This is inappropriate.
A low sound from behind me. Almost a laugh, but not quite.
“Is it?” he asks, his voice low enough that only I can hear.
I set the pen down and turn, which brings me face-to-face with his chest because he hasn’t stepped back. I look up at him, and his eyes are so blue this close, so impossibly blue, and his lips are slightly curved, and he’s looking at me like—
Like I’m something he’s trying to figure out.
“I should—” I start.
“Should what?”
“Get back to the gallery.”
“Should you?”
“Veil—”
He reaches up slowly, giving me time to move away if I want. I don’t move.
His thumb brushes across my cheekbone, and then he holds it up to show me the dark smudge of ink. “You had ink on your face,” he murmurs.
When did I get ink on my face?
When did breathing become this difficult?
“There.” His voice drops lower. “Perfect.”
And the way he’s looking at me doesn’t feel like I was perfect before. His thumb is still on my cheek, his eyes still on my face, and I’m frozen, unable to move, unable to think, unable to do anything except stand here and feel the warmth of his hand and wonder what would happen if I just leaned forward, just closed the distance, just—
Don’t you dare, Evianne.
You just caught your fiancé cheating.
Remember?
I step back, and he lets me go immediately.
“I should—” My voice sounds strange, even to me. “I really should finish the gallery setup.”
“Of course.” His expression is unreadable now. Professional. “I’ll walk you back.”
“You don’t have to—”
“I insist.”
We walk back across the grounds to the Grand Gallery in silence, and his hand never touches my back again, and he keeps a careful distance between us, and I tell myself that’s a good thing. That’s what I wanted. That’s definitely what I wanted.
But when we reach the gallery entrance and he holds the door open for me, his eyes meet mine, and something in them makes my breath catch all over again.
“I’ll see you at dinner, Miss Evianne,” he says, and it sounds less like a statement and more like a promise.
The door closes behind me, and I’m left standing in the Grand Gallery with my heart doing things it has absolutely no business doing, and I realize with a sinking certainty that the Duke of Veilcourt is not done with me.
Not even close.
****
