Chapter 17
Seventeen
Evan couldn’t tear his eyes away from the painting.
The soft blues and muted grays of Ellington’s landscape seemed to pull him in, the familiar brushstrokes creating a scene that tugged at a part of him he rarely acknowledged.
The landscape was quiet, serene, but to him, it felt alive with echoes of his childhood.
The gentle curve of the trees, the rolling hills, and the distant horizon—it all felt so similar to the place he and his sisters had once called home.
The nostalgia washed over him in waves, heavy and thick. It had been years since he had allowed himself to think about those days, and now, standing in front of this painting, the memories resurfaced with startling clarity.
Minerva approached slowly, her footsteps quiet on the polished floor. The gallery room was nearly empty—Ellington’s work, while impressive, wasn’t exactly the kind of art that drew large crowds. For now, it was just the two of them.
Minerva hesitated, her steps slowing as she approached. “You seem... lost in thought, Your Grace.”
Evan glanced at her, his lips twitching into the faintest smile. “I could say the same of you, Lady Minerva.”
Her gaze shifted to the painting, its vibrant strokes capturing a woman standing amidst a field of wildflowers, her face turned toward the sky. “It’s a beautiful piece,” Minerva said softly. “Unapologetically hopeful.”
Evan’s smile faded, replaced by something quieter. “Hopeful, yes. And fleeting.”
Minerva turned to him, frowning. “What do you mean?”
He let out a breath, his gaze fixed on the painting. “It reminds me of a place I once knew—a clearing near the woods where my siblings and I used to play. We’d run there when the house grew... unbearable.”
There was a weight in his words that caught her off guard. “Unbearable?”
He didn’t look at her, his expression distant. “My parents had a talent for making each other miserable. Arguments that shook the walls, cutting words that left marks far deeper than they realized. I used to think if I could keep my siblings distracted, maybe they wouldn’t notice.”
“That must have been difficult,” she replied, her voice kind and warm, which surprised him.
Evan finally looked at her, searching her face. “It was what it was. You learn to survive.”
Minerva stepped closer, her voice quiet. “It’s not fair, though. Children shouldn’t have to survive their parents.”
For a moment, Evan said nothing, his gaze returning to the painting. “And yet they do.”
“You don’t seem like the sort of man who dwells on the past, Your Grace,” she said, her voice careful.
His lips curved into a faint, rueful smile. “I don’t. Not often, anyway. But sometimes, certain things... remind you.”
She nodded, understanding more than she cared to admit. “Yes,” she murmured. “Certain things do.” Minerva glanced at him, curiosity evident in her eyes, but she did not push. She simply stood beside him, her presence quiet, patient.
Evan’s gaze stayed fixed on the painting, but his mind was far away. The gentle hills in the background reminded him of the grounds where he and his siblings used to run, the distant trees casting shadows just like those in their family garden at dusk.
“We used to play hide and seek,” he said, his voice softer now, as though speaking too loudly would break the fragile thread of memory. “My siblings and me. In the gardens and the forest behind our house.”
Minerva tilted her head slightly, unusually quiet as she waited for him to continue.
“Our parents...” He said, surprised by his own willingness to continue, even as he searched for the right words.
“They fought a lot. Loudly. Cruel words, sharp jabs... It was like they did not care if we heard. And we did—every word.”
Minerva’s eyes softened, and she took a small step closer, her hand moving slightly, as though she wanted to reach out to him but wasn’t sure how.
“To protect my siblings,” Evan continued, his voice low, “I would Do anything to keep them away from the shouting, from the slamming doors.” His jaw tightened as he remembered the way his younger siblings had looked up at him, wide-eyed and frightened, depending on him to make everything right.
“They were so small. Too young to understand.”
Minerva did not speak, did not interrupt. She just listened, her gaze steady, searching his face as though trying to piece together the puzzle of who he truly was.
“I had to protect them,” he added quietly, more to himself than to her. “It was the only thing I could do.”
There was a long silence after that, his confession hanging between them.
“I never would have imagined…” Minerva started, but trailed off softly.. “It is such a burden to bear.”
Evan did not respond immediately. Instead, he looked back at the painting, the rolling hills and quiet shadows offering a strange sense of solace. There was something soothing in the familiar landscape, something that made the pain of the past feel a little less sharp.
When he finally spoke again, his voice was quieter, more reflective. “It is strange,” he said. “I haven’t thought about that time in years. But this painting... it brought it all back.”
Minerva nodded, her gaze still on him, her expression unreadable. But there was a softness in her eyes, a gentleness that made him feel like, for once, he did not have to hide behind his usual facade.
After a long pause, Evan shook his head slightly, as if trying to shake off a cloud of confusion. He raked a hand through his hair and gave a short, self-deprecating laugh. “I am sorry,” he muttered, his voice a bit rougher now. “That was... more than you needed to hear.”
Minerva shook her head. “You have nothing to apologize for,” she said quietly. “Truly.”
Evan turned to look at her, surprised by the sincerity in her voice. She wasn’t offering him pity, nor was she judging him. There was only understanding in her gaze.
“In a way, I suppose you would understand more than some others,” Evan mused, a sad smile pulling at his lips. “You have often spoken about your responsibility to your sister.”
Minerva’s face blanched, the slightest look of mortification crossing her face. Evan laughed gently. “I believe we are more similar than we may have first thought.”
“Perhaps,” Minerva admitted, glancing away as she pursed her lips.
Then her expression shifted, her brow furrowing slightly as she hesitated.
Finally, she drew in a deep breath, her voice steady but firm.
“As it happens, my sister refuses to tell me who her secret admirer is. And while both you and she have claimed that admirer is not you, I need to know for certain.”
He opened his mouth to respond, but then closed it again, with jokes and flippant responses coming to mind, one after another. Finally, after a moment, he let out a soft, incredulous laugh. “Lady Minerva, I—” He shook his head, his brow furrowing deeper. “I haven’t been courting your sister.”
“You can assure me you are not?” Minerva breathed, her eyes searching his with hopeful skepticism.
“I am telling you the truth,” he said. “I have never courted your sister. In fact...” He paused, searching his memory. “I do not think I have ever even spoken to her.”
Minerva’s reaction was immediate. Her expression faltered and Evan saw doubt flicker in her eyes. She opened her mouth, as though to argue, but then closed it again, uncertainty creeping in. Her eyes glistened, and for a moment, he wondered if she might cry.
The silence between them stretched, and when Minerva finally spoke again, her voice was quieter, laced with embarrassment. “I... I see.”
Evan tilted his head slightly, studying her. “You really thought it was me,” he said, his tone not unkind but with a hint of amusement. “That is why You have been so... hostile?”
Minerva winced at the word but did not deny it. “I made an assumption,” she admitted, her voice tight as she stared at the floor.. When, she finally met his gaze again, her eyes betrayed the horror she felt from her mistake. “And it appears I was wrong.”
Evan’s expression softened. He could see how much her error was affecting her. “Well,” he said quietly, a small smile tugging at his lips, “I am glad we’ve cleared that up.”
Minerva nodded, though the flush of embarrassment still colored her cheeks. “I owe you an apology,” she said, her voice quiet but sincere. “Perhaps several. I have assumed the worst of you several times over, and that wasn’t fair.”
For a moment, he said nothing, caught off guard by her sincerity. Then he smiled, a faint, genuine thing that surprised even himself. Evan chuckled softly, waving a hand dismissively. “You are not the first to assume the worst about me, and I doubt you will be the last.”
Her gaze flicked to his, uncertain, and it sent a strange thrill through him. She was always so composed, so quick to put him in his place. But now, her guard was down, and it was unexpected. “Even so... I was wrong.”
“I accept your apology,” he said with a nod, the tension between them changing.
Evan couldn’t tear his gaze away from her face, watching the delicate flush rise in her cheeks.
She was always beautiful—he had known that from the moment they met—but this was different. This wasn’t the polished Minerva Bellington who ruled ballrooms with sharp wit and icy precision. This was a woman standing on unsteady ground, unsure of herself, unsure of him.
And damn it all, he liked her better this way. The way her lips had just barely parted, her gaze lingering on him... He couldn’t ignore the way his pulse quickened.
This was different.
“You surprise me, you know,” he said quietly. Evan stepped closer, instinctively drawn to her. His voice dropped, not intentionally, but because the moment demanded it. “You’re not what I thought you were, either.”
For a moment, she did not respond. Her breath caught, and then, with the smallest shift, her gaze dropped—to his lips. She barely even glanced, but it was enough for him to feel the shift between them. The air felt strangely thicker.
“Why is that?” she asked breathlessly.
His own heart beat faster, and though he’d been in countless situations like this—alone, close, the tension just right—this felt different. The usual detachment he relied on felt... wrong. He wanted more than to provoke her for his own amusement.
He wanted to understand why she was so guarded, why she resisted him so much, even though it was clear she was just as affected by his presence as he was by hers.
“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.