Chapter Six
“I WAS WONDERING,” SAYS a voice from the wingback chair by the fireplace, “when you’d run out of places to hide.”
I freeze in the library doorway.
Veil is sitting there with a book in his lap, looking like he’s been waiting for hours. Maybe he has. He’s in dark jeans and a grey sweater, legs crossed, perfectly at ease, and he’s watching me with those blue eyes like he knew, like he absolutely knew, that sooner or later I’d end up here.
The library was supposed to be safe. Lady Hampton told me she’d be working in the conservatory this afternoon, and Veil had said something at breakfast about ranch business, which I’d taken as permission to finally, finally have two hours to myself without constantly calculating escape routes.
I thought wrong.
My hand is still on the doorknob.
I could leave.
I should leave.
“I’m not hiding,” I say instead. “I’ve been working.”
“At five in the morning?” He finally looks up from his book, and those blue eyes pin me in place. “Every morning since the lake?”
How does he know when I’ve been waking up?
“Lady Hampton needed—”
“My mother,” Veil says, closing his book with a soft snap, “is perfectly capable of managing her own schedule. She’s been doing it for decades.”
He stands, and I take an involuntary step back.
The door clicks shut behind me.
I didn’t close it.
Did the wind do that?
“We need to talk, Evianne.”
No.
We really don’t.
Talking is what got us into this mess in the first place.
Him saying impossible things in a hospital room while a heart monitor broadcast my reaction to the entire medical wing.
Me lying awake every night since then replaying every word, every look, every I’m in love with you, like a song I can’t get out of my head.
“There’s nothing to talk about,” I manage. “You were exhausted after the lake. You’d been through something traumatic. People say things they don’t mean when—”
“Don’t.”
The single word stops me cold.
He’s walking toward me now. Slow. Deliberate. And I’m backing up until my shoulders hit the bookshelf behind me and there’s nowhere left to go.
“Don’t,” he says again, softer this time, “insult my intelligence by pretending I didn’t mean what I said.”
His hands come up on either side of my head, palms flat against the bookshelf, caging me in.
Not touching me.
But close enough that I can smell him, soap and something woodsy and clean. Close enough that I can feel the warmth radiating from his body. Close enough that my own body is doing things my brain has not authorized.
“I meant,” he says, his voice low and fierce, “every single word.”
I can’t breathe.
“I told you I’m in love with you, and I am.” He leans closer. “And I’m done waiting for you to stop running long enough to hear me.”
“Veil—”
“You want to know who you’re dealing with?” His eyes are so blue this close. So impossibly blue. “Fine. I’ll tell you.”
He doesn’t move back. Doesn’t give me space.
Just keeps me trapped there against the bookshelf while he tears down every wall between us.
“I’m obsessive,” he says. “When I want something, I don’t stop until I have it. And I want you.”
My throat has gone dry.
“I’m possessive.” His voice drops lower. “I won’t share. I won’t tolerate another man looking at you the way I look at you.”
This is not what I expected.
Where’s the smooth duke from the calligraphy workshop? Where’s the man who made everything feel like a game?
This Veil is different.
Fierce.
Raw.
Real.
“I’m demanding,” he continues. “I’ll want all of you. Your time. Your attention. Your thoughts. I won’t let you hide from me or pretend you don’t feel what I know you feel.”
“I’m jealous.” His jaw clenches. “Irrationally so. I watched Lord Chesterton touch your arm at the exhibition last week and I wanted to break something.”
Wait.
Lord Chesterton touched my arm?
I don’t even remember that.
But he does.
“I’m not easy, Evianne. I’m not the charming prince who’ll make everything simple and comfortable. I’ll push you. Challenge you. Drive you absolutely mad.”
My hands are shaking.
“But—” His forehead nearly touches mine. “I’ll give you everything in return. My time. My attention. My loyalty. Every part of me, the good and the bad and the difficult. It’s all yours if you’ll have it.”
I’m trembling now, pressed against the bookshelf with nowhere to run, and he’s looking at me like I’m the only person in the room. In the house. In the world.
“So no more hiding,” he says. “No more five a.m. schedule rearranging. No more pretending you’re fine when you’re terrified.”
“I don’t—” My voice cracks. “I don’t know how to do this.”
“Do what?”
“Be someone who gets chosen.”
The words slip out before I can stop them, and something flashes in his eyes.
Pain.
Not for himself.
For me.
“You think,” he says slowly, “that you don’t get chosen?”
I nod, not trusting my voice, because if I try to explain it he’ll hear the whole pathetic truth. That I’ve spent my whole life being careful and quiet and invisible because that felt safer than wanting something and being told I wasn’t enough.
“Evianne.” He shifts, one hand leaving the bookshelf to cup my face.
“I’ve been watching you since the moment you stepped out of that car.
You shook my hand like I was a colleague instead of a title.
You looked at me like I was furniture, and I have never in my life been so fascinated by being ignored. ”
His thumb strokes my cheek, and the touch is so gentle it makes my chest ache.
“You organized a flawless exhibition in less than a week. You handled the calligraphy ambush with more grace than I had any right to expect. And then you ran across a frozen lake and dove into water that could have killed you for a child you’d never met.
” His voice has gone rough. “Without hesitating. Without calculating. Without a single thought for yourself.”
He’s close enough now that I can see the flecks of darker blue in his eyes, the faint shadow along his jaw, the way his pupils have blown wide.
“You’re the opposite of invisible,” he murmurs. “You’re blinding. And the fact that you don’t know it only makes it worse.”
Don’t cry, Evianne. Don’t you dare cry while a duke is holding your face and saying the most beautiful things anyone has ever said to you.
“But I need to know one thing,” he says.
“What?”
“Are you willing to let me in?”
The question hangs between us.
He’s giving me a choice. An out. I could say no. I could tell him this is too much, too fast, too terrifying. I could push past him and walk out of this library and he’d let me go.
But.
I don’t want to.
I’m tired of running. Tired of hiding. Tired of making myself small and invisible and safe.
And so I hear myself say shakily, “Y-Yes.”
His eyes narrow. “Yes, you’re willing?”
I nod.
“Then say it.” His voice has gone rough. “I need to hear you say it.”
“I’m...w-willing.” The words come out stronger than I expect. “I’m willing to let you in.”
The smile that breaks across his face is the first real, unguarded smile I’ve ever seen from him. Not the calculated smirk. Not the teasing half-curve. But instead, a real smile, open and warm and devastating, and then—
Oh.
He’s kissing me.
Not gentle. Not asking permission. Just claiming, demanding, taking everything I’m willing to give and asking for more.
His hand is in my hair, tilting my head back, and I’m gripping the front of his sweater because my knees have gone weak and my heart is racing and this is—
This is nothing like kissing Joseph.
With Joseph, I’d always held something back. Always kept a part of myself behind glass, safe, untouchable, even when he’d accused me of being cold. I’d never understood why I couldn’t just let go, why something in me always resisted, always pulled back.
I understand now.
I was waiting.
I just didn’t know for what.
His mouth is warm and firm and sure, and when his tongue sweeps against mine I hear myself make a sound that I will be embarrassed about later, and he makes this low noise in the back of his throat that sends heat flooding through my entire body, and my fists tighten in his sweater, pulling him closer, and he presses me back against the bookshelf, and I can feel his heartbeat against my chest, fast, just as fast as mine, and—
A hand appears in my peripheral vision, waving.
We break apart.
Lady Hampton is standing in the doorway, her expression caught between amusement and apology, and she’s waving to get our attention because she can’t exactly clear her throat to announce herself.
How long has she been standing there?
How much did she see?
Everything, probably, based on that Mona Lisa smile.
‘I’m sorry to interrupt,’ she apologizes even as her eyes twinkle. ‘Damian Fox just called. The Spring Gala is tomorrow night, and there’s been a last-minute change to the program.’
Tomorrow night.
Already?
I’ve completely lost track of time.
Veil steps back, running a hand through his hair, and I can see him forcing himself back under control. His jaw is tight, his eyes still dark, and when he looks at me—
Later, that look says. We’re not done.
“What kind of change?” he asks his mother, his voice remarkably steady for a man who had his tongue in my mouth thirty seconds ago.
‘They want a calligraphy demonstration during the opening ceremony,’ Lady Hampton signs. ‘Live. In front of everyone.’
My eyes widen.
‘Both of you,’ she adds, looking between us with obvious amusement. ‘Together.’
I’m still in a state of shock and rising panic when I hear Veil say, “Perfect.”
My lips part in a gasp, but no sound comes out as my gaze collides with his, and I see the way he’s looking at me so very...
Well, let’s just say it’s the kind of look that has his mother laughing while I start fanning my heated cheeks.
Is this really happening?
It’s a question I still find myself asking as I head back to my room in a daze.
My heart is still racing from the kiss. My lips still tingling.
And tomorrow night I’m going to stand in front of hundreds of people while he puts his hands on mine again, guides me through writing love letters, makes everything feel like a declaration.
In front of everyone.
Where I can’t hide.
Where I can’t pretend this isn’t happening.
And somewhere in my coat pocket, Joseph’s ring is still waiting for me to deal with it.