Chapter Seven
The echo of the gunshot reverberated through the cold night air, sending servants into frantic motion. Eveline, her heart pounding in her chest, raced from her chamber toward the source of the noise, her slippers slipping on the marble floor.
Nathaniel met her at the grand staircase, his expression carved from stone. "Stay back," he commanded, though his voice held an undercurrent of fear. "I will handle this."
"Nathaniel, please," Eveline whispered, her hand trembling as it caught his sleeve. "What has happened?"
Before he could answer, Thomas Hale appeared, breathless and disheveled. "An intruder, my lord. One of the guards was shot but not fatally. The man escaped through the eastern gate."
Nathaniel's jaw tightened. "And Harrow?"
Thomas hesitated. "No sign of him yet. But I believe this was his doing."
Miss Harper and Julian appeared moments later, drawn by the commotion. Julian, hand on his sword hilt, immediately offered his services to Nathaniel. "Allow me to assist in any way I can, Blackthorne. I've faced worse than petty criminals."
Nathaniel gave a short nod. "Thank you, Lieutenant. I may call on you."
The household spent the remainder of the night in restless unease. Eveline remained at Nathaniel's side, her worry etched across her face. When at last they retired to his study, the embers of the fire casting long shadows across the walls, Nathaniel exhaled heavily and spoke in a low, pained voice.
"I should have told you sooner," he began, his gaze distant. "Vincent Harrow and I share a history. Not of my choosing."
He revealed, piece by piece, the dark past that bound them: a betrayal in their youth, financial dealings turned sour, and—most damning of all—Harrow's obsession with vengeance against anyone tied to Nathaniel's rising fortune.
Eveline reached for his hand, her touch light but firm. "We face this together," she whispered.
For the first time, something in Nathaniel's guarded demeanor cracked. He raised her hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to her fingers. "Together," he agreed.
---
In the days that followed, preparations for heightened security were made. Julian and Thomas worked tirelessly, following every lead, while Honora provided social cover, ensuring that London society remained unaware of the scandal brewing beneath the surface.
Meanwhile, Miss Harper found herself drawn into deeper conversations with Julian. Beneath his charm lay a surprising depth—stories of loneliness, of duty, of longing for a place to call home. One autumn afternoon, beneath the golden boughs of the estate's orchard, Julian shyly pressed a kiss to her gloved hand.
"When this is over," he murmured, "perhaps we might begin something new."
Her heart fluttered, long-buried feelings awakening. "Perhaps," she whispered back.
---
But Vincent Harrow's game was not yet finished.
A second letter arrived—this time not to Eveline, but to Nathaniel. The message was simple and chilling:
"Your father's sins are not forgotten. You will pay the price."
Nathaniel's face darkened as he read the words. To Eveline, he confided, "It is worse than I feared."
They stood together at the window, watching the crimson leaves fall. Despite the danger, their bond had strengthened. Love—unexpected, profound—had rooted itself between them.
But the storm was not yet over.
And soon, the ghosts of the past would rise to claim their due.