Dislike crowds? Evan squinted down at her. He’d shared his darkest secret with her. Not the particulars of his romantic past, of course, but he’d told her the vague outlines of his temper and how it drove people away. How had he not realized that she was afraid of crowds?
But suddenly it made sense. “You grow clumsy when you’re nervous.”
She nodded. “I do.”
How had he missed that? And no wonder she didn’t like him. He’d hardly taken the time to ask her about herself. “And you retreat from crowds, hiding in the library or the kitchen.”
“I do.”
She shifted, her gaze casting down to the ground. “I didn’t want to like you. As a duke, your life is so very public.”
“And you are very private.”
She nodded. “So you can see how you might have been ill-suited to me.”
“Evie,” he said, his voice aching. She wanted him to understand why she didn’t like him in that way. “So my temper…”
“I told you, I don’t mind it.” And then she reached for his hand, slipping her bare fingers against his leather gloves.
This woman. The fact that she was kind enough to explain it wasn’t his greatest failing that had driven her away was a gesture he appreciated so much. She needn’t have paid him this kindness and he loved her all the more for it.
Which in turn made his heart ache. “Thank you for that.”
“You’re welcome.”
Evan knew he owed her a favor in return. Although this one might kill him, he said the words anyway. “Will your family be in London after the holidays?”
Her brow crinkled in confusion. “In six months? Yes. Why?”
“I’d like to call on you there. At the very least, I can pay you enough favor to increase your prospects.”
“My—my prospects?”
“You told me that you wished to wed. I’d like to help you if I can.” The words sat bitter on his tongue. To see Evie again this winter and know she wasn’t his, would never belong to him would crush him inside.
But he’d help her for her sake no matter the cost to himself.
“Oh,” she whispered a pang of something that sounded a bit like disappointment coloring her voice. His brow furrowed. “How kind.”
He looked down, noting her dress was the same one she’d worn the day of the games. The very one she’d changed into at his urging. “You’re wearing the dress.”
She looked down at herself. “I am. This dress reminds me that I…”
“You?” He still held her and he wished he could gather her closer still. Kiss her. Everything in him ached to make Evie his own.
“I feel the most like myself in this dress. Maybe my best self.”
He cocked his head to the side. She wanted to be her best self to apologize to him? It struck him odd and he studied her as he attempted to fit all the pieces into place.
Her fingertips brushed the skin just under his jaw one more time before she slowly pulled her hand away.
He didn’t want to let her go. His fingers lingered at her waist for the beat of one and then two before he finally dropped them.
She took one step back and then another before she turned and retreated into the morning sun.