Chapter 80
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 80
“Oh my! Your Grace, Duke Kailas!”
The elderly gentleman who had stumbled into him offered a hurried apology.
I can’t even keep my footing.
Cedric swallowed hard and forced a thin smile, moving past the man before he could say another word.
As he neared the doors leading to the garden, something coiled around his arm like a cold snake. He slowly turned his head, looking down to find a woman with raven hair and porcelain skin. Her face was a blur, yet her vivid, blood-red lips stood out with haunting clarity.
As he stared blankly, those red lips parted.
“There is no need to hold back.”
What?
He gazed at the seductive curve of her mouth, his mind clouded with confusion. As if reading his thoughts, she leaned in and whispered.
“I shall make you feel... very good.”
He already felt a strange, floating euphoria, so what more could she possibly do?
“Follow me.”
The pull wasn't forceful, yet he found himself unable to resist, drawn along in her wake. Fortunately, she led him toward his original destination: the Laurel Estate’s gardens.
While lanterns illuminated the main paths, the deeper corners of the garden—where the hedges grew into high, dense walls—remained shrouded in darkness. Taking advantage of the gloom, couples engaged in secret rendezvous, their private whispers rustling like leaves.
Why did I want to come here again?
He was certain he had intended to visit the garden even before this woman appeared, but the reason eluded him. Perhaps it was because he could feel the woman’s chest pressing firmly against his arm. The soft, yielding sensation felt foreign and wrong.
The woman’s hand continued to stroke his forearm. He should have been repulsed by such a brazen touch, yet a strange sense of anticipation surged within him.
“There is a quiet spot just over there.”
As he followed her lead, the faint, warm scent of roses drifted past his nose. Even in his hazy state, a flicker of lucidity sparked a moment of surprise.
Is it not February? Why do I smell roses?
It felt as if his mind and body had been severed. While his fading reason questioned the impossible scent of winter roses, his body swayed so unsteadily that any observer would have noticed his distress.
The moment he stumbled and pitched forward, the woman wrapped her arms around his neck.
“Inside that greenhouse, we can have some fun without any interruptions. Come, quickly.”
He couldn't make sense of a single word she said, yet he began to follow.
No—he almost did. Had he not turned his head in a final, desperate act of resistance, and had the hem of a pink dress not caught his eye at that exact moment, he would have walked straight into that rose-scented trap.
But his gaze latched onto the 'purpose' he had finally rediscovered.
“Let... go.”
He slowly pried the woman’s hands from his arm. His eyes remained fixed on the pink dress in the distance.
“Cedric?”
He roughly shoved aside the woman who dared to call his name and hastily pursued the pink illusion disappearing behind the darkening thickets. He couldn't tell if his legs were moving properly; his gait felt disjointed and unnatural, but that didn't matter.
Don't go. Wait.
The fervent desire to grasp that fading light propelled him deeper into the heart of the garden.
* * *
Have I wandered too far in?
Harriet nervously scanned her surroundings as the shadows deepened.
The 'operation' to salvage Viviana’s reputation had concluded, so she had slipped out to the garden for a breath of fresh air. However, her plan to find a quiet place to rest was thwarted by the indiscreet noises echoing from every direction. Trying to avoid stumbling upon someone’s secret tryst, she had inadvertently wandered into the garden’s depths.
It’s quiet here. A bit chilly, though.
Reaching a small stone gazebo, Harriet listened intently to confirm she was alone. Satisfied by the silence, she let out a small sigh and perched on the railing.
The Empire’s winters were milder than those of neighboring countries, and the winds usually softened after January, but the night air still held a bite. Choosing to wear a lace shawl had been a wise decision.
I’ll catch a deathly chill just for a bit of air. I’ll sit for a moment and then head back inside.
Resting this far from the ballroom might seem peculiar, but she had been wound tight since the moment she arrived at the party. She simply wanted to breathe freely, away from prying eyes. For three hours, she had kept her back ramrod straight, her movements controlled, and a public smile plastered on her face to avoid even the slightest hint of scandal.
Harriet scanned the area once more, then reached behind her back to untie the tightly bound ribbon of her dress.
“Ugh, my back. I can finally breathe.”
Feeling the tension ease, Harriet leaned against a stone pillar of the gazebo. The stone was cold, but she refused to give up the comfortable posture.
“Tomorrow, I’m not getting out of bed until noon.”
As Harriet muttered her plans for the following day, she suddenly stiffened. She thought she heard a soft rustling—the sound of footsteps on grass.
Though the lights of the ballroom were visible in the distance, she doubted anyone would hear her if she screamed. She froze, caught between the urge to hide and the instinct to run. As if sensing her fear, the intruder spoke first from the shadows, his voice low and steady.
“I apologize for startling you. Miss Harriet, isn't it? I am Tez Roark... Do you perhaps remember me?”
Tez Roark?
After sifting through her hazy memories, Harriet recalled the name. He was the man who had visited the mansion with a massive bouquet of roses back when Bella was frequenting masquerade balls and living a reckless life.
He was the second son of the House of Roark—handsome, tall, and possessed of a solid physique. A notorious socialite charmer rumored to have never met a woman he couldn't win over. Bella’s fame had only grown after she rejected him, while Harriet had been scorned and pointed at for supposedly "clinging" to him while impersonating her sister.
In truth, Tez’s charms had never actually failed.
If he had been the eldest son of the House of Roark, Bella wouldn't have bothered deceiving him.
Even Tez, a man known for his dissolute lifestyle and "free love" philosophy, had seemed genuinely serious back then. Bella was the only woman he had ever expressed a desire to court with marriage in mind. If Bella had simply married him then, she wouldn't have been tormented for so long.
Recalling that bitter past, Harriet replied with a wry smile.
“Yes, I remember. You’re the one who supposedly met me at the masquerade ball.”
Tez offered a short, dry laugh and stepped closer.
“I’ve wanted to meet you privately for some time, but the opportunity never seemed to present itself.”
“Did Your Lordship have a reason to seek me out?”
“I felt I needed to meet you at least once to apologize for what happened back then.”
A trace of bitterness laced his tone.
“It is far too late, I know, but I apologize for not speaking up. I should have said it was Bella, not you, who spent that night with me. At the time, I was so wounded by Bella pretending she didn't know me that I failed to consider the pain you would endure in her place.”
“Wait a moment. Are you saying Your Lordship knew even then? You knew it wasn't me, but Bella, who went to the ball?”
“How could I possibly mistake a woman with whom I shared such... intimacy? Her scent, her voice, her gaze—they were all different.”
Harriet was grateful for the darkness of the night. If it had been broad daylight, the sting in her eyes and the tears threatening to spill would have been plain for him to see.
“You knew... and you simply watched me bow my head and beg for your forgiveness?”
“I apologize. I was a fool.”
Tez bowed deeply, mirroring the very apology Harriet had once been forced to give him. It was difficult to remain furious at a man showing such contrition, but there was no way she could simply let it go.
“Ha... I will accept the apology, but do not ask for my forgiveness. Not yet.”
“Of course. I came to apologize, not to demand your grace. However...”
Straightening up, he tilted his head slightly and whispered, his voice dropping as if sharing a dark secret.
“If you wish to take revenge on Bella for what happened, I would gladly assist you.”
Harriet narrowed her eyes, staring at him. The clouds obscuring the moon were beginning to scatter, but the garden remained dim. She couldn't see his eyes clearly, making it impossible to gauge his true intent.
One thing was certain: every man who had ever pursued Bella was out of their mind.
“You would gladly help me ruin a woman you once loved? You expect me to believe that?”
“I was also a victim of that incident. It isn't strange for victims to join hands, is it?”
“A victim? Hah!”
Harriet couldn't help but burst into laughter. Humans were inherently self-centered, but for him to dare use the word 'victim' in front of her—the woman who had been branded a harlot because of his silence...
“I once thought of you as a victim, too. But hearing you now, you’re just another perpetrator to me. Tell me, what great suffering did you endure to call yourself a victim?”
“That...”