Deceived 12

Chapter 12

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Sponsored by LC. Thank you ❤️ (2/10)

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Blair didn't know how to respond and awkwardly pulled up the corners of her mouth. After staring at her for a moment, Nicoletta turned and casually placed her hand on Isaac's arm.

"By the way, Isaac, about that cigar Lord Middleton brought to the last social gathering..."

"Huh? Oh, that one."

"Didn't they taste a bit off? Were they okay?"

"Well. I thought it was okay, not bad."

Blair, standing a few paces away, tilted her head. Nicoletta and Isaac were leaning slightly into each other, arms almost linked, and that sequence of contact seemed overly intimate.

Nicoletta especially. She kept looking up at Isaac while they talked, giggling and shrugging her shoulders even when he didn't respond. The way her red-painted fingertips traced up his black suit felt uncomfortably flirtatious for mere friends. Even Blair, who was awkward with romantic interactions, noticed it.

Listening to Nicoletta's unique voice stirred not just unease but also a sense of déjà vu. Just as Blair blinked, trying to recall where this feeling originated from

"Oh, the honored guest has arrived!"

Isaac's loud exclamation snapped Blair back to her senses like a bucket of cold water had been poured on her. The hazy surroundings suddenly sharpened, as if outlined in pencil.

She didn't even need to look around. Though the space was dimly lit, she could recognize the honored guest clearly. It was that man.

Striding leisurely across the lounge, his tall stature and upright posture made him look like the centerpiece of the room. Perhaps her vague hope of seeing him again was stronger than she’d realized, because as she watched him draw everyone’s attention, a flutter began in the corner of Blair’s heart.

Isaac, who had quietly approached Blair, took her wrist with a slight flush.

"Miss Twyford, come here. He's the guest I most want to introduce to you today."

Should she pretend to know him? Blair felt conflicting emotions swirling within her—a desire to greet him in front of her fiancé, and a desire not to.

"Edmund!"

The man, who had been exchanging brief pleasantries with nearby guests, looked at Isaac.

"It's a rare pleasure to see you. I thought you weren't attending my party, but rather checking the club's accounts? Miss Twyford, this gentleman holds a small stake in the Biso Club House."

Instead of answering, the man lowered his gaze to stare at Blair. As Isaac stood by, waiting, he introduced the two.

"Edmund, this is my fiancée, Miss Blair Twyford. Miss Twyford, this distinguished gentleman is Edmund, a descendant of the Duke of Liberte. He's a fellow Longwood 68 graduate like me, and we were truly good friends during our school days."

Blair looked up at Edmund with wide eyes.

The Liberte family. Anyone living in the Kingdom of Genoa would know that name. Hadn't the charity event where she first met him been hosted by the Duke of Liberte’s son? And to think she'd spent time alone with him on the balcony.

The Liberte family had two sons known to the public. She hadn't heard any particular rumors about the eldest, but she knew all too well about the other one.

The illegitimate son born from a commoner. A seasoned businessman who brought glory to the family name. Among countless rumors, one claimed he was a notorious libertine, infamous for his dissolute behavior.

Which of the distinctly different Liberte brothers was that man? Blair was certain it was the latter. Beneath that impeccably polished exterior, one might glimpse an utterly unsettling aspect.

"Miss Blair Twyford."

Edmund spoke her name in his deep, low voice. It felt less like a greeting and more like he was finally repeating it to himself. They weren't meeting for the first time; this was their third encounter.

But Blair didn't feel the need to reveal that fact to Isaac. She didn't want to mention the night she'd voluntarily trapped herself on the balcony, the night she'd asked to borrow a cigarette, or the night he'd helped her choose an engagement ring.

"Pleased to meet you, Lord Liberte. I'm Blair Twyford."

And so Blair lowered her eyes and curtsied. Avoiding Edmund's gaze falling upon her forehead, she offered a polite greeting as if they were meeting for the first time.

A brief silence passed, and suddenly a large hand was extended before her. Blair only moved her eyes slightly, conscious of Edmund, and gently placed her hand atop his. He bent at the waist and kissed the back of her hand slowly. Throughout, his intense, ash-gray gaze never left her.

"Pleased to meet you, Miss Twyford."

Edmund straightened his posture, a perfect curve forming on his lips. Blair responded with a brief bow, then secretly brushed the back of her hand where his lips had touched. As if doing so might somehow shake off his warmth.

It was a greeting she had received countless times at charity events. Yet why did the breath he left behind make her chest tingle? She was certain it was because of his gaze, which felt like it was searching through her mind.

The uncomfortable silence, which seemed destined to linger, was broken—whether fortunately or unfortunately—as Isaac stepped onto the low podium.

"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for taking the time to attend this party. I've prepared a little entertainment for you all."

Blair stood frozen in place, swallowing a sigh. There was still work to be done. She hadn't eaten anything, yet her stomach felt heavy. Above all, the presence of Edmund standing beside her, refusing to leave, was the most uncomfortable thing of all.

"I've hidden ten golden keys throughout this clubhouse. The rules are simple. I'll turn off all the lights, so you'll have to rely solely on candlelight to find the hidden keys within two hours. Whoever finds the lucky treasure will receive an invitation to the secret auction."

Cheers erupted from all corners. The only ones not rejoicing there were Blair and Edmund.

"If you wish, you may pair up in twos to help each other. However, you must not fight over the keys. The lights will now be turned off."

As the already dim lounge lights all went out, only the jazz music lingered like an echo. The guests, including Isaac, each picked up a silver candlestick from the table near the podium and scattered in all directions. Blair, with no other choice, also picked up a candlestick. With each step, the flickering flame seemed precarious, as if it might go out at any moment.

She left the brightly lit, open lounge. Not to find the golden key, but to find a place to kill time while this tedious treasure hunt played out.

Would becoming Isaac Doman's wife mean attending these silly parties often? Occasionally might be bearable, but such frivolity was tedious and utterly distasteful.

Crossing the hallway, Blair glanced at guests diligently searching for treasures in places like the dining room and smoking lounge before climbing the stairs at the end of the corridor. Standing at the fork in the hallway, hesitating, a soft voice behind her caught Blair's attention.

"Miss Twyford."

"...Ah."

Blair flinched, letting out a startled gasp. The tall shadow looming over her belonged to the most familiar face imaginable.

“…Lord Liberte, what brings you here?”

"I was wondering if I might be paired with Miss Twyford."

Blair looked up at Edmund with a slightly bewildered expression. He wasn't even holding the candlestick that had been offered to everyone. A hollow laugh escaped her at the man's utterly serious expression.

"Is that not acceptable? I think we'd make quite a good match."

"It's not that... I just don't think you'd be interested in finding something like a golden key."

"That's why I asked. Your fiancé seems to have vanished somewhere, and Miss Twyford was planning to spend her time in a quiet place until this tedious charade ended, wasn't she?"

Edmund chuckled lightly. Blair, whose plan had been precisely seen through, lost her words and fell silent for a moment.

Ever since they first met, she’d sensed it: she and this man  were similar. There was a truly subtle resemblance between them. As members of society, they knew attending gatherings was unavoidable, yet both shared the habit of occasionally seeking out places to breathe alone.

"If we share the same goal, you'll stay with me. I happen to know a place where we won't be disturbed. As you heard, I own a share in this place."