Page 91 of The Earl's Reluctant Artist
He rose to his feet and walked to the table at the far end of the wall and leaned gently against it. The weight of Eliza’s gaze continued to press on him as he folded his arms. The weight of his own thoughts pressed heavily on him.
“There is no easy way to say this because he is your brother at the end of the day, but we need to stop him. And we need to do so before he destroys everything.”
Eliza said nothing, and he took that as an approval to continue his words.
“He has played a game behind my back. He has used you to open doors and move his chest pieces. I will not let it go on.”
Her lips pressed into a thin line, and she lowered her eyes to the floor before looking back at him. “I agree. Marcus needs to be stopped. But what can we possibly do without any solid proof? My brother is always ahead.”
Tristan shuffled his feet, his arms folded as Eliza’s helplessness grew even more obvious with each passing second.
“I thought I had escaped when this marriage was settled, but now it is clear I only stepped deeper into his schemes.”
“Well, another thing is also clear, Eliza,” Tristan responded. “You will not fight him alone anymore.”
Eliza stared at him, her eyes blank.
“We can do it together now.” His voice came out sharper than intended, but he did not soften it. His jaw was tight, his chest rising steadily with controlled breath. “Leave the strategy to me.I only ask one thing of you … stand beside me. No more hiding. No more silence.”
“Yes. I agree.”
“And no more secrets.”
Eliza nodded. “I agree with that as well.”
“Good. Now I just need to figure out what to do and how to stop him from going ahead with the project.”
Eliza’s eyes softened, but the worry still lingered. “And you truly believe stopping him is enough to free us from his shadow?”
“I do.” Tristan straightened, pushing off the table. The decision had already been carved into his mind. “But it requires honesty and courage. You have given me both tonight, and I owe you the same.”
For a moment, something flickered in her face. Tristan recognized it. It was the furthest thing from fear or hesitation. It was hope. It wasn’t very prevalent on her face, but he knew what it was.
“Then tell me,” she whispered, leaning forward. “What is it you mean to do?”
“We can start tonight by exploring the west wing of the manor,” Tristan said quietly.
Her brows arched. “The west wing?”
He nodded once. “Yes. It holds the archive room so we can find ledgers, maps, titles that go back centuries. If Marcus is trying to rope Evermere into his plan, we can find what we need to stop him.”
She tilted her head slightly, studying him. “And you trust me with that search?”
He looked directly at her, his voice steady. “You are my wife, Eliza.”
***
When night came, it was heavy on the manor. Tristan and Eliza made their way to the archive room, their steps light but the floor creaking anyway.
“Are you certain no one can hear us?” Eliza asked, the worry in her voice evident.
Tristan, who held the lamp, laughed slightly. “We are not thieves in the night, Eliza. We are not trying to escape something. This is our manor. It does not matter who hears us or not.”
“Right,” Eliza whispered, her voice soft. “Right.”
They proceeded down the West wing, the paneled walls growing even more desolate as they moved. The air was thicker there, and so was the silence.
“It feels abandoned,” Eliza whispered.
