Page 55 of The Duke's Accidental Wallflower
He swallowed hard, the memories clawing at his insides. “He told me I was born of sin, that I would bring ruin to anyone foolish enough to care for me. And perhaps he was right. Look at me now—I kissed Minerva, and I have hurt her. She deserves better than the bastard son of a broken marriage.”
Cedric’s gaze was steady, unwavering. “And yet, you care for her,” he pointed out, his tone gentle but firm. “You care enough to sit here, brooding like a man who has lost everything. That does not sound like someone who is incapable of love or who takes nothing seriously.”
Evan’s hands tightened around his glass, his knuckles white. “Caring for her is exactly the problem,” he said, his voice raw. “I vowed never to marry, never to entangle another soul in the mess that is my life. I have seen what marriage can become—a prison, a breeding ground for bitterness and resentment. I cannot risk that. I cannot risk that for her.”
“But you are not your father,” Cedric insisted. “And Minerva is not your mother. You have the power to choose a different path.”
Evan’s throat felt tight, and he looked away, his gaze fixed on the swirling brandy. “Even if I wanted to believe that,” he said softly, “I cannot change who I am. I am still the son of a scandal. I do not deserve her.”
The table fell into a heavy silence, the noise of the club fading into the background. Cedric let out a sigh, his expression pained. “Evan, have you considered that perhaps it is not about deserving her? Love isn’t about worthiness. It is about what you’re willing to fight for.”
Evan’s heart twisted again, and he forced himself to meet his friend’s eyes. “And what if fighting for her only brings her more pain?” he whispered. “What if I am the very thing she needs to be protected from?”
Cedric’s eyes softened, and he reached across the table, placing a firm hand on Evan’s shoulder. “Then you give her the choice, Evan. You are not your father, and you are not doomed to repeat his mistakes. But if you run from this, if you push her away without even trying, then you will become the man you fear most.”
Evan closed his eyes, memories of his past flashing before his eyes. His mother’s whispered confessions, his father’s venomous accusations—they had shaped him, molded him into a man who believed he was incapable of love. But now, with Minerva inhis heart, he felt the fragile stirrings of something different. Something hopeful.
“Damn it, Cedric,” he murmured.
Cedric chuckled, though the sound was bittersweet. “It is a curse, I assure you,” he said.
He closed his eyes, willing himself to think of anything, anyone else. He tried to conjure the image of another woman, a faceless beauty he might have flirted with, someone whose attention he could have easily commanded, but his mind refused to cooperate.
Every flirtation, every smirk, every whispered innuendo he had ever used seemed dull and empty in comparison. Minerva’s face swam back to him, her eyes burning with equal parts fire and vulnerability.
“Damn it,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. The ache in his chest felt as relentless as it was unwelcome. He used to be able to compartmentalize, to shove down any unwanted emotions and bury himself in distraction. But now, even the thought of trying to move on from her seemed impossible. Unbearable.
His restless gaze shifted to a nearby table where a group of gentlemen had gathered for a game of cards. Their laughter rang out, the sound mingling with the clinking of glasses and the low hum of conversation. The stakes were high, evident from the growing pile of coins and promissory notes in the center of thetable. It was the kind of reckless, all-consuming distraction he craved right now.
Without giving himself time to second-guess, Evan stood, striding over to the table. “Might I join you?” he asked, his voice carrying a confidence he didn’t feel. The players looked up, momentarily surprised, but then welcomed him with nods and gestures to take a seat.
Evan settled into the chair, his hands steady as he pulled out a generous stack of coins and set them down. The dealer shuffled the deck, and the game began, the cards whispering through the air. Evan’s jaw clenched as he placed his first bet, the familiar thrill of risk flooding through his veins. It was dangerous, and he knew it. But right now, danger felt like the only thing that could match the storm inside him.
The first round passed, then the second, and with each bet, Evan pushed the stakes higher. The more he gambled, the more he wanted to lose himself entirely, to forget the guilt and longing that clawed at him.
“Evan.” A voice cut through his spiraling thoughts, calm but firm. Cedric had approached behind him, his expression serious as he took in the scene. “What do you think you’re doing?”
Evan’s eyes narrowed, a ghost of a smile playing at his lips. “Winning,” he drawled, though there was a brittle edge to his tone. He glanced at Cedric, but his friend’s face was lined with worry, and it was enough to break through some of the reckless haze clouding Evan’s mind.
“Really?” Cedric’s voice was low, but the weight of his disapproval was palpable. “Because it looks more like you’re trying to lose everything you have left.”
Evan set his cards down, his fingers drumming against the table. “And what if I am?” he challenged, the self-destructive impulse still gnawing at him. “What does it matter?”
Cedric stepped closer, his hand coming to rest on Evan’s shoulder with a grip that was both grounding and unyielding. “It matters because this isn’t you,” he said. “You’re not the man your father made you believe you are. And you’re not doing this for the right reasons.”
Evan’s throat tightened, the truth of Cedric’s words hitting him like a punch to the gut. He wanted to argue, to push back, but the concern in his friend’s eyes was undeniable. The other men at the table shifted uncomfortably, sensing the tension.
“Leave the game,” Cedric continued, his voice unwavering. “If you lose yourself now, you’ll regret it more than anything else.”
Evan’s gaze fell to the cards in his hand, the turmoil crashing over him. A part of him wanted to keep going, to drown out the pain in recklessness. But Cedric’s presence was a lifeline, one he hadn’t realized he desperately needed. With a heavy sigh, he threw down his cards and pushed back from the table, the chair scraping against the floor.
“Very well,” he said, his voice hoarse. “You win.”
Cedric’s grip softened, relief flashing across his face. “Good,” he said, guiding Evan away from the table and toward a quieter corner of the club. “Because no amount of brandy or gambling will fix what’s eating away at you. Only you can do that.”
Evan let out a bitter laugh, running a hand over his face. “And how am I supposed to do that?” he asked, his voice cracking. “I kissed Minerva, and I hurt her. The one thing I swore never to do, and I did it.”
Cedric’s eyes softened, his own heart aching for his friend. “Then fix it,” he said quietly. “But you won’t find the answer at the bottom of a glass or in a deck of cards.”
