Deceived 83

Chapter 83

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From the chapel situated in the Duke's estate, solemn funeral music flowed. Torrential rain fell, and dozens of silver candlesticks cast their light across the chapel, weighed down by the deep darkness.

The priest stood before the wooden coffin holding Duke Liberte’s body, reciting prayers, occasionally mingled with Isabelle's sobs. But even that was soon drowned out by the heavy rain beating fiercely against the stained glass.

As only the family gathered to perform the rites, the elderly steward approached quietly and whispered to Edmund.

"Master. Nobles from the capital region are expected to join the mourning procession shortly, and from this evening, guests from across the kingdom will begin arriving in succession."

"What of my maternal great-uncle abroad and his family?"

"Thanks to advance notice, they departed early. They should arrive by tomorrow evening at the earliest, or by dawn the day after at the latest."

"That is fortunate. Check the waiting room for mourners on the chapel's east side, and prepare bedrooms for those traveling from afar."

"I shall see to it."

Butler Albert bowed respectfully and withdrew. The senior servant, who had been at the Duke's residence since before Edmund's birth, was impeccably courteous. Isabelle, wiping her tears with a handkerchief, glanced at them. Her gaze was far from kind.

It was hardly welcome that reports were being made as if Edmund were already the master of the Liberte family, despite the clear presence of herself, the Duchess, and Rufus.

Uncomfortable with the invisible tension, Blair held her breath, hands clasped in front of her. Then she followed Edmund as he approached the coffin. According to the ceremony's order, it was time to offer white lilies as a sign of mourning.

She received a single lily from the priest's attendant and carefully placed it beside the coffin. Closing her eyes to pray, she slowly lifted her eyelids. Her gaze drifted involuntarily to the corpse's face.

The Duke of Liberte, resting eternally within the cedar coffin, looked like a person fast asleep. Except for the complete absence of color, leaving him pale, he appeared scarcely different from in life. It was chilling enough to make one's spine tingle.

While listening to the priest's requiem, unlike Isabelle or Rufus who were sniffling, Edmund remained utterly still. He simply stared down at the corpse's pale face, surrounded by pure white lilies. Blair, standing beside him, felt quite conflicted. It reminded her of the moment they had exchanged wedding vows here.

But the applause of that day had been replaced by mournful weeping, the hymns of blessing by a somber funeral dirge. The bright lights were nowhere to be seen; only the dark shadows brought by the gathering storm clouds filled the chapel.

Only then did Blair realize. This was the place where the history of the Liberte family cycled. Where newborns were baptized, where love bore fruit, and where lives came to an end. For the members of the Duke's household, time always began and ended within these walls.

Perhaps that was why. On the day of the wedding, when she stood before the altar, an inexplicable anxiety kept welling up inside her…

Looking back, it was fear. A vague intuition that she was stepping too deeply into something, becoming bound to Edmund's world.

Blair didn't know how to escape from him. More than anything, she didn't want to escape. If possible, she wanted to stay by his side forever. But she couldn't be sure the man standing shoulder to shoulder with her felt the same way.

It was early autumn now, the evening breeze blowing with a noticeable chill. The contract had begun in early spring, so about half a year had passed, leaving just over half a year remaining.

Watching the clock hands move relentlessly, she felt an unnecessary sense of urgency. How could she hold onto his heart? How could she make him whisper words of love?

If only he would look only at her. If only he would be helplessly swayed by her. If only he craved love as much as she did and struggled desperately for it. If only his every breath, every word, every glance were entirely directed at her…

Blair looked at Duke Liberte with eyes burning with desperation. His face was the spitting image of Edmund. A chill ran down her spine as she suddenly realized she was inflating her desire before a lifeless corpse. Wearing a mask of mourning for the dead while inwardly grasping for the man's heart—she found herself utterly repulsive.

Gripping the hem of her black skirt, she exhaled a trembling sigh. She felt a gaze settle beside her. Then, cool fingers brushed against Blair's cheek. Lifting her head, Blair met Edmund's eyes.

"Are you alright? You don't look well."

"...Yes."

"You may go inside and rest first. The family's mourning ceremony ends with this today."

"No, I want to stay by your side."

Instead of answering, Edmund gazed down at Blair. She met his eyes without flinching. His ash-gray gaze slowly slid down to her lips. Then to her jawline, lingering at the base of her straight neck before rising sharply to pierce her eyes with its intensity.

As their gazes locked, the solemn voice of the priest chanting prayers echoed through the space. The mournful music and the sound of rain beating against the windows filled the remaining silence. Blair felt she would never forget this moment.

***

Beyond the window of the master bedroom, the garden lay fully exposed. As the afternoon deepened, a procession of mourners from all over stretched like a black tide toward the chapel. A faint air of mourning drifted in through the open window. It was a sight that inevitably weighed heavily on the heart.

"Is it still difficult for you?"

Blair, who had been standing by the window looking out, turned around. Not immediately understanding, she blinked, and Edmund added as he took off his black jacket. His voice was low and dry.

"Because it's a time of mourning."

"...Ah."

It meant he intended to resume the flow that had been halted by her refusal earlier that morning before they left for the chapel. Edmund hung the jacket on the sofa and stood silently, waiting for her answer. His face was utterly expressionless.

Blair's eyes shifted subtly toward the dark procession of mourners. As Edmund had said, the family's private mourning was over, but the funeral itself was still in full swing. Was it really okay to be intimate with a man at a time like this?

Her mind told her it was inappropriate. It was morally wrong. Wouldn't anyone think so? The Blair before meeting him would never have dared imagine such a thing. To be with him on the very day his father had just passed away, when the tide of mourning hadn't yet subsided? Was that even conceivable? No woman, no matter how seductive, would indulge in lust against the backdrop of death.

Yet strangely, the boundaries of the taboo she had so strictly guarded were blurring.

Blair looked at Edmund again. What she could read in that expressionless face was neither sorrow nor disordered desire. It was the gaze of someone trying to fill the void that had collapsed with anything. It was an attempt to confirm the sensation of being alive amidst the shadows of death that surrounded them.

And Blair wanted to ignore her guilt and embrace him. If only she could hold him like this.

"...No, I..."

She hesitated slightly before continuing.

"...It's okay."

Edmund looked at her for a moment, as if confirming her permission, then slowly approached. His steps were slow but unwavering as he closed the distance. When he was close enough for their breaths to mingle, he reached out.

The moment his large hand cupped her cheek, Blair lowered her eyes. Soon, their lips met softly. After pressing his lips to hers a couple of times, as if to confirm something, Edmund parted her closed lips and pushed his tongue inside. His breath, deep and tangled, grew heavier. 

His scent, thick with the smell of rain, intensified too.

Suddenly, a hand slipped beneath her thigh and lifted Blair up in one swift motion. Startled, she wrapped her arms around his neck just as he set her down before a round table. It was the kind used for drinking tea or reading books.

Still gasping for breath, utterly bewildered, Edmund twisted her chin again and pressed his lips to hers. His urgent hands lifted the hem of her black skirt, groped her thigh, and pulled down her underwear. Before the fabric hanging over her knees had even fallen away, he undid his own trouser buckle.

Then he thrust into her in one swift motion. It was a rough, desperate invasion.