Page 71 of The Duke's Accidental Wallflower
She looked down at him, her heart pounding in her chest. For a moment, the world seemed to slow, and she became acutely aware of every sensation: the breeze brushing her cheeks, the sunlight filtering through the trees, the curious stares of passersby who had stopped to witness this moment. It felt surreal, almost like a scene from someone else’s life.
Lord Gillies’s grip on her hand tightened ever so slightly, and he waited, his expression expectant. He did not look nervous, or hopeful, or even particularly eager. He looked... certain. As if her acceptance were a foregone conclusion, as though he had already accounted for her in the calculations of his future.
Minerva’s lips parted, but no sound came out.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
She did not want this.
Lord Gillies tilted his head, his brows drawing together slightly. “Lady Minerva?” he prompted, his voice carrying an edge of impatience.
Minerva swallowed hard, her pulse racing as she found her voice, even though it trembled. “Lord Gillies,” she began, pulling her hand back from his grip. “I… I should not have let things go this far. The truth is, I fear we would make each other rather unhappy.”
His eyes narrowed, a flicker of irritation breaking through his composed facade. “Unhappy?” he echoed, as though the very idea was absurd. “Lady Minerva, what nonsense is this? We are perfectly suited to one another.”
But Minerva took a half-step back, her hands clasping tightly in front of her as she tried to steady herself. “Perhaps on paper,” she said, her voice more resolute now. “But marriage is not a contract one signs without thought. It is a lifetime, and I cannot—I will not—commit to a life without hope of happiness.”
Lord Gillies’s jaw tightened, and for the first time, a hint of frustration colored his carefully measured demeanor. “You speak of happiness as if it were something promised,” he said, his tone verging on condescension. “But in our world, Lady Minerva, marriage is built on duty, on legacy. And we both have obligations?—”
“I appreciate your kind words, Lord Gillies,” she began, her voice measured despite the turmoil inside her. “But I cannot—I cannot accept a proposal made in such haste, without consideration for... for what truly matters.”
As Lord Gillies straightened, brushing imaginary dust from his trousers, Minerva took a shaky step back. He frowned, his composure faltering. “And what, pray, is it that truly matters?”
Minerva straightened, meeting his gaze. “Mutual respect. Understanding. A marriage cannot thrive without those things.”
“You are being idealistic, Lady Minerva,” he said sharply. “Do you not understand the advantages of our union? The security and respectability I offer you?”
Minerva’s chin lifted. “Perhaps I value something beyond security and respectability.”
Minerva’s gaze drifted over Lord Gillies’s shoulder, drawn by an unusual restlessness in the air. The steady rhythm of conversation among the park’s visitors seemed to falter, replaced by scattered exclamations and the faint sound of hooves striking gravel in the distance. A shadow moved on the horizon, dark and swift, its approach sending ripples of unease through the gathered crowd.
A sudden eruption of shouts and startled cries shattered the fragile tension between them. Minerva’s heart lurched into her throat. Through the scattered crowd ahead, figures shifted and scattered, parting like water before a rapidly approaching force.
The sound of pounding hooves thundered through the air, each beat a jarring contrast to the otherwise tranquil park. A rider burst into view, his dark silhouette cutting an imposing figure against the dappled sunlight filtering through the trees. The horse was moving at a reckless pace, its rider leaning forward with a single-minded urgency that seemed to ripple through the onlookers.
Gasps and exclamations filled the air as the rider veered dangerously close to the path, the great beast kicking up gravel and startling pedestrians out of its way. Minerva’s breath caught as she instinctively stepped back, her hand gripping the folds of her gown. The rider showed no signs of slowing, his focus fixed ahead with a determination that bordered on desperation.
“Who is that?” a woman’s voice rang out, sharp with alarm.
“Is he mad, riding like that through the park?”
Minerva’s pulse thundered as she stared at the disheveled figure atop the horse. What on earth was happening? Who would dare disrupt Hyde Park in such a way—and why?
Thirty
Ahush fell over Hyde Park, the kind that could only be caused by the sheer audacity of the sight before them. A man, dressed in fine but wildly disarrayed clothes, galloped through the park atop a powerful black horse. The genteel crowd, shocked and indignant, quickly moved to the side as he cut a reckless path across the gravel and grass. Gasps and murmurs followed in his wake, but Minerva didn’t need to see his face to know who it was.
It was Evan. She knew by the way he held himself, by the fierce determination in his posture, even as his hair whipped in the wind and his coat tails flared out behind him. Her heart lurched, a mixture of confusion and hope crashing through her like a tidal wave.
The horse skidded to a stop, its hooves kicking up dust and scattering a few startled pigeons. Evan didn’t wait for the animal to fully halt; he leapt from the saddle with the grace of a man used to riding hard and fast, landing on the ground with aforce that seemed to reverberate through the very earth beneath Minerva’s feet.
He looked half-mad, his usually polished appearance a shadow of its former self. His hair was tousled, his cravat askew, and his eyes—dark and desperate—fixed on her with a wild intensity. The sight of him, unguarded and so utterly unlike the composed image he usually presented to society, stole the breath from her lungs.
“Minerva,” he called, his voice ragged and raw, as though he had been shouting or riding for hours. He closed the distance between them in long, urgent strides, his gaze never wavering. “Do not marry him. I beg you, Lady—Minerva.”
The world seemed to tilt, the crowd around them a blur of gasps and murmurs. Lord Gillies, who had been stunned into silence, found his voice again, his eyes narrowing with fury. “Colburn,” he spat, stepping forward. “What is the meaning of this disgraceful display?”
But Minerva couldn’t tear her eyes from Evan. Her pulse roared in her ears, and every muscle in her body tensed as she tried to make sense of what was happening. Evan was here, disheveled and desperate, and he was looking at her as though she were the only thing in the world that mattered.
