CHAPTER NINE
Sunlight spilled gently through Evie's curtains, painting her room in warm gold. She was adjusting the ribbon on her dress, fingers steady despite the quiet storm inside her, when a soft knock tapped against the door.
"Evie… may I come in?" Miles' voice—low, hesitant—slipped through the wood.
Her heart fluttered before she could stop it. "Come in," she murmured.
Miles stepped inside, closing the door behind him with a quiet click. He stood still for a moment, taking her in, his expression soft and unguarded. Then he crossed the room and reached for her hand—slow, deliberate—his fingers wrapping around hers with a warmth that startled her.
"Evie," he began, voice gentle but threaded with urgency, "I need to apologize. For yesterday. For raising my voice… for letting my temper get ahead of me. You didn't deserve that." He gave her hand a tender, lingering squeeze. "I should have trusted you. I should have been better."
Evie's breath caught. There was something raw in his eyes, something that dissolved every practiced wall she'd built. "I… appreciate that, Miles," she whispered, her voice unsteady.
He stepped closer, close enough that she could feel the faint heat of him, smell the clean, subtle scent of his cologne. His thumb brushed lightly across her knuckles—soft, intimate, almost reverent.
"And… I want to ask you something," he said quietly. "Will you go to the ball with me tonight? Not because it's expected. Not because of appearances." His gaze held hers, warm and sure. "I want you there. With me."
Her heart stuttered. "I… I'd like that," she managed, a small, nervous smile tugging at her lips.
Before Miles could reply, a sharp creak came from the door. Instinctively—almost protectively—Miles pulled her into his side, his hand slipping to her waist and holding her firmly there. The sudden closeness stole her breath; her body reacted before her mind could catch up, leaning subtly into him, aware of every point where they touched.
Arabella stepped in. Her eyes snapped to the scene instantly—Miles' hand on Evie's waist, the closeness, the way Evie's ribboned dress contrasted against his dark morning coat. Suspicion darkened her gaze.
"Jewelry from Mother for tonight's ball," Arabella announced, each word laced with meaning. Her eyes swept over them again. "And I see you two are… comfortable."
Evie's expression remained calm, composed. Miles didn't remove his hand.
Arabella's jaw tightened. She gave a clipped nod to the maid and swept out of the room, irritation trailing behind her like perfume.
Silence settled again.
Only then did Miles exhale, his hand still resting at Evie's waist as if he'd forgotten to let go. His eyes found hers—soft, searching, just a bit shaken by the moment.
Evie stepped away slowly, her pulse still tripping over itself. But he caught her hand gently before she could pull completely free. Lifting her fingers, he pressed a slow, deliberate kiss to her knuckles—warm enough to melt something inside her.
"I'll see you at the ball," he whispered, voice low and intimate, brushing her skin like a secret.
When he left, the room felt different—charged, breathless. Evie stood in the golden sunlight, heart thudding, fingers tingling from where his lips had touched. The world beyond her door felt suddenly far away, unreal, as if something between them had quietly shifted and settled into place.