Chapter 59
Chapter 59
Translation: godsn
Matthias escorted Claudine to the drawing room where the two ladies of the house were waiting. Liet accompanied them as well.
Could Claudine have been mistaken?
As Liet watched Matthias dismiss the incident as if it had never happened, his thoughts grew increasingly tangled. If Matthias were truly infatuated with that woman as Claudine claimed, this reaction would be impossible. That was precisely why—even knowing it would be wisest to let the matter rest—he had deliberately brought up that name in Matthias's presence.
"I tried getting closer to her since we happened to meet, but she seemed quite timid."
Liet naturally took a seat across from Matthias. The evening banquet, which had started a bit early to accommodate Claudine's arrival, had just concluded. The two ladies of the house and Claudine were having tea in the drawing room, while Liet had come up to the study with Matthias.
"That woman."
Meeting Matthias's sidelong glance, Liet smirked.
"Leila."
The name, with its soft cadence, grated on Liet like coarse sand. He hadn't intended to push so harshly from the start. It was as if he'd poured the dregs of his emotions onto that pitiful woman.
"Ah."
Only then did Matthias let out a short sigh, as if just remembering the incident. Then he stared blankly at Liet before, surprisingly, bursting into laughter. It was an excessively cheerful laugh, even bordering on childishly innocent—too genuine to be feigned.
"So even Liet von Lindman gets rejected by women sometimes, huh?"
"What?"
"Quite the sight, wasn't it?"
After laughing his fill, Matthias opened the silver case on the table. Lighting a cigarette, he nudged it toward Liet in offering.
As Liet lit his own cigarette and took a drag, Matthias slumped lazily against the back of his chair. Watching him puff away with quiet amusement, Liet couldn't help but let out a hollow laugh. To think this was all the reaction he'd get. He was starting to genuinely feel sorry for Leila Lewellin.
"I did look rather pathetic, didn't I?"
Relaxing, Liet also leaned back into his chair. This was absurd—now he and Claudine were the ones who looked like fools.
'That girl—doesn't she remind you of the canary living in Duke Herhardt's bedroom?'
One afternoon last summer, Claudine had asked with a smile as she gazed out the window. Her eyes had followed the retreating figure of Leila Lewellin, returning from her work in the garden. The way her abundant golden hair swayed with her lively steps almost resembled the fluttering wings of that small bird.
'You're not suggesting Matthias keeps a canary on a whim because of that girl, are you?'
When Liet had asked in disbelief, Claudine had only responded with a quiet smile. A confirmation.
He'd observed carefully, convinced that Claudine—the most rational person he knew—wouldn't make such a hasty assumption. Matthias's behavior, doting on a bird he'd never shown interest in beyond a moving target, was highly suspicious in itself.
Once he started seeing it that way, it all seemed to fit. When he'd heard that Matthias had even schemed to separate Leila Lewellin and Kyle Etman, he'd been certain. Because he trusted that Claudine couldn't have been mistaken or misunderstood.
But if that were true, how could this be possible?
The more Liet thought about it, the more lost he felt in the growing tangle of questions.
If Matthias truly cherished that woman, how could a man like this exist—one who remained so indifferent and composed upon learning his own cousin had approached her, leading to an accident where she was injured? Unless Claudine was mistaken, perhaps their relationship had already ended? But if so, how could he explain the canary still living in this bedroom?
"Liet von Lindman."
Matthias flicked off the cigarette ash, his tone as detached as the motion itself as he called out the name. Liet, who had been frowning in deepening bewilderment, hurriedly rearranged his expression and faced his cousin.
"Wouldn't it be better for Marquess Lindman to stir up scandals in Marquess Lindman's own territory?"
Matthias stared straight at him and smiled.
"I'd do anything to maintain order in Arvis."
Even as he discarded the barely-smoked cigarette and lit a fresh one, Matthias never took his eyes off Liet. There was no trace of jealousy or anger in his gaze. Those clear, almost hollow eyes could have passed for those of an innocent child.
'Your cousin was a gentlemanly devil.'
The words of that officer who had shuddered while describing Matthias von Herhardt on the battlefield suddenly flashed through Liet's mind. Instinctively, he swallowed dryly, and the hand holding his cigarette gave a slight tremble.
"Though I suppose you, more than anyone, already know that."
With that final murmured remark, Matthias finally averted his gaze. The only thing Liet could discern from his cousin's profile as he leisurely smoked was, at most, a faint weariness.
I don't understand.
In the end, all Liet could do was exhale a sigh laced with cigarette smoke, reaching the same hollow conclusion yet again. To solve this riddle, it seemed he might need a stronger stimulus.
But Claudine, would that answer truly be in your favor?
Chewing over this new question, Liet swallowed another dry gulp.
The sound of Phoebe pecking at the windowpane rattled through the dim room.
Under normal circumstances, Leila would have rushed to open the window immediately. But now, she lay curled up on the bed, staring blankly at nothing. Though her eyelids blinked slowly, her well-like pupils held nothing at all.
Several more minutes passed before Leila regained awareness. Yet it took her a considerable amount of time just to sit up. Though nothing was torn or broken, her left back and shoulder—where the car had struck her—ached as though they were shattered. She would have preferred to fall asleep, but the pain only grew worse with time, making even that impossible.
Leila opened the window slowly, using only her right hand. Tied to Phoebe's leg was a letter. Undoubtedly, it was from that man—Duke Herhardt.
With the same hand that had gently stroked Phoebe's soft feathers, Leila untied the letter. Having likely eaten her fill at the Duke's residence again today, the pigeon immediately flew back to the aviary in the backyard.
After closing the window, Leila returned to the bed and perched lightly on its edge.
She couldn't clearly remember how the accident had happened or how she'd made it back to the cabin. The only thought in her mind had been to escape Marquess Lindman, and then—a blinding flash of light, followed by a distant pain that wracked her entire body.
Leila took a deep breath and closed her eyes.
She had been in excruciating pain, but the moment she realized it was Duke Herhardt and Claudine's car she had collided with, she forgot all about it. Nothing else crossed her mind except an overwhelming, wretched desire to flee as fast as possible.
Rubbing her reddened eyes forcefully, Leila grabbed the glasses she had carelessly tossed aside and put them on. After hesitating for a long moment, she unfolded the letter—only to find the same cruel command, so characteristic of that man.
Bring the handkerchief yourself, Leila.
If you don't come, I can always come to you instead.
With one hand, Leila crumpled the letter and flicked it under the bed. Curling her throbbing body tightly into the mattress, a bitter laugh escaped her, sounding more like a sob. Tossing the glasses aside again, she buried her face deep into the pillow. She felt like she was going mad.
If only she could run far, far away to a place where that man didn't exist.
But no matter how much she indulged in foolish dreams, reality remained unchanged. This was Arvis, and Leila could never escape from that man. If she didn't go to him, he would come for her. That was just how he was, and he was more than capable of doing so again. He wouldn't care in the slightest if Uncle Bill found out.
And if that happened, Uncle Bill would—
"You'll grow up to be quite the fine adult."
Uncle Bill's rough but warm voice, filled with sincerity, surfaced in her mind. No matter what others said, Uncle Bill had always believed in Leila and had been prouder of her than anyone else. She knew that all too well.
"The Duke's mistress."
Marquess Lindman's coldly spat words mingled with that memory, and Leila's breathing grew erratic.
Finally unable to bear it any longer, Leila pushed herself up. She yanked open the bag thrown carelessly on the desk, pulled out the handkerchief, and left the room without hesitation. The faint sound of Bill Remmer snoring drifted in—he had gone to bed right after dinner.
Leila stepped out into the frigid night air without even draping a shawl over herself. Her vision was blurred without her glasses, but she had no room left in her mind to care about such things.
She hated the Duke.
She hated him so much it felt like her chest would burst. It might have been unfair to blame him when it was Marquess Lindman who had caused the accident, but Leila had no intention of being fair to that man. He never was to her, either.
The moon was hidden behind clouds, leaving the night dark, but Leila walked through the forest without hesitation. As she neared the riverbank where the annex stood, her steps quickened. The night was so cold her breath turned white, but Leila's cheeks burned with heat as she walked as if running for her life.
"You came."
The voice that came from the darkness made Leila freeze. It was the Duke. He was leaning against the railing of the outdoor staircase that connected the dock to the annex's second floor, watching her.
"I was just about to come to you."
The Duke approached Leila, who stood motionless. He moved leisurely, as if nothing were amiss, his face even carrying a faint smile.
He stopped a step away from her. The river breeze tousled Leila's disheveled golden hair and the hem of her dress.
"Aren't you cold?"
The Duke's brow furrowed as he took in Leila's attire. She let out a hollow laugh and thrust the handkerchief she had been clutching in her trembling hand toward him, as if throwing it.
"Your handkerchief, Your Grace."
"Leila."
"Goodnight, Your Grace. I don't wish to see you like this ever again. Never."
Her words were icy as she turned away. The sound of her resolute footsteps echoed through the clear, crisp night. Every time her body trembled with pain so intense she wanted to cry, Leila bit down on the soft flesh inside her mouth.
"Stop right there."
The Duke commanded. Leila tried to run, but her legs refused to obey.
"Leila."
His voice grew clearer as the distance between them narrowed.
"Leila!"
The Duke's hand gripped her left shoulder. Leila let out a sharp scream and shoved him away.
Matthias, who had been scowling, strode forward and swept her up into his arms. It happened so fast she had no time to react.
"No! Let go! Let me go!"
As Leila thrashed wildly, Matthias slung her over his shoulder like a sack.
Even as her hands struck and clawed at his back, Matthias climbed the stairs to the annex without so much as a stumble. Once inside, Leila's scream-like sobs grew louder, but there was no one left here to hear them.
Striding briskly down the hallway—opposite the one leading to the drawing room—Matthias pushed open the door to the bedroom at the end without hesitation.