Page 63 of The Duke's Accidental Wallflower
Minerva’s eyes lingered on Evan for a breath-stealing second longer, her gaze filled with a mix of hurt and defiance. Then, with a small, brittle smile, she turned away, leaving Evan silent.
“Yes, everything is perfectly fine,” she said, her voice composed. “Thank you, Lord Gillies.”
She stepped away from Evan, her hand slipping into Lord Gillies’s offered arm. And as Evan watched her walk away with another man, the ache in his chest felt like it was splitting him in two. His heart felt like it had been cracked open, raw and vulnerable, left bleeding in the cold night air.
He stood there, frozen, the weight of his mistakes pressing down on him. The woman he loved was slipping further from his reach, and he had no one to blame but himself.
Twenty-Six
Lord Gillies’s hand rested lightly on Minerva’s waist as they stepped into the swirling motion of the dance floor. The effects of the champagne lingered, warming her skin and loosening the sharp edges of her thoughts. But Minerva kept her posture firm, her steps measured. She could not afford to falter, even if the room seemed just a touch too bright, the music just a shade too loud.
“Lady Minerva,” he began, his eyes warm and expectant, “these past weeks have been some of the most enjoyable of my life. Spending time with you has been a true pleasure, and I cannot help but feel that our connection is quite... unique.”
Minerva’s brow furrowed, though she kept her expression as neutral as she could.Unique. The word struck her as peculiar, and she turned it over in her mind, trying to recall when exactly they had spent so much time together. She did not think the champagne had altered her memory that severely.
She nodded faintly, her voice even. “Unique is an interesting choice of words.”
He nodded, a smile curving his lips. “Yes, unique,” he said. “I daresay we share an understanding uncommon among others. I know that our families would be delighted to see us united in such harmony.”
Her stomach tightened, the champagne doing nothing to dull the prickle of alarm rising in her chest. “Oh. I... suppose” she managed, her voice sounding faint even to her own ears. Her thoughts were hazy, the champagne weaving a fog around her mind. He was speaking of them as though their future together was already settled, as though they were merely formalizing something inevitable.
Lord Gillies's smile brightened, mistaking her vague response for agreement. “Indeed,” he said, his grip on her hand tightening ever so slightly. “It is rare to find such a perfect match. We complement each other in all the right ways.”
The thought was ludicrous. Her mind flashed to Evan—his sharp remarks, his infuriating smirks—and the way she had thought about him far more often than she cared to admit. And yet here was Lord Gillies, speaking of them as though their future had already been decided.
“Lady Minerva,” he continued, his tone softening, “I believe we are well-suited for a future together. Don’t you agree?”
Her jaw tightened, and she resisted the urge to step away from him mid-dance. Instead, she kept her movements smooth, her voice steady even as her chest constricted. “That is... quite an assumption, my lord.”
His smile faltered slightly, but his confidence remained intact. “Perhaps,” he conceded, his tone light. “But assumptions often come from a place of certainty, do they not?”
Minerva’s eyes narrowed faintly. The champagne haze did little to dull her growing frustration. He wasn’t asking; he was telling, as though her agreement was a foregone conclusion. She had spent years perfecting her poise, but even that was beginning to crack under his presumption.
“I think I need to sit for a moment,” she said abruptly, her voice firmer now as she gently withdrew her hand from his. The break in her composure was minor, but it was enough to send a clear signal.
Lord Gillies’s expression softened with concern , though it rang false to her ears. “Of course, my lady,” he replied, bowing graciously. “Allow me to escort you to a seat.”
“No, no,” she interrupted quickly, holding up a hand. “That won’t be necessary. I will manage just fine on my own.”
He hesitated, his gaze searching hers as though trying to decipher her sudden change. But then he nodded, stepping back with a gracious bow. “As you wish.”
Minerva tried to hide the unsteady steps she took toward the nearest chair, but before she could sit, she saw Lord Gillies making his way across the ballroom. Her mind buzzed with indignation and unease, the champagne making it harder to suppress the rising heat in her chest.
She followed his path with her eyes, dread pooling in her stomach as he approached her father. The two men greeted each other with polite nods, and she could see the way Lord Gillies squared his shoulders, as if preparing to broach a serious topic.
Before she could dwell on it any further, Samantha appeared at her side, sliding gracefully into the seat beside her. Her eyes were bright with curiosity and concern, and she didn’t miss Minerva’s pallor or the way her fingers trembled.
“Well, you look like you have seen a ghost,” Samantha remarked, her voice carrying a hint of humor, though her gaze searched Minerva’s face for something deeper. “Are you quite all right?”
Minerva turned to her friend, her eyes wide and imploring. “Samantha,” she said, her voice hushed and a little frantic. “Tell me I am imagining things. Lord Gillies—he’s speaking to my father right now, isn’t he?”
Samantha followed Minerva’s gaze, her eyebrows lifting in surprise as she spotted Lord Gillies deep in conversation with Lord Bellington. Her eyes narrowed, trying to discern the nature of the discussion. “Oh, dear,” she murmured, leaning in closer. “Yes, he most certainly is.”
Minerva’s grip on her champagne glass tightened until her knuckles turned white. “And do you think... do you think he’s asking for permission to—” She couldn’t even bring herself to finish the sentence.
Samantha’s eyes widened slightly, and she studied the scene with growing alarm. “You mean to propose?” she whispered, her voice tinged with disbelief. “It does look rather... formal.” She turned back to Minerva, her expression a mix of concern and reluctant amusement.
“I need to know,” Minerva whispered, her voice cracking. She reached for Samantha’s hand, desperation seeping into her gaze. “Go eavesdrop. Tell me if we’re right.”
