Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 59827 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 299(@200wpm)___ 239(@250wpm)___ 199(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59827 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 299(@200wpm)___ 239(@250wpm)___ 199(@300wpm)
When he pulls back, his forehead rests against mine.
“Tonight,” he murmurs.
“Tonight,” I whisper back.
He lets go. Steps back. Walks to the door.
And in the doorway, he pauses one last time, silhouetted against the hallway light, and the look he gives me over his shoulder is the kind of look that rewrites everything you thought you knew about yourself.
Then he’s gone.
And I’m standing alone in the portrait gallery with my heart pounding and my lips tingling and the late Duke of Veilcourt watching me from his frame with those kind, knowing eyes.
I press my fingers to my lips.
Tonight.
Everything changes tonight.
Chapter Eight
VEIL WATCHED EVIANNE across the ballroom and knew that he was done waiting.
She was laughing at something the fountain pen collector was saying, some silver-haired gentleman named Joules who’d been monopolizing her attention for the past twenty minutes, and the Hampton necklace Veil had fastened around her throat earlier caught the chandelier light every time she moved.
His necklace.
His family’s jewelry.
On her skin.
He’d put it on her himself, standing behind her in the hallway before the gala while she held her hair up and tried not to look at him in the mirror. His fingers had brushed the nape of her neck as he’d worked the clasp, and she’d shivered, and he’d wanted to press his mouth to the spot where her pulse was hammering and tell her she was his.
He hadn’t.
But the necklace said it for him.
Veil took a sip of champagne and tried to look like he wasn’t cataloguing her every move. The spring-green gown his mother had chosen fit her perfectly, skimming her figure without clinging, elegant without trying too hard. She looked like she belonged here. Like she’d always belonged here.
The calligraphy demonstration earlier had been a success. The media had loved it, the guests had been charmed, and Evianne had handled herself with the kind of quiet competence that made Veil’s chest ache with something he refused to name in public. She’d been nervous, her hand trembling under his, but she’d stayed. Hadn’t pulled away. Had let him guide her through each stroke while the cameras captured every moment.
And now she was across the ballroom, laughing at something else another man was saying, and he just wanted to punch the other man’s face.
A part of him wanted to deny what he was feeling, but a larger part of him already understood everything about her was inevitable. He loved her. Had told her that even. And so it was now time for her to make a choice as well.
He set his champagne glass down and crossed the ballroom. People stepped out of his way without conscious thought, the crowd parting around his focused intensity like water around a stone.
He was vaguely aware of his mother watching from near the fountain pen displays, her expression knowing. He didn’t care.
“Excuse me,” he said to the collector, not bothering with pleasantries. “I need to borrow Miss Evianne.”
The man blinked. “Oh, Your Grace. We were just discussing the Montblanc collection and—”
“Dance with me,” Veil said to Evianne.
Not a question.
Her eyes widened. For a moment he thought she’d refuse, thought she’d give him some polite excuse about needing to check on the displays or find his mother, but then her chin lifted slightly and she placed her hand in his.
He led her toward the dance floor, but at the last moment steered her past it, through the French doors, out onto the private balcony that overlooked Foxtown’s gardens.
“Veil, what—”
“I need to talk to you.” He closed the doors behind them. “Privately.”
The balcony was strung with lights, tiny white bulbs that turned the space into something that didn’t feel entirely real. The spring air was cool enough to raise goosebumps on her bare arms.
She wrapped them around herself, suddenly uncertain. “Is something wrong?”
“No.” He stepped closer. “Everything’s right.”
“Then why do you look like—”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re about to do something terrifying.”
He almost smiled. She read him better than anyone. Better than his mother, some days. Better than he read himself.
He braced his hands on the balcony railing on either side of her, caging her in gently, giving her space but making it clear she had his full attention.
“I need to ask you something,” he said.
Her pulse jumped visibly in her throat. “Okay.”
Veil had rehearsed this a dozen times in his head. Had planned the perfect words, the right approach, the ideal timing.
But now, looking at her, at the way the lights caught in her hair, at the way she was looking at him with equal parts nervousness and hope, all those careful plans evaporated.
He cupped her face in his hands, felt her sharp intake of breath, and said the only thing that mattered.
“Be my girlfriend, Evianne.”
Direct.
Simple.
No games, no seduction, no careful maneuvering.
For one perfect, crystalline moment, her face transformed. Joy lit her eyes. Pure, unfiltered, radiant. She opened her mouth, and Veil knew with absolute certainty she was about to say yes.