Chapter 21 #2
But he didn’t finish. Instead, he looked away, his jaw clenching as if he were trying to hold himself together.
Minerva felt something break inside her at the sight.
She had always been cautious, always tried to keep her heart guarded and her emotions in check.
But standing here, seeing the raw pain in Evan’s expression, she realized something she had been fighting all along.
She cared for him. Against her better judgment, despite all her attempts to be sensible and practical, she had fallen for this complicated, infuriating, wounded man. And the truth of it left her breathless.
Minerva’s fingers curled at her sides as she debated her next move.
Her mind screamed at her to keep her distance, to protect herself from the hurt that loving someone like him could bring.
But her heart had other ideas. It whispered that maybe, just maybe, the risk was worth it.
That Evan, for all his flaws, was more than the rake he pretended to be.
Before she could lose her courage, she took another step forward. “Evan,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. He turned to her, and for a moment, she thought she saw hope flicker in his eyes. “You have done more good today than you know.”
He opened his mouth to protest, but she silenced him with a look, her resolve hardening. “I don’t care what you think you are,” she continued. “I see you, Evan Pembroke. And what I see is a man who can be better, who is better.”
His breath hitched, and for the first time, she saw fear in his eyes—not of her, but of what he might do or say. Of what he might feel.
Minerva didn’t know what possessed her, but before she could second-guess herself, she rose onto the balls of her feet and pressed a soft, sweet kiss to his lips. It was quick, barely more than a whisper of contact, but it held all the emotions she had been too afraid to voice.
When she pulled back, her heart was pounding, and she was terrified of what she might see in his eyes. But she needed him to know, needed him to understand that she had chosen to believe in him.
Evan’s eyes widened, his body momentarily tensed in surprise. But as she pulled back, he remained still, his gaze locked onto hers.
Minerva felt her cheeks flame, a rush of heat coursing through her at her own daring.
It took him a few seconds to recover, but eyes were wide and frank when he cupped her face, his hands gentle yet sure.
Minerva barely had time to register the warmth of his touch before he leaned in and kissed her properly.
This wasn’t a brief, fleeting kiss of gratitude; this was something deeper, something that sent a rush of heat from her lips all the way to her toes.
The feeling of his lips against hers made her stomach flutter and stole her breath away. In that moment, she admitted to herself she had longed for this moment. She had long desired Evan, and had even lied to herself about it.
His lips moved softly against hers, but there was nothing hesitant about the way he held her, as if he were anchoring them both to the moment.
Minerva’s heart pounded so fiercely she thought he must surely feel it.
The world around them seemed to melt away, leaving only the warmth of his embrace and the exhilarating awareness that she didn’t want him to let go.
When they finally broke apart, Minerva’s breath came in short, unsteady gasps. Her hands had somehow found their way to his coat, clutching the fabric as if to keep him there. Evan’s gaze felt intense, his usual playful facade stripped away to reveal something raw and earnest.
“Evan,” she whispered, her voice hoarse.
But then, he pulled away. His hands dropped from her face, and the look in his eyes shifted from warmth to horror. He stepped back as if he had committed some unforgivable sin, running a hand through his hair, clearly rattled.
“I never should have done that,” he said, his voice tight and strained.
He looked at her, regret carving deep lines in his face.
“I never wanted…” His words trailed off, his expression awash with guilt and anguish.
Without finishing, he turned abruptly and left, his footsteps echoing down the corridor, leaving Minerva standing there, stunned and heart aching.
She stood frozen, the warmth of his kiss still lingering on her lips, but his sudden departure had replaced any joy with a cold, empty feeling. Minerva knew what he had been about to say, what he couldn’t bring himself to voice.
He never wanted her. It was always the same. No one did.
Only a rake would try to romance a woman like her.
Minerva had always known that. Evan Pembroke, the infamous Duke of Colburn, was a man whose exploits were the favorite subject of every drawing room in the ton.
She should have seen the danger the moment he turned his attention to her.
Men like him didn’t pursue women like her with honorable intentions.
Good men—the kind she hoped she would marry—never seemed to look her way.
They wanted women who were soft-spoken, delicate, and agreeable, not women who carried the weight of responsibility on their shoulders or refused to be anything less than themselves.
Men might compliment her wit or her cleverness, but when it came to choosing a wife, they always turned to women who were easier, safer, and less likely to challenge them.
Minerva was useful, even respected, but never desired.
Evan, and men like him, never cared for society’s expectations, but that was precisely why she should have kept her guard up.
He thrived on bending rules and taking what he wanted, yet she had let herself believe she was different—that there was something more between them.
She had imagined that his smiles and his words held some sincerity, that he might have seen something in her no one else had.
Now, she wondered if she had been nothing more than a diversion for a man who thrived on the thrill of the chase.