acknowledging the shift between them aloud.

The click of boots drew her attention.

Nathaniel entered, silent and composed, as always. He was dressed for business in a dark, tailored coat with a deep green cravat that echoed the shade of the necklace now ever-present on her neck. His eyes flicked to her briefly before settling on a book left abandoned on the low table.

"You're avoiding your stitchwork," he murmured.

Evelyn lifted her head, startled. "I didn't hear you come in."

"You rarely do." He walked to her side, glancing down at the untouched embroidery on her lap. "Something troubling you?"

"No." She hesitated. "Just thinking."

"About what?"

She searched his face, unsure if he truly wanted the answer. After a beat, she replied softly, "You."

Nathaniel stilled. The warm light cast flickering shadows along the strong lines of his face. "I imagine there's much about me that warrants thinking."

Evelyn smiled faintly. "Some things I understand. Some... I'm still trying to figure out."

He looked at her then, eyes unreadable but no longer cold. "And what have you figured out?"

"That you care more than you let on."

His lips curved, just barely. "Dangerous thing, assuming a man like me cares."

Evelyn stood, the embroidery forgotten. She crossed the room slowly, stopping just short of him. "I don't assume," she said. "I feel it."

Nathaniel's gaze dropped to her lips, then her eyes. "And what does a lady do with a man she feels too deeply for?"

She stepped closer, the distance between them nearly gone. "She doesn't run anymore."

He inhaled, the muscles in his jaw tightening as if battling restraint. "You shouldn't tempt me."

"Maybe I want to."

That broke the tension.

He reached out, gently cupping the side of her neck, his thumb grazing her jaw. "You're playing with fire, duchess."

"Then let me burn," she whispered.

But instead of claiming her lips, he stepped back just enough.

"I have meetings," he said gruffly, voice low. "Tonight. After supper. Come to the study."

Evelyn blinked. "The study?"

He gave her one of those rare, sly glances. "I believe you still have a few chapters to finish in that book you discovered."

Her cheeks colored instantly.

And then he was gone.