Chapter Three
M inerva stood frozen in the dark, the closeness of the cramped closet suffocating her. The faint scent of old books mixed with the distinct warmth of leather and sandalwood from the man in front of her—the Duke of Colburn. His presence was overwhelming, far too close, and every breath she took was filled with him. Her heart pounded in her chest as the sound of the men’s voices outside grew faint.
They’re leaving, she thought, straining to hear the last of their footsteps. Relief flooded her, but it was quickly overshadowed by the sharp realization of where she was—and with whom. She needed to get out of this tiny space, away from him , before this situation spiraled further out of control.
“Finally!”
She reached for the doorknob of the closet door, ready to bolt. Her heart could hardly take the tension any longer, not just from the discomfort of their proximity but from something else entirely—something she refused to acknowledge.
But the duke stayed her hand.
“I need to leave,” she whispered in protest, her voice edged with irritation. Her breath was shallow, her chest tight, as if the very air in the room had become too thin.
Evan’s voice cut through the darkness, low and dangerously smooth. “Why rush off so soon?”
Minerva tensed, scandalized by the insinuation in his tone. She turned her head toward him, though she could barely make out his face in the dim light filtering through the cracks in the door. “’Why rush off?’” she repeated, incredulous. “I need to get as far away from you as possible.”
His lips curled into that maddening smirk, and though she couldn’t see it clearly, she felt it. “Do you now?” he asked, taking a step closer, his voice a teasing whisper. “Surely you must be curious...”
Minerva’s breath caught in her throat as the space between them narrowed. She pressed back against the shelves instinctively, trying to put distance between them, but there was nowhere to go. The solid wood pressed against her back, cold and unyielding, while the heat from his body radiated against her front, far too close for propriety.
“Curious?” she managed to say, her voice trembling despite her best efforts to remain composed. “Curious about what?”
He stepped even closer, so close that she could feel the warmth of his breath on her cheek. “About what all the fuss is about,” he whispered, his tone laced with suggestion. “A kiss. Surely you have wondered...”
Minerva’s heart hammered wildly in her chest, her breath coming in shallow gasps. His words wrapped around her, far too intimate for a man she should despise. This was wrong , utterly and completely wrong. And yet...
She swallowed hard, her body betraying her as a shiver ran down her spine. “I have no interest in such things,” she said sharply, but the words rang hollow in the tiny space, more of a defense than the truth.
Evan tilted his head slightly, as if considering her answer. “No interest?” he mused softly, his tone clearly disbelieving. “You, Lady Minerva, who would throw yourself into a situation like this to save your sister, but have never once wondered about the thrill of it yourself?”
His words sent a strange, unsettling warmth through her, and Minerva found herself struggling to think clearly. Her hands curled into fists at her sides, her knuckles brushing the cold wood of the shelves. “What I do—or do not—wonder about is none of your concern,” she snapped, trying to gather what remained of her dignity.
But Evan did not seem fazed by her retort. If anything, it only encouraged him. He took another half-step closer, his hand resting casually against the shelf beside her head. The movement brought them almost nose to nose, and Minerva felt her pulse spike as their proximity made her acutely aware of every small movement he made, every slight shift in the air between them.
“You know, you have the wrong idea about me,” he murmured, his voice low, as though they were sharing a secret. “You think I am a scoundrel, a rake. But what if I am not as bad as you believe?”
Minerva narrowed her eyes, her jaw clenched tight. “You have no right to speak to me this way.”
Evan’s gaze softened slightly, though the playful gleam never fully left his eyes. “Perhaps,” he conceded, his voice still smooth, “but you have not exactly left, have you?”
Her cheeks flushed with a mix of anger and something she refused to name. “I am trapped with you, Your Grace, not by choice.”
“Trapped?” He chuckled softly, a sound that sent a warm ripple through the silence. “I think if you really wanted to leave, you would have tried a bit harder by now.”
Minerva’s mouth parted in a sharp retort, but the words did not come. She hated how he twisted everything, how he used that smooth charm to make her second-guess herself, to make her... feel. And the worst part was, some traitorous part of her did not want to leave. Some part of her was caught up in the heady mix of his scent, his insufferable attitude, and the proximity that blurred all sense of reason.
“You must step back, Your Grace,” she ordered, though her voice lacked the firm conviction she wanted it to carry.
Instead of complying, Evan remained exactly where he was, his gaze holding hers steadily. “You think it is as terrible as you imagine, do not you?” he murmured, his voice soft and teasing. “A kiss. Something so simple. You think it would ruin everything.”
Minerva’s heart pounded in her chest, the words catching in her throat. She did not want to hear this, did not want him to make light of the very thing she had been protecting her sister from all evening. And yet, his voice, that low, deep rumble, was pulling her in, daring her to let go of the rigid control she always clung to.
“I think,” she whispered, her breath catching slightly, “that you should let me go.”
But even as she said the words, her hands remained at her sides, her body betraying her by refusing to push him away. She hated him for that, hated the way he made her feel so out of control, so vulnerable and confused.
Evan’s lips quirked up again, his eyes glinting with that maddening charm. “If that is truly what you want...”
He leaned in just slightly, his breath warm against her skin. Every inch of Minerva’s body was taut, her heart thundering so loudly she was sure he could hear it.
“Then leave,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “The door’s right there.”
Minerva’s mind spun, her thoughts tangled in a web of confusion and frustration. The door was indeed right there. She could simply open it, walk out, and escape from him, from this insane moment, from the confusing mess of emotions swirling inside her.
But she did not move.
She stood there, trapped between the shelves and the Duke, her chest rising and falling with every shaky breath. And in that moment, she hated that a part of her did not want to run, that a part of her wanted to stay and find out what it was like to let go, to feel something wild and reckless. Just once.
Her voice was barely above a whisper when she finally spoke. “You think you can charm your way out of anything, do you not?”
Evan smiled softly, his eyes holding hers. “Not everything.”
Evan’s smile softened as the tension between them thickened. The air felt charged, heavy with the words left unsaid, with the unspoken challenge that hung between them. His hand moved with deliberate slowness as he reached up, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. Minerva’s breath caught as his fingers brushed her skin, light as a whisper, yet the sensation sent a shock of warmth down her spine.
His thumb lingered, brushing softly over her jawline, his touch both gentle and deliberate, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. It was disarming, completely unlike the calculated, roguish behavior she had expected from him. There was something about the way he looked at her, something she couldn’t define, that left her reeling, unable to catch her breath.
What is it about him? she wondered desperately, her mind spinning. How was it that this man—this arrogant, infuriating man—could make her feel so unmoored?
Minerva clenched her hands into fists, her nails digging into her palms as she fought for control. She needed to stop this. Now.
With a sudden, desperate movement, she pushed past him, her shoulder brushing against his chest as she forced herself out of the suffocating closeness. She stumbled slightly in her haste to put distance between them, but she straightened quickly, drawing herself up to her full height and turning to face him with as much dignity as she could muster.
“No thanks,” she said, her voice sharper than she intended, though she was trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. “I am quite content.”
Evan blinked, clearly taken aback by her sudden shift in tone. For a moment, a look of surprise crossed his face, but it was quickly replaced by that infuriatingly calm expression of his.
Minerva quickly turned the handle and slipped out of the closet, the door closing softly behind her. As she stepped into the quiet of the library, the air suddenly felt cooler, less oppressive.
But as she walked quickly toward the exit, her mind raced, and the unsettling truth settled deep in her chest.
She wasn’t “content”. She was unsettled, irritated, furious.
Minerva hurried down the corridor, her heart still racing, her mind spinning from the encounter she’d just had. She did not dare glance back, even though she could feel Evan staring into her back. Her breath came in shallow bursts, and she pressed a hand to her chest, trying to calm the tumult inside her.
Compose yourself , Minerva, she told herself sternly. But it wasn’t easy to push aside the emotions still swirling through her—emotions she had no business feeling. Not for him .
As she rounded the corner, her steps faltered when she spotted a familiar group up ahead—Cherie, along with Chastity and two of their other friends, Samantha and Cassandra. They were gathered near the door to the gardens, speaking in hushed voices. Relief coursed through Minerva as she saw Chastity standing there, unharmed and seemingly unaware of the chaos she had caused in her sister’s mind.
“Minerva!” Cherie called as she noticed her friend approaching, her voice relieved. “We found her. She was alone in the garden.”
Minerva’s jaw tightened as she stopped in front of the group, her gaze zeroing in on Chastity. “Alone, were you?” she asked, her tone sharp. “And just what were you doing out there?”
Chastity lifted her chin defiantly, her expression hardening. “I do not see why it matters. I can be alone if I choose.”
Minerva’s eyes flashed with anger, but she forced herself to take a steadying breath. “We shall talk about this at home,” she said through gritted teeth, her voice barely controlled. “You have no idea the panic you have caused tonight, and I will not tolerate this sort of behavior again.”
Chastity’s eyes blazed with sudden fury, and before Minerva could say anything more, her younger sister snapped, “You are not Mother, Minerva, so stop pretending you are!”
Minerva flinched at the harshness of Chastity’s words, her breath catching in her throat. For a moment, the world seemed to tilt on its axis, her sister’s words cutting deeper than she had expected. Silence hung heavily in the air between them, thick with years of grief, responsibility, and unsaid words.
Cherie, Samantha, and Cassandra exchanged uneasy glances but said nothing, clearly sensing the tension.
Minerva glared at her younger sister. She wanted to retort, to tell Chastity just how much she had sacrificed to keep their lives in order after their mother had passed, but she bit her tongue. This was not the time or place.
“You will not speak to me like that,” Minerva said softly. “Not here. We will talk about this later.”
Chastity’s eyes filled with defiance, her lips trembling as though she wanted to say more, but she swallowed whatever retort she had been preparing and folded her arms tightly across her chest. “Fine,” she muttered, looking away. “But do not think you can control me forever.”
Cherie stepped forward, her voice gentle as she placed a comforting hand on Minerva’s arm. “Let us get you both home.”
Minerva nodded stiffly, her throat tight with unspoken emotions. “Yes. We should leave.”
As they turned to walk toward the exit, Minerva couldn’t help but steal one last glance over her shoulder, back toward the corridor where the Duke of Colburn had remained. She half-expected to see him watching her, that maddening smirk still in place. But the corridor was empty, and for that, she was grateful.
However, panic surged through her when Cherie fell into step beside her and asked quietly, “Where were you?”
Minerva’s breath hitched, and she cast a quick, sideways glance at her friend, her pulse quickening again. “What do you mean?”
Cherie gave her a puzzled look. “After I found Chastity in the garden, I was looking all over for you. Did something happen?” Her voice was gentle, but there was an underlying concern in her tone that made Minerva’s heart race.
For a brief moment, Minerva’s thoughts flashed to the dark, cramped closet, to Evan’s closeness, his infuriating smile, the heat of his breath against her skin. The memory sent an unwanted shiver down her spine, and her cheeks flushed.
But she quickly forced the thoughts away, her expression schooled into one of calm indifference. “No,” she replied, her voice steady despite the way her heart thudded in her chest. “Nothing of importance.”
Cherie studied her for a moment longer, her eyes narrowing slightly as though she could sense there was more to the story. But Minerva did not allow her gaze to waver, did not allow the facade to crack.
“Let us go home,” Minerva added, turning her attention forward again, eager to put the evening—and everything that had happened—behind her.
Cherie hesitated but eventually nodded. “All right, if you are sure.”
As they walked toward the exit, Minerva felt guilt pool in her stomach from her lie. Nothing of importance? She might have been able to fool Cherie, but she couldn’t fool herself.
Nothing of importance indeed, she thought bitterly.