Theodore waved his hand at Andrei, signaling they would speak later, and fixed his glare on Olivia.
He was so furious he could hardly breathe, yet he did not even know at whom, or at what, his rage ought to strike first. Should he be enraged that she had stood silently and listened to Denis’s vile ranting? Or that she had abandoned him in bed and gone out on her own?
There were too many things to inflame him. His head felt like it was packed tight with crumpled scraps of paper.
“Come here.”
“Teo!”
He seized Olivia’s hand without warning and pulled her after him. Andrei called in alarm, but Theodore had no attention to spare.
Striding down the corridor, he brushed past curious relatives peeking to see what the commotion was. He cared nothing for their stares, dragging Olivia along until they reached his room.
He thrust her inside, shut the door, and only then realized his own face was so contorted it was unfit to be seen.
He rubbed his face with both hands, then glared at her with bloodshot eyes.
Her face was pale with weariness. Yet in the redness around her eyes he could see the echo of last night.
Still, her calm and quiet air had not changed. As though nothing had happened—neither Denis’s insults, nor the way she had moaned in his arms until dawn.
“Hah.”
Again, he let out a short, incredulous laugh.
“What are you thinking, exactly?”
“If it is about Sir Denis, I wasn’t thinking anything at all.”
Last night she had spoken to him in the easy tongue of their childhood, but now she had returned to the formal speech of strangers. That, too, made his temper flare. He pressed both hands over his face, holding back the shout that threatened.
“Teo.”
“Yes?”
“Call me that. There’s no need to speak formally.”
Olivia hesitated, but soon parted her small, petal-like lips.
“Teo… why are you so angry?”
“You ask why I am angry? You truly don’t know?”
“Sir Denis has always been that way.”
Her air of resignation stoked his fury even more. It struck him anew how she had been treated by their relatives all this time—and that more than half the blame lay with him.
“I know my uncle is filth. What I am asking is why you endure it. Why? And why were you out at dawn attending guests?”
“Because I’ve been in charge of the household.”
Her steady voice, her calmness, only made him feel more stifled.
She lifted her clear eyes to him.
“And it was something I enjoyed. To have duties in Ruttgard Castle, it felt as though I had a place here.”
Theodore did not realize she spoke in the past tense. He felt only anger.
That she had been despised as Pavel’s daughter, yet had sought her own place not as a daughter but as a servant—that truth cut deep.
And he could say nothing. For if she had no place, it was his fault.
At last he spoke in a subdued voice.
“Uncle will be dealt with soon enough. Until then, do not engage with him.”
“….”
Olivia looked at him with a strange expression. Half puzzled, half sorrowful. He could not read it, and his brow furrowed.
“All right.”
She answered meekly.
“Thank you for caring. And for helping me.”
“Olivia.”
“Is that all? I still have work to do….”
“Olivia!”
This time Theodore raised his voice. She looked at him in surprise.
“That is not the conversation we need to have.”
She tilted her head, as though unable to imagine what else he meant. At that face, so oblivious to what had consumed his thoughts, Theodore all but ground his teeth.
“Our marriage.”
Her eyes widened in shock. She had not even considered it.
“Ah… I’m sorry.”
Those were the first words she forced out through her tight throat. Theodore glared.
“Sorry? Do you mean you refuse to marry me?”
“You’ve no wish for it. If it is because of last night… you need not worry. I never meant to hold you responsible.”
“The decision is not yours to make.”
His voice was like ice. Olivia continued, cautiously.
“If it is about the remaining inheritance, it’s all right. I truly don’t think it is mine by right. I’ll consult Marquis Ascensio. We’ll see it returned properly to you.”
For a moment Theodore was struck dumb.
He had never once cared about the remainder of the estate. Last night’s events had nothing to do with such practical matters.
He had wanted Olivia. And she, him.
Now, in the morning, he felt sullied, as though ensnared by his father’s will—but that was apart from this. Regardless, they ought to be bound.
Yet Olivia spoke with calm composure.
“The Count never truly meant to give me such a fortune. I believe he wished only to raise me, as high as he could, into a noble place.”
“….”
“I’m grateful. But that was his wish. You don’t need to feel bound by it, Teo. You owe me nothing.”
Those were the very words Theodore had once longed to hear—until last night, before the walk in the garden.
Now, hearing them, he felt his fingertips tremble. The sweetness of her flesh from the night before turned into a blade gouging his skin.
It was all unjust. He had spent years fighting against his desire for her, and last night had finally admitted he could not resist.
And now, mere hours later, she denied it all. His resistance, his surrender, both alike.
“You said I could kiss you, didn’t you?”
If he had meant nothing, why had she asked that? Why had she accepted his kiss?
She stood now with that same calm face, utterly unaware she had torn him apart. No trace remained of the woman who had wept and clung to him through the night.
The right answer here was “I understand.” A proposal refused is the end, and he could not even cling to the will as excuse, for she had already renounced her claim.
Yet he could not say it.
At last he forced out, voice raw and broken:
“You don’t decide this alone.”
Olivia closed her mouth tight, her full lips pressing inward as if she bit them. Watching it, Theodore was consumed by frustration and fury.
He could not fathom her thoughts. But one truth was plain—he held no sway over her. Even with those wet eyes and that repressed expression, she stood quietly before him, unmoved.
“Fine.”
He spat the word at last, then spun on his heel and strode from the room.
The people loitering outside startled, stumbling back. They must have been eavesdropping, but Theodore had no strength to care.
With rough steps, he left.