Chapter 8: Saint and Villainess
In the dim dawn, she shifted her body, feeling slightly uncomfortable. But she couldn’t move an inch, as if trapped by something.
“Haaah.”
As she exhaled a deep breath, the firm force enveloping her body tightened even more.
“Mmm.”
The sensation against her palm felt somehow unfamiliar. It felt too elastic to be her own skin.
When she lifted her drowsy eyelids, a muscular body immediately came into view. A firm chest, clearly defined collarbones, and the soft sound of breathing falling from above.
Ah, now she understood. Whose embrace she was in, who this large, warm body belonged to.
‘I don’t want to wake up yet.’
Dream or reality, it didn’t matter. She wanted to savor the feeling of their skin touching, the warmth emanating from him, and those lips that seemed just a head-tilt away, for just a little longer.
Perhaps that’s why. A small desire slowly bloomed within her. Because once this moment passed, everything would end. Because all of this dream would be forgotten.
Slowly raising her head, Lyra planted a faint kiss on the edge of his smoothly chiseled jaw. Just for a fleeting moment, without him noticing. So light it might have been mistaken for something merely brushing past.
After gazing at his closed eyelids for a long while, Lyra breathed in the man’s rich scent and drifted back to sleep.
* * *
Whoosh, the stream of water fell down. Despite standing under the cold water for quite some time, the heat searing his body wouldn’t dissipate.
‘Damn it.’
He had already relieved himself several times, yet his ar*usal remained stubbornly present. Going mad like this just from thinking about her was maddening.
“Ungh.”
A faint groan scattered with the sound of water. His hand moved faster, his breathing gradually growing rougher. To hasten the end of this torment, he conjured the memory of her touch—still vivid, as if seared into the deepest recesses of his mind.
Her uneven breaths, the golden strands of her hair splayed out, the dampness clinging to her lashes, and the pliant warmth that yielded so easily beneath him.
The sensations of their entangled desire — each moment of pl*asure that still felt insufficient — flooded back, stoking the frustration coiled in his chest until it reached its peak.
And when he recalled that fleeting touch on his jaw, he was finally able to end this hellish pl*asure.
“Haaah.”
A sigh dragged out, carrying with it the remnants of lingering frustration. He expelled every unnecessary emotion festering inside him—so he wouldn’t waver under temptation again, so he wouldn’t crumble under carnal hunger.
Yes. Kaylon admitted it—he had been shaken. It wasn’t just that she was pleasing to the eyes. He had wanted her.
Under the guise of their fake relationship, he had clung to the excuse to touch her, to drown in her intoxicating scent, even if just once.
But last night’s mistake, brought on by carnal desire, made one thing clear: if he didn’t cut this off now, there would be no turning back. And if he wasn’t careful, he would be the one consumed. So before he fell deeper, it had to end here.
As his ragged breathing steadied, his vision gradually cleared. As if determined to scrub away the lingering filth of his thoughts, he washed himself briskly.
As his heaving breath stabilized, his vision gradually cleared. He quickly washed his body as if trying to cleanse away the viscous feelings still clinging to him.
By the time he turned off the water and lifted his head, no trace of hesitation remained.
Shaking the water from his hair, he left the bathroom to find today’s daily newspapers arranged by type on his desk, delivered at some point. Just a cursory glance at the front-page headlines revealed how quickly yesterday’s events had spread.
Just how heated had it become? He picked up the newspapers one by one.
“Shocking! Duke Lianton in Love! Marriage Announcement Soon?”
“Duke Lianton’s New Lover, Who Is She?”
“Is Davira Claudia Being Cast Aside?”
“The Incarnation of ‘Saint Lucilia’ Stained in Blood…”
“Is the Curtain Rising on War? Saint vs. Villainess, Who Is the Final Victor?”
“Mr. A: Miss Norris? She was a stunning beauty. To think such a woman existed in the Empire… Ahem! But her behavior was quite unacceptable. In modern terms, a villainess? Ah! That’s appropriate.”
“Miss D: It pains me just to speak of it. I disliked her from first impression. I heard she’s of common birth, is she even worthy of Duke Lianton? Oh, Miss Claudia? Don’t even mention her. I felt so sorry for her the entire time.”
“…It is reported that Miss Davira Claudia left the ballroom in tears, evoking sympathy from many.”
Articles where lies and truth were mixed provocatively. Excessively interesting and excessively incomprehensible.
That’s why all of Rivania’s attention was focused on the woman named Lyra Norris. Overnight, even these filthy tabloids were flooded with tips.
His impassive gaze slowly scanned the sensationalist article.
“The Most Expensive Courtesan in Rivania’s History Appears! What Is Her Price?”
…It is said that Duke Lianton’s wealth is difficult to quantify. How much did he pay for one night? Based on pure curiosity, our paper has traced his activities.
“They’re talking quite freely.”
His straight eyebrows twitched slightly. But the emotion trying to squeeze through disappeared without a trace along with a drop of water falling from his w*t hair.
Because the more Lyra Norris was vilified, the better it was for him.
It might temporarily stain Lianton’s honor, but that would make it more effective in detaching Davira Claudia.
It would be perfect if that woman ended up marrying another man.
How long would it take? Until the moment Duke O’Neill, unable to witness Lianton’s diminished reputation, would finally step in.
‘The sooner, the better.’
Kaylon, pulling his lips into a pleasant smile, immediately called for Michael. He instructed Isaac to prepare a special article about how deeply in love he was with Lyra Norris. And then,
“It would be best to put these away for a while.”
He instructed Michael, whose eyes gleamed with amusement, to burn all the newspapers currently in the villa as well as any that would arrive in the future, and then picked up his black coat.
After all, there was no benefit in having them catch his eye.
* * *
When she opened her eyes again, morning had dawned. And the space beside her was empty. Lyra ran her hand over the spot where the warmth had disappeared.
‘He’s gone.’
So quickly.
Was he concerned about others’ attention? Even if not, his mornings started earlier than hers, so it wasn’t incomprehensible, but somehow she felt a bitter ache.
As if last night’s lovemaking had all been a lie, like a dream, like magic. As if she alone would remember the night past.
Her fingertips persistently searched for traces. But all that returned was awareness of reality.
Curling her fingers, Lyra finally rose from bed. As she did, the blanket covering her slid down, revealing the red marks he had left.
“Ah…”
Something remained after all. Right on her body.
She traced the red marks on her shoulder, chest, and around her navel. There was no pain. No burning heat remained. Only a chill filled her as her body gradually cooled.
Lyra gently rubbed a red spot below her rounded br*ast before wrapping herself in the blanket. If she continued sitting like this, Hannah would discover her when she came in to attend. It would be better to wash away the traces of their intimacy first.
Fortunately, Hannah’s entering footsteps were heard only after she had stepped into the bathroom. Lyra quickly washed herself and received her grooming.
Just when she thought she had safely gotten through it, Hannah’s sudden remark startled her.
“It looks like you were bitten by an insect on your neck. Does it itch?”
“Hm? Ah, it’s fine.”
Upon examination, it was in a spot she hadn’t noticed—between her neck and shoulder, slightly toward the back. She pretended it was nothing, scratching it a few times casually, but Hannah’s occasional glances made her self-conscious.
“You should cover your neck today. I’ll look for suitable accessories.”
“Okay.”
Had Hannah not noticed, or was she pretending not to know? Either way, while she was relieved not to face embarrassing comments, her heart still fluttered anxiously.
When she went down to the dining room wearing light indoor clothes, she felt a mild, dull pain. Was it because the Duke, who always shared breakfast with her despite his busy schedule, was nowhere to be seen?
When she asked about his absence on her way back to her room, the footman only replied that he had left early.
It was the same at lunchtime, and throughout the afternoon, there was no sign of him. The dull ache in her heart intensified gradually as she had expected this might happen.
The feeling that he was deliberately avoiding her. Her mood plummeted drastically due to the man she couldn’t see all day, as if to prove it wasn’t just her imagination. Those moments when she had worried about how to face the Duke now seemed futile.
What if the passionate gaze during their intimacy, the attentiveness with which he had looked after her, had all been a lie?
Was it foolish to hope that at least in that moment, he had been sincere?
Lyra was blankly staring at her reflection in the mirror when Hannah, having finished her grooming with care, announced the situation downstairs.
“The Duke is waiting for you, miss.”
Forcing a smile, she went outside to find him standing in front of a carriage lit by gas lamps. His face was so refreshingly composed that all her day-long worrying seemed pointless.
Thump. Her heart beat.
“You look beautiful. Elaborate dresses truly suit you.”
Had it been a needless worry?
