Deceived 33

Chapter 33

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Before long, the hand that had been caressing Blair's face had withdrawn. Edmund pulled out his pocket watch to check the time, then gestured with his chin toward the direction Nicoletta had disappeared.

"We should move to a more visible spot."

"Let's do that."

The two walked toward the wide-open hall. It was the spot with the most people, where light finger food and drinks were laid out. As Blair moved, nearly bumping into someone, Edmund gently pulled her closer by grabbing her waist. That contact, a bit excessive for an escort, was exposed long enough for several people mingling in the crowd to notice.

"I think I need another drink."

Though her head was spinning slightly from downing champagne one after another, Blair wasn't bold enough to withstand the clinging attention from all sides. Edmund obediently led her to a table and filled her glass. He glanced at her expression.

"Why don't you try smiling?"

"Am I looking too serious?"

"You don't look happy at all. More like someone being blackmailed than a woman having a secret affair with me."

"I guess I'm nervous."

Sipping the fizzy drink, Blair wiped her wet lips with her finger. The man beside her started to say something, then stopped, his gaze fixed on her lips.

"Anyway, you don't have to force a smile... Can't you fake that easily enough?”

"How?"

At Edmund's counterquestion, Blair hiccupped softly and fell deep in thought. Having witnessed her fiancé's infidelity, she only needed to recall Isaac and Nicoletta's behavior back then for reference.

Her fiancé's lower body, writhing obscenely back and forth, the woman's legs, stark white as she received him…

"...No, that's not it."

Blair shook her head vigorously, having imagined the most revolting scene. She hadn't realized she'd spoken aloud. As the alcohol took hold, words and thoughts she wouldn't normally utter spilled out, tangled together.

It was better to recall the strangely unsettling touches instead. Like when Nicoletta first appeared... Then she could remember the scene of her bright red-painted fingertips slowly climbing up Isaac's shoulder.

"For example... like this."

Blair reached out and quietly grasped Edmund's forearm. The sensation of his solid body, clearly felt through layers of fabric, was unfamiliar, and she unconsciously curled her fingers to stroke it.

"How does that feel?"

"Quite convincing."

Edmund's voice was low and hushed. Only then did Blair realize she was touching him, fumbling, and tried to pull her hand away. At the same moment, a large palm covered the back of her hand.

"No need to stop. Some people are watching."

Blair glanced sideways, becoming aware of a group standing near a standing table. The women who had been peeking at them while holding out their ornate fans quickly fanned themselves and looked away. It seemed to be working.

"What should I do next?"

Edmund's lips twisted slightly at Blair's question, and he let out a low chuckle.

"Why not whisper like lovers who secretly share affection behind their fiancés' backs?"

"Ah, um."

"A little closer."

The command fell, firm, as if only his lips moved. Blair, who had been blinking, leaned forward. Their shoulders touched softly. Dizzy from the spinning view, she clasped his hand tightly with one of her own. His ash-gray eyes remained utterly unruffled as he stared down at Blair.

Gazing into those utterly expressionless eyes often stirred a strange desire within her. The desire to make this man feel uneasy…

Watching this man who never showed emotion, Blair sometimes found herself wondering if she was actually dealing with a statue. That's how calm and cold he was. Perhaps it wasn't strange to want to shake such a man. In fact, after actually shaking him, a peculiar pleasure often arose.

"Um, I want to kiss you right now."

Blair moved her lips, returning the exact words he had once teasingly spoken to her.

"Let's go somewhere private... and finish what we started that day."

Edmund gazed at Blair's whispering lips for a long moment. Slowly lifting his gaze to meet hers, a faint smile touched his lips. Blair couldn't immediately grasp what it meant.

"Quite impressive."

Edmund murmured as if to himself, lightly wiping a champagne droplet from her lower lip with his thumb.

"Whatever I teach you, Miss Twyford, you learn quickly."

"I'm honored by your high regard."

"I'd be grateful if you continued to meet my high expectations."

Just as she was about to retort, someone in the crowd raised a champagne glass and called out.

"I propose a toast to Lord Liberte for hosting this splendid banquet!"

The subtle attention that had been drifting toward her suddenly focused on him, as if to make a point. Cheers followed, urging him to deliver his toast. It seemed the one who now had to meet someone's expectations was him, not her.

Edmund didn't hesitate, stepping onto the podium set up in the center of the gallery. Blair watched the man commanding everyone's attention, glass in hand.

"First, I would like to express my gratitude to all of you for attending this meaningful occasion. I hope the significance of this banquet today extends beyond simply honoring Ogwiere’s final work or celebrating the successful exhibition of the art foundation."

A brief, heavy silence fell over the room. His voice continued softly.

"Occasionally, cracks or ripples come our way. But it is precisely that instability that can create the most brilliant moments. Like the exhibition's theme, 'The River Holding Light,' I raise my glass hoping that all of you gathered here today will never lose the will to forge a radiant life."

A fairly long round of applause followed the toast. Then the guests began emptying their glasses. Edmund’s gaze, which had been sweeping over those looking up at him with slight intervals, finally settled on Blair. Receiving that multi-layered look, she downed the remaining champagne in one gulp.

06. Ripples

The next day, Blair awoke with a hangover. She had only had a couple of glasses of champagne, but her low tolerance and the fact she'd never drunk that much in her life meant she was completely drunk.

As she pieced together her hazy memories, the only things that surfaced were Edmund supporting her as she staggered to the car, the stares that followed her everywhere, and the lingering question of why Isaac never showed up.

Nevertheless, she rose at her usual hour. She filled her stomach with juice instead of breakfast, checked that the servants had begun their tasks, and forced herself to stay alert so the day could flow on as it always had.

But the peaceful routine, like the calm before a storm, shattered just past noon.

"Miss."

Blair, who had been inspecting leftover provisions in the cellar with a maid, pricked up her ears. The urgent voice belonged to Mrs. Norris, the head maid.

"The Count has just returned home, and the moment he entered, he asked for you immediately."

“…Where is he now?”

“In his study.”

“I’ll go up.”

She wondered if the rumors had truly spread overnight, yet felt it was inevitable. Blair sank down abruptly, then climbed the stairs, trying to calm her heart that had begun racing.

The study door wasn’t even closed. She stood before it, catching her breath, then spoke quietly.

"I'm coming in, Father."

Pushing the door open, she entered a room filled with an atmosphere as sharp as the tip of a needle. The Count of Twyford, who had been staring out the window, slowly turned as she entered. His face was contorted, and his eyes burned with rage.

"Close the door."

His voice, choked with fury, filled the study. Blair silently closed the door, then folded her hands demurely. The settling silence pressed heavy on her chest.

"Is it true you returned home drunk last night?"

Unable to lift her face, Blair nodded.

"I suppose I overdid the toasts at the banquet."

" You've truly lost your mind."

The Count spat out each word through clenched teeth, then hurled something. It grazed Blair's forehead before falling to the floor. It was an article from a daily newspaper covering high society gossip.

"Read it. Your disgrace is printed in black and white."