Deceived 1

Chapter 1

***

Prologue

Blair adjusted her clothes one last time before leaving the bedroom.

Standing before the large mirror, she buttoned up to her neck and tilted the brim of her hat askew to hide any flush that might have appeared on her cheeks.

No one must know. No one must detect the unholy thoughts she harbored, that red hot emotion she herself couldn't name.

But no matter how wide the brim of her velvet hat cast its shadow, no matter how tightly her deep green dress swathed her body, the pounding of her heart against her ribs was impossible to conceal.

Blair, who had been staring at her unfamiliar reflection in the mirror, turned her gaze to the window. The sheer curtains fluttered, scattering the sunlight. Through them, the clear song of birds and the distinctive, crisp noise of midday poured in.

It was a ripe weekend afternoon. The staff working at this townhouse in the capital knew her no better than the Count's live-in servants, and now, in the midst of household chores, they would be too busy to notice.

So no one could have guessed.

Why the only daughter of the Twyford family, raised with such propriety, had spent the previous night sleepless, what decision she had made this morning, and where her footsteps were finally heading.

Blair carefully pushed open the bedroom door and stepped out. She walked slowly down the staircase, past the milky marble hallway. Unlike her racing heart, her demeanor was not the slightest bit hurried, as elegant as ever.

"Miss."

The head maid, passing near the front door, stopped upon seeing Blair. Her gaze swept over Blair's neatly tailored going-out dress.

"Are you planning to go out somewhere?"

"Yes, since I'm in the capital for once, I thought I'd visit an exhibition."

A faint smile touched Blair's lips as she spoke the lie in her clear, sweet voice.

"Would you call Mr. Hamilton?"

A lie. She clearly remembered her father's teaching that lies were a sin committed only by cunning and wicked women, yet she found herself defying it without batting an eye, which struck her as strange.

Soon after leaving the townhouse, Blair passed the fountain where water spouted refreshingly and climbed into the car where the driver waited. The engine roared to life, and the car sped through the courtyard, passing through the iron gates and heading toward the city center.

It was an unusually mild spring afternoon. The breeze carried the sweet scent of lilacs. Beyond the car window, the scenery of the city of Borsa was also fully immersed in spring. For a while, the colors in Blair's eyes repeatedly flashed and faded as she gazed outside.

The driver glanced at the Count’s daughter, who remained utterly still. Even in the jolting carriage, Blair was a woman who maintained perfect posture.

After all, the master he served was the notoriously fastidious Count of Twyford. Raised by a father renowned for his strict and conservative upbringing, it was hardly surprising that his only daughter carried herself with such refined and reserved grace.

Yet, to the middle-aged chauffeur's eyes, the young lady visiting the capital for the first time in ten years for her engagement seemed subtly excited. The cheek not quite hidden by her hat brim was tinged with a lovely rosy hue, and her slightly parted lips looked like those of an innocent girl.

Perhaps that was why, soon after, the voice that emerged from between Blair's teeth also sounded sincere.

"It's lovely weather for a walk."

“…Ah, yes. The sun is warm, and the lilacs are in full bloom. Perfect weather indeed, Miss.”

Hamilton replied in a bright voice, and Blair lifted her gaze from the window to look at him. Her voice carried a bit more weight as she spoke.

"I was thinking of taking a walk alone before we go to the museum."

"A walk, you say?"

"Would that be difficult?"

"Difficult? Not at all. It's not a bad idea. Where shall I take you, Miss?"

"Then."

Blair paused, lost in thought. Then she answered in an unwavering voice.

“I’d like to go to Chiles.”

***

The car carrying Blair sped toward Chiles, Borsa's most exclusive neighborhood. She soon signaled her intention to get out near the central park. The vast park, surrounded by a sparkling river and flower-shaded paths, was the perfect place for a leisurely stroll. Across the way, as befitted such an affluent area, rows of incredibly luxurious mansions stood in a line. Blair's destination was none other than one of those very places.

Stepping out of the car with a natural escort, she headed toward the park, then turned a corner and walked, avoiding the driver's gaze. The address she had repeated to herself several times the night before came to mind.

‘72 Fairfield Street….’

78, 76, 74…. Her heart raced faster with each change in the numbers etched on the doors as she passed the imposing multi-story buildings. Her gloved hands felt frozen with tension.

Finally, her footsteps halted. Instead of pressing the doorbell, Blair grasped the golden lion-shaped door knocker and knocked. She waited calmly for a response, her gaze slowly rising to the dark entrance door.

True to a man who valued his personal space, the townhouse where he resided led directly indoors. Instead of a garden visible from outside, he lived alone in a building with an independent rear garden and an inner annex.

Then who would open this door to greet her? The man's butler? Or the head maid?

"...Ah."

Blair, lost in thought, suddenly let out a sigh. It was him. The figure who appeared through the door that had opened at some point was none other than the man himself.

Blair lifted her head and met his gaze silently. She looked into those ash-gray eyes that always regarded her with a relaxed, slightly detached look. Even in a crowd, the man stood out for his height, and he always watched her with those same, subdued eyes.

"Miss Twyford."

His uniquely cool body scent wafted faintly with his breath. Even on a weekend afternoon, his thick hair was combed back to reveal his entire forehead, and his attire was impeccably neat. The gray sweater, fitting his large frame perfectly, hung as crisply as if he were wearing a suit.

It was just as it had been when Blair first saw him at the charity event. Though dozens of men in suits were present, only Edmund Lebert was deeply etched in her mind.

"I thought you'd run off scared."

The low voice calling her name carried an unmistakable sneer. Blair bit her lip hard.

"Miss Twyford is a surprisingly bold young lady, isn't she?"

“…I won’t lie and say I expected a warm welcome.”

"Come in."

Edmund exhaled sharply and took a step back. With permission granted, Blair stepped lightly into the mansion. Behind her, the heavy door slammed shut.

She had no time to survey the surroundings. Blair followed the man leading the way to the drawing room.

"I'm curious."

With his back to her, he pulled a bottle of liquor from the cabinet and poured brandy into a glass with a steady hand. Blair silently watched the man's broad shoulders.

"What exactly do you want to do here?"

"......"

"How prepared you are."

Edmund turned, took a sip of his drink, and met her gaze. Though he was the one drinking the strong brandy, somehow it was Blair who felt parched.

"I'd like to see it."

A faint, bitter smile played on his lips, the man who had finally abandoned engineering. Blair met Edmund’s gaze silently for a moment. Leaning his lower body against the sideboard, the man held her stare directly, tracing the curve of the glass with his knuckles.

She knew his situation was just as urgent. Yet, his attitude, as if he felt no regret whatsoever, didn't sit well with Blair. He knew her feelings yet pretended not to, and his words and actions, suggesting he was merely testing her like this, were equally unsettling.

Her decision was already made. From the moment she stepped out of the townhouse, she had no intention of turning back. Further conversation was unnecessary. Above all, Blair wanted to unsettle him.

So she pulled off the velvet hat she'd been wearing pulled down low. She also removed her silk gloves one by one and placed them on a nearby table. The man's gaze, which had been fixed on her, dropped downward as if pulled by gravity.

Toward her white, slender fingers, or more precisely, toward the engagement ring his friend had placed on her finger.

Blair paused for a moment, then slipped off the ring and placed it on top of the gloves. The mere fact that her hands were now free—hands capable of fully embracing the man and holding his sturdy body—made her breath catch.

She pushed back her chair and rose. Unlike the flicker of unease on her face, her steps toward him held not a shred of hesitation. Edmund, who had been watching with the leisurely air of someone enjoying an interesting show, finally dropped his smile.

Blair approached him and reached out both hands. In that instant, the man who had been as solid as a statue that could never crumble rushed forward impatiently. His hands, chaotic in a way utterly unlike his usual composed demeanor, grabbed her as if snatching her, pulling her close and kissing her.

Thumping heartbeats filled her chest tightly. Was it the satisfaction of finally being held by the man she had so desperately wanted to touch?

Or was it the guilt of committing adultery while engaged to marry another man?