The next day, Theodore opened his eyes only near noon.
He thought he had dreamed for the first time in a long while. A dream vilely sticky, obscene, and impossible to shake off.
Because he had faced Olivia. She had grown just as he had imagined—no, far more beautiful than he had ever imagined.
He knew blaming her was despicable, and so, drowning in self-loathing, Theodore raised his gaze only to be startled.
It was not his bedroom, adorned with rich, wine-colored furnishings. The room was as simple as a monk’s cell, the bed small. A little window set high in the wall revealed this was not a mansion but a tower.
He frowned for a moment, then shot up.
Was it not a dream?
Because he had collapsed straight into bed with the dirt of the garden still clinging to his body, soil now scattered across the sheets.
Even fully awake, the vivid memory made him shudder—it could not be dismissed as a dream.
Until dawn, he had embraced Olivia. He no longer remembered how many times he had spilled inside her, their frenzy a madness.
He raised his naked body and sat on the bed. Between his legs, his seed and Olivia’s juices were tangled together.
“Ugh.”
A short groan escaped him. On his back and shoulders remained red scratches from the night before.
But where had Olivia gone? She should not have been able to move.
Irritation rising, he stood. Searching the wardrobe for at least a gown to throw over himself in place of his ruined clothes, he found only a few modest women’s dresses hanging inside.
That too annoyed him. Surely this was Olivia’s room—yet were these pitiful garments all she owned? It was not the chamber of a count’s beloved daughter, but that of a governess or secretary, one treated with contempt.
Theodore was examining whether his ruined clothes might somehow be salvaged when—
Knock, knock.
A careful rapping at the door. He snapped,
“Come in.”
The door opened a crack. A maid peeked in, gasped at the sight, and quickly bowed her head.
Theodore had no reason to care that a mere servant glimpsed his bare body. He asked coldly,
“Where is Olivia?”
“M-my lady went to the main house to attend the guests. She told me to bring you fresh clothes….”
“Leave them there.”
“Yes.”
With her gaze lowered, the maid slipped a neatly folded bundle inside the door.
As she began to withdraw, Theodore stopped her.
“Wait. Olivia is attending the guests, you say?”
“Yes. There was breakfast and luncheon, and she must also make sure the guests were not inconvenienced during the night….”
“And the steward does not do this?”
Her face was lowered so he could not see her expression, but her voice carried stifled resentment.
“When the relatives call and the young lady is absent, there is too much talk.”
“Hah.”
A short, incredulous laugh escaped him.
After such a night, she had slipped away at dawn to prepare for breakfast? Merely because she feared gossip?
He had thought he had left her unable to move—but perhaps he had been too lenient.
Grinding his teeth, he pulled on the clothes and raked his disheveled hair back with his hand. Then he strode quickly toward the main house.
***
Crash!
A brandy bottle smashed on the floor, shards scattering in every direction. Startled, Denis’s wife Helena snatched up their youngest son, while the other two children turned their heads in shame. A few of the relatives who had been taking tea together scowled.
“Enough, Sir Denis.”
Andrei Nox tried to intercede, but without conviction. Though kin by marriage, he had never had dealings with Denis, nor was he among Pavel’s heirs, so he had no standing to interfere.
Already drunk since morning, Denis ignored his concerned glance and shouted savagely at Olivia.
“What trick did you pull on my brother?”
Olivia did not bother to answer. She knew well enough what sort of man Denis was. Whenever he needed money, he came to Ruttgard seeking Pavel, and when refused, left after a tantrum.
He had often sneered that the Ruttgard fortune was being wasted on the maintenance of a bastard like her.
“Pay him no mind. I will see Denis never sets foot here again.”
“But….”
“Absurd man. And what contribution has he made to Ruttgard? You are my daughter. For me to raise my own daughter—is that wasting money?”
She must have been about sixteen when Pavel discovered this and barred Denis from the house altogether. Though Denis’s cruelty had stung, the warmth Pavel lavished upon her had covered the wound with joy.
And in any case, it was long ago.
Now Olivia merely stood, listening with one ear and letting it out the other. Compared to the things that truly tormented her, such words meant nothing.
Denis was just a drunkard. It would end if she endured a little.
More pressing was her exhaustion. She had come only because she wished to honor Pavel to the very end, but even standing was hard.
When she remained silent, Denis grew bolder.
“Ha! Clever little slut! Did you spread your legs for it? And my brother, shameless as well….”
“Sir Denis, you mustn’t!”
A young under-steward, serving in the parlor, could not endure further and broke in. Denis’s fist struck.
Thud!
The youth toppled helplessly.
“Kyaa!”
Women and children, Helena among them, fled the parlor, while Andrei and several other men leapt to their feet.
“Sir Denis!”
But Denis, wild and staggering, ignored them and advanced threateningly on Olivia.
“Have I said a lie? To treat her as a daughter—nonsense! Who gives such a fortune to a girl with not a drop of our blood?”
He jabbed his finger against Olivia’s chest.
The room fell silent. But drunken Denis failed to notice. As he went to jab her chest again, a strong hand seized his wrist.
“What is this behavior, Uncle.”
An icy voice poured down upon Denis’s head.
Instinctively he flinched. But rather than admit fear, he lifted his head with a snarl—only to meet Theodore’s cold gaze, and shrink further.
“I—I… ugh!”
Theodore twisted his wrist hard, wrenching it away from Olivia. Denis stumbled back, staggering as if hurled.
All fell silent.
Theodore was not as usual. Instead of his perfect composure, he was disheveled—hair unkempt, clothes thrown on hastily. Without a tie, the open collar revealed the muscles of his chest.
The roughness only made his fury more menacing. Terrified, Denis stammered, fumbling for words.
“I-I was… only giving her the proper guidance an elder should….”
“Shouting at a woman and jabbing her breast with your finger is proper guidance?”
Theodore’s voice was glacial. Denis visibly flinched.
Theodore turned his gaze. The servant who had followed him quickly entered the parlor.
“Take my uncle to his room.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Teo, Teo, why are you doing this? What wrong have I done?”
“Lock the door from outside. Do not release him until he sobers.”
“Teo!”
Denis roared again, but soon the waiting servants rushed in and dragged him away.
Then Theodore turned to the under-steward, whose cheek was beginning to swell.
“My apologies. Tend your wound.”
“It is nothing.”
The youth bowed and withdrew, though he held his cheek as he went, the pain plain.
“Teo, where were you last night? Are you all right?”
Andrei asked anxiously, approaching Theodore.