Chapter 13
Thirteen
Evan paced the length of his townhouse study, his boots striking the polished floor with measured force.
The faint glow of the fireplace cast shadows over the room, but the glass of brandy he had poured remained untouched on the side table.
He had been restless all day, his thoughts a chaotic jumble of regrets and doubts.
Minerva’s face, her sharp gaze, her biting wit, haunted him.
He didn’t understand how she had managed to settle so firmly in his mind—or why he felt so unmoored because of it.
A knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts. Moments later, his butler entered, bowing slightly. “Your Grace, the Duke of Sinclair is here to see you.”
Evan sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Show him in.”
Cedric strode into the room moments later, his sharp green eyes immediately taking in Evan’s tense posture.
He shrugged off his coat and tossed it onto a nearby chair, ignoring the butler’s disapproving glance.
“You look like hell,” Cedric said cheerfully, flopping into the chair opposite Evan’s untouched brandy.
“Not your usual kind of hell either. This one seems... personal.”
Evan glared at him, crossing his arms. “I was in the middle of something.”
Cedric’s grin widened. “Brooding, no doubt. And here I thought I was doing you a favor, rescuing you from whatever grim thoughts you have been stewing in all day.”
Evan grabbed his own glass, more out of frustration than desire, and finally took a sip. The burn of the brandy grounded him for a moment. “If you have come to torment me, Cedric, I will remind you that we have a ball to attend shortly, and I am already in no mood for insipid conversation.”
Cedric leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Ah, but the question is what’s brought about your foul mood. I’ll play charades with you, shall I?” With his free hand, he sketched a clear letter “M” in the air.
Evan’s hand tightened around the glass, but he didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he drained the brandy and set the glass down with a sharp clink. “You are insufferable.”
“You are deflecting,” Cedric countered, his grin fading slightly. “Come on, Evan. You have been out of sorts for weeks. Ever since that gallery exhibit where you both mysteriously disappeared at the same time.”
Evan ran a hand through his hair, a rare display of frustration. “It is not about her.”
Cedric raised an eyebrow, his expression skeptical. “Then what is it about? Because if you keep brooding like this, you’ll scare off every debutante in London. Not that you have ever been interested in them, of course.”
Evan hesitated, his gaze dropping to the floor. “It is nothing worth discussing.”
Cedric straightened, his playful demeanor giving way to something more serious. “You forget, I have known you for years. If you’re not chasing women or gambling your fortune away, something’s wrong. So what is it?”
Evan let out a long breath, leaning back in his chair. He didn’t want to talk about it, didn’t want to dredge up memories he had spent years burying. But Cedric’s steady gaze was unrelenting.
“It is my father,” Evan finally admitted, his voice low. “Or the man who raised me, at least.”
Cedric leaned forward, his expression softening. “Go on.”
Evan’s jaw tightened, and he looked away. “I found out when I was twelve. My mother thought she was protecting me, but the truth came out eventually. My father—my real father—was her lover. A man who treated her with kindness, who gave her the love my... the Duke of Colburn never could.”
Cedric’s brows knit together, but he didn’t interrupt.
Evan’s voice grew rougher as he continued.
“My father had always been cold to me, I just thought it was his nature. As I got older, I began to wonder, why he always looked at me like I was something foul beneath his shoe. When I finally found out, it all made sense. I wasn’t his son.
I wasn’t a Pembroke. I was just... a stain on his name. ”
Cedric’s eyes filled with sympathy, but he chose his words carefully. “And yet he kept you as his heir.”
“Because he had no choice,” Evan spat bitterly. “Because appearances mattered more to him than anything else. Legitimate son or not, I bore his name, and that was all that mattered to society. But to him, I was a daily reminder of my mother’s betrayal—and of the man she truly loved.”
Cedric was silent for a moment, letting the weight of Evan’s words settle. “Evan, you have carried this for too long,” he said softly. “You are not your father. Whatever cruelty he showed you, it doesn’t define you.”
Evan shook his head, his expression shadowed. “Doesn’t it? I have spent my entire life proving him right. Running from responsibilities, avoiding attachments. Living up to the very image he painted of me.”
Cedric’s voice sharpened. “That’s a lie, and you know it. You have built a life for yourself despite him. And as for attachments... well, perhaps it is time you stopped running.”
Evan’s jaw clenched, the words cutting too close to home. “I cannot risk it,” he said quietly. “I cannot risk becoming him. I saw what marriage did to my parents, how it destroyed both of them. I won’t do that to anyone—least of all Minerva.”
Cedric’s gaze softened again, his tone gentle. “Evan, you’re not your father, and Minerva is not your mother. You have the chance to write a different story.”
Evan didn’t respond, his thoughts a tangled mess of fear and longing.
Minerva’s face flashed in his mind again—her sharp eyes, her defiant smile.
He had been avoiding her for weeks, hoping distance would dull the ache she left behind.
But it hadn’t worked. If anything, his feelings had only grown stronger.
Cedric rose, clapping a hand on Evan’s shoulder. “You’re too stubborn to admit it, but you care for her. And if you do, then stop punishing yourself for sins that aren’t yours.”
Evan looked up at his friend, the weight of his past pressing down on him. “What if I fail?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Cedric’s grip tightened, his expression firm. “Then you fail. But at least you’ll have tried. At least you’ll have given her the choice.”
The room fell into a heavy silence, and Evan let out a long breath. He wasn’t sure if he could take that risk, if he could trust himself to be anything more than the man his father had painted him to be. But for the first time, a flicker of something else stirred in his chest—hope.
“Come on,” Cedric said, his tone lighter now. “We have a ball to attend, and I suspect the Bellingham sisters will be there. Who knows? You might actually enjoy yourself.”
Evan huffed a humorless laugh, rising to his feet. “I doubt it.”
Cedric grinned. “That’s the spirit.”
“I hope Lord Thorne is here,” Chastity said smoothly, as she adjusted the jeweled pin in her hair. “He promised me a waltz at the last ball.”
Minerva gave Chastity a sideways glance, dubious of how honest Chastity was being. However, her sister did not even notice Minerva’s withering look.
The carriage rolled to a stop outside the grand estate, the glowing lanterns casting flickering light across the long line of carriages that had already arrived.
Minerva shifted in her seat, smoothing down the soft fabric of her gown with fingers that trembled ever so slightly.
She glanced at Chastity, who was practically buzzing with excitement beside her.
Minerva gave a tight-lipped smile, her heart not in it.
“I am sure he’ll be here,” she murmured, more out of duty than enthusiasm.
Chastity was always the center of attention at these gatherings, effortlessly capturing the interest of suitors.
Minerva, on the other hand, often felt left on the sidelines, playing the part of the dutiful sister while watching the world spin around her.
As they stepped out of the carriage and made their way into the grand house, the sounds of laughter, music, and conversation filled the air.
Minerva’s stomach churned. She had no intention of spending the night in Evan’s presence—not after their last encounter—but somehow, the mere thought of him had already unsettled her.
No, she told herself firmly. I am here to enjoy the evening and, perhaps, find a suitor of my own.
They entered the women’s dressing area, where other guests were bustling about, adjusting gowns, smoothing out wrinkles, and ensuring every curl was in place before they made their grand entrances.
The mirrors gleamed under the soft glow of chandeliers, and the air was filled with the sweet scent of perfume.
“Minerva, Chastity!” Cherie’s voice rang out as she hurried toward them, her eyes lighting up. “You look beautiful!”
Cherie was already a vision, her pale blue gown flowing around her like water, her golden hair pinned up in intricate twists. She gave both of them a quick once-over, nodding approvingly. “You are ready to take the ballroom by storm.”
Chastity laughed, spinning in a small circle to show off her gown. “I do hope so!”
Minerva, however, wasn’t feeling quite as optimistic. She tugged at the sleeves of her gown, adjusting the neckline as if fussing with her appearance could shield her from the awkwardness of the night ahead.
Cherie noticed her fidgeting and tilted her head in concern. “What’s wrong with you, Minerva? You look out of sorts.”
Minerva let out a sigh, her fingers stilling as she met her friend’s gaze. “I just—” she paused, searching for the right words. “I am not in the mood for all this.”
Cherie frowned, stepping closer. “You are being a wallflower again, aren’t you? You cannot just stand in the corner and hope something happens, Minerva.”