Page 45 of The Duke's Accidental Wallflower
“Maybe because I like seeing how you react,” he murmured, his voice quieter than usual, more intimate.
The quiet stretch of the gallery wrapped around them, insulating the moment. The soft lighting illuminated her profile, casting a warm glow over her flushed skin. His eyes traced the gentle curve of her jaw, the way her chest rose and fell just a little too quickly, betraying her composed exterior.
He saw it—saw her glance at his lips again—and this time, his own breath caught.
It was an invitation, as much as he could expect from someone like Minerva, and it took every ounce of willpower not to lean in further, to close the distance and claim the kiss he knew she wasn’t entirely opposed to giving.
But as he took in her expression—the barely hidden nervousness, the way she kept stealing glances and then forcing herself to look away—something held him back. This wasn’t just a game, not anymore. He was in too deep to play this the way he usually would.
For a fleeting second, he wanted to kiss her. Needed to, even. But that wasn’t enough—not for her, not for what was growing between them.
Evan’s smirk faltered, the desire to tease her fading. He broke eye contact, feeling that the moment had grown too intense. This wasn’t the time, not here, not like this.
He stepped back, his voice low and controlled when he finally spoke. “We should head back,” he said, barely above a murmur, though the tension in his chest remained tight, knotted.
Minerva blinked, clearly surprised. Her cheeks flushed even darker, and for a brief moment, Evan could see the confusion flicker in her eyes. But she nodded, her movements slow, almost hesitant.
“Yes,” she said, her voice softer than he’d ever heard it. “We wouldn’t want anyone to...”
She trailed off, leaving the sentence hanging, and Evan had to fight the urge to look back at her, to see if that hint of invitation was still there in her expression. But he couldn’t. He did not trust himself not to cross the line if he did.
Turning on his heel, he started walking toward the exit of the secluded section of the gallery, his steps measured, his mind racing. She had wanted him to kiss her. He knew it as surely as he knew that, just moments ago, he had wanted it too.
So why had he not?
Because it wasn’t enough. Not yet. Not like this.
His breath came a little faster as they walked, the silence between them stretching out uncomfortably. Any other time before, he would gladly have taken the opportunity to kiss a beautiful woman. However, something in that moment held him back.
Something he wasn’t ready to acknowledge.
The murmur of the gallery grew louder, but the moment lingered, wrapping around them like a secret. Evan straightened his shoulders, pushing the thought aside. He would figure it out later, when her scent wasn’t clouding his judgment, when her vulnerability wasn’t unraveling him. And that terrified him more than anything.
Eighteen
Chastity lingered near a painting of a serene countryside, feigning interest in the strokes of pale morning light while her mind raced. She had been aware of his presence from the moment she stepped into the gallery, and the thought made her pulse quicken.
Lord Wellford was here. Somewhere among the crowd, his watchful gaze seemed to follow her movements, though he had yet to approach. The anticipation was maddening, thrilling—and terrifying.
Minerva, nearby but thankfully preoccupied in a lively discussion with Samantha and another guest, hadn’t noticed Chastity’s restless energy. Chastity forced herself to remain poised, even as her hands itched to reach for the note she knew he would pass her. He always found a way, no matter the setting.
She didn’t have to wait long. As she turned to move toward another painting, a light brush of fingers against hers startledher. She looked up sharply, meeting Lord Wellford’s steady gaze for only a moment before he turned and disappeared into the crowd. In his wake, she felt the telltale press of a folded piece of paper being tucked into her palm.
Her heart pounded as she carefully slid the note into her reticule, her breath catching at the gesture’s boldness. The gallery’s atmosphere suddenly felt suffocating, the laughter and quiet conversations around her blending into an indistinct hum. She needed privacy—just a moment to herself.
Slipping through a doorway leading to one of the quieter wings of the gallery, Chastity found a small alcove with a window overlooking the garden. It was secluded, far enough from the crowd that she could finally exhale. With trembling hands, she retrieved the note and unfolded it.
Lady Chastity,
I cannot continue this way. Every stolen moment with you fills me with hope, yet it is hope tempered by the knowledge that I will never be enough in the eyes of your family. I do not wish to be a secret anymore.
You deserve a man who can court you openly, who can offer you more than I ever could. But if you are willing to take that risk, if your heart matches mine, then I will stand beside you, no matter the odds. If not, I will trouble you no further and wish you every happiness.
Yours,
Wellford
Chastity stood alone in the alcove, her heart aching with her dashed hopes. She felt foolish, exposed. The note that had filled her with such joy now felt like a mockery.
