Page 12 of The Duke's Accidental Wallflower
When she finally turned, her cheeks pink and her lips pressed into a tight line, he couldn’t resist the slow, deliberate smile that spread across his face.
When he was standing directly in front of her, he couldn’t resist the playful smirk that curled his lips. “Do you need assistance finding something in particular?”
Minerva’s cheeks flushed even more, but when she spoke, her voice was steady, too steady—betraying the effort she was putting into remaining composed. “No, thank you. I have already found what I was looking for.”
She made to walk past him, but Evan shifted just enough to block her way. He wasn’t about to let her slip away that easily. “Oh? Then surely you do not mind a bit of conversation while you finish your purchase. It is not every day one encounters a vision such as yourself in a glove shop.”
Her eyes darted to the door for a brief second, and Evan felt a flicker of satisfaction. She was uncomfortable, and she was trying ridiculously hard to hide it. But he wasn’t fooled.
Minerva’s eyes narrowed, the flush on her cheeks deepening. “If you think flattery will delay me, Your Grace, you are sorely mistaken.”
“Oh, it is not flattery,” he replied, his voice low and teasing. “Merely an observation. You do look quite stunning when you are trying not to throttle someone.”
Her sharp intake of breath was music to his ears. “That is completely untoward, Your Grace.”
“And yet, here we are.” He leaned in slightly, his grin widening as he added, “Is it my charm that keeps you lingering, or are the gloves really that interesting?”
“I really do not have time—” she began, her words coming out a little too quickly, her usual calm cracking under the pressure.
“Surely you are not in such a rush,” he interrupted smoothly, letting his voice drop to a casual, almost lazy tone. His eyesflicked toward the shelves of gloves. “From what I have gathered about your character, the selection of gloves warrants careful selection. It is imperative to not make the wrong choice.”
She stared at him, clearly at a loss for how to respond. Her lips parted, and for a brief moment, Evan thought she might actually attempt to brush him off and walk away. But then she squared her shoulders, the same infuriatingly composed expression crossing her face as she looked up at him.
“I am perfectly fine on my own,” she said, though there was a slight quiver in her voice that betrayed her.
“Perfectly fine?” Evan echoed, his brow arching. “You do realize you’re gripping that pair of gloves like they’ve committed a crime.”
Minerva glanced down at the crumpled gloves in her hand and quickly set them back on the shelf. “I am completely composed, Your Grace,” she said, her voice clipped. “Not everyone succumbs to dramatics as easily as you seem to believe.”
Evan chuckled, his smirk deepening. “Oh, I do not doubt your composure, Lady Minerva. It is your insistence on proving it that I find amusing.”
The effect was immediate. Her entire body stiffened, and her hands tightened around the gloves she was holding, her knuckles whitening with the pressure. She looked up for her chaperone, but unfortunately for Minerva, the older woman wasdistracted in conversation with another maid in the shop. He almost chuckled aloud—caught.
“I am not flustered,” she shot back, though her voice had risen a touch, betraying her. She tried again to step around him, but he matched her movement effortlessly, keeping her in place. “I believe you are being much too forward.”
“Of course not,” he replied, eyes gleaming with amusement. “It is just that most people do not get so... worked up over gloves.”
Her mouth opened, as if to deliver a retort, but instead, there was silence. The color in her cheeks deepened, and her brow furrowed as if she was searching for a way to regain control of the situation, but the words simply wouldn’t come.
Evan found himself enjoying this far more than he should have. Lady Minerva Bellington—the picture of composure and dignity—was unraveling right in front of him, and it wasbecauseof him.
He leaned in closer, his voice dropping low, as though they were sharing a secret. “I would say you seem rather... distracted.”
Her lips parted in indignation, and she took a sharp breath. “You are a terrible annoyance, do you know that?”
Evan chuckled, thoroughly amused. “So I have been told.”
Her gaze darted back to the door, clearly desperate to escape, but Evan wasn’t done with her yet. Watching her struggle—and fail—to regain her control was too entertaining to end so soon. He took another small step closer, watching as she backed slightly against the shelves, trapped between him and the display.
“I said... I said leave me alone,” she stammered, her cheeks flaming as she tried to regain her usual sharpness. “And stop talking to me!”
Her words were rushed, her usual edge completely gone, leaving only a flustered, embarrassed Minerva in her place. Evan grinned. It was a small victory, but a victory nonetheless.
“Do not tell me what to do,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a near-whisper as he leaned in a little closer. “I am certain to ignore it.”
Her reaction was instant—her lips pressed into a thin line, her fists clenched at her sides. But what delighted him most was the fire that flared in her eyes. The anger, the frustration, the sheer unwillingness to back down. It was all there, clear as day, and Evan couldn’t help but admire it.
He leaned back slightly, satisfied with the moment. Minerva had wanted to appear unaffected, indifferent to his presence, but her reactions told a vastly different story.
