Page 42 of The Duke's Accidental Wallflower
Minerva rolled her eyes, though her chest tightened at the mention of Lord Gillies. “Is that so?” she said, her tone deliberately nonchalant. “I had not noticed.”
“Of course not,” Samantha teased, nudging her lightly with her elbow. “But really, Minerva, who are you looking for? I cannot help but notice you have been rather... distracted tonight.”
Minerva quickly shook her head, heat rising to her cheeks. “No one in particular. I was just curious, that is all.”
Samantha studied her for a moment, clearly unconvinced. “Right,” she said slowly, drawing out the word as if waiting for Minerva to slip and admit who was truly on her mind. “Well, if you happen to spot your favorite swain wandering about, do let me know.”
Minerva shot her friend a warning glance, though she couldn’t entirely suppress the small smile tugging at her lips. “You are impossible, you know that?”
Samantha laughed, waving her hand dismissively. “Guilty as charged. Now, if you will excuse me, I think my lemonade needs refilling.”
She turned to go, but before she left, Samantha paused and leaned closer to Minerva, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “Oh, by the way,” she said with a wink, “keep an eye out for Ellington. He has an artist we’ve been courting for months—paints the most exquisite monochromatic landscapes. Everything looks blue in the early morning or golden in the evening light. He promised to make an appearance tonight, but he is notoriously elusive.”
Minerva’s curiosity piqued as Samantha straightened up, flashing her a final smile before drifting off toward the refreshment table.Ellington,she thought, rolling the name over in her mind. She’d heard whispers of the artist before, thoughshe had never seen his work in person. If what Samantha said was true, his paintings must be captivating.
Still, as she stood there in the middle of the gallery, surrounded by breathtaking art, Minerva couldn’t help but feel her thoughts drifting back to the one person shedid notwant to think about.
She sighed softly, her gaze flickering around the room as if searching for something—or someone—that wasn’t there. But instead of finding answers, all she saw was a sea of finely dressed guests and elegant paintings, none of which could quiet the unease stirring within her.
Why does it matter?she asked herself again, her frustration bubbling just beneath the surface.He has not here, and even if he were, it wouldn’t change anything.
Yet, despite her best efforts to push him from her thoughts, the lingering sense of anticipation remained.
Minerva found herself drifting through the gallery, her mind wandering as much as her steps. The laughter and conversation of the other guests grew softer as she ventured into a quieter part of the house, where fewer people lingered. The walls here were lined with paintings, each piece beautifully framed, and the atmosphere felt hushed, almost reverent.
She wasn’t sure why she had come to this part of the gallery, though she told herself it was to admire the more intimate pieces. Yet, even as she walked, her gaze flitted from one face to another, scanning the gentlemen in the room. She did not evenrealize she was doing it until her eyes caught sight of someone standing still, staring at a painting on the wall.
It was him.
Evan stood at the far end of the room, his tall frame slightly hunched as he studied the artwork before him. For a moment, Minerva’s breath caught in her throat. She had been telling herself all evening that he wouldn’t be here, that it did not matter, and yet here he was, a presence so commanding that it almost stole the air from the room.
She was about to turn away, to slip back into the crowd before he could notice her, but something in his expression made her stop.
There was no smirk, no glint of amusement in his eyes. The air of confidence and charm that he usually carried with him seemed to have vanished entirely. Instead, he looked... troubled. His brow was furrowed, his lips pressed into a thin line as he gazed at the painting in front of him. There was something in his face, a rawness, a vulnerability that she had not expected to see.
Minerva’s pulse quickened as she stood there, frozen in place, watching him. There was pain in his eyes, a deep, unspoken sorrow that seemed to radiate from him, and for the first time, she felt desperate to understand what could have caused it.
What was he seeing in that painting?
Unable to help herself, Minerva took a slow step forward, her gaze shifting from Evan’s face to the artwork he was staring at. It was one of Ellington’s monochromatic pieces, a landscape bathed in shades of blue, capturing the soft, ethereal light of early morning. The brushstrokes were gentle, almost dreamlike, as if the artist had captured the fleeting quiet before the world awoke.
But it wasn’t the painting that held her attention—it was the man standing in front of it.
Evan had not noticed her yet, his attention completely absorbed by the scene in front of him. There was a heaviness in the way he stood, as if the weight of the world rested on his shoulders. His usual easygoing charm had been replaced by something darker, something that tugged at Minerva’s heart in a way she had not anticipated.
She wanted to speak, to ask him what was wrong, but the words stuck in her throat. Instead, she found herself taking another step forward, drawn to the silent pain etched across his features. She couldn’t look away, not when he looked so... lost.
For a moment, she forgot everything—the party, the guests, even the frustration she had felt earlier. All that mattered was the man standing in front of her, and the desperate need to understand what had caused such a profound shift in him.
Minerva’s heart ached as she watched him. She had always thought of Evan as a man who was untouchable, who never let anything or anyone truly affect him. But here, now, in this quietcorner of the gallery, he looked like someone who had been carrying a burden for far too long.
And it made her want to reach out.
Without thinking, Minerva took another step, her hand rising as if to touch his arm. But before she could get close enough, Evan shifted slightly, his gaze tearing away from the painting. His eyes flicked toward her, and for the briefest moment, they locked gazes.
The pain she had seen in his face flickered away, replaced by something else—surprise, perhaps. He straightened, his usual mask of composure slipping back into place, though Minerva could still see the lingering shadows in his eyes.
“Lady Minerva,” he said softly, his voice low and guarded, as if he were wary of being seen like this.
