Deceived 84

Chapter 84

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Though it wasn't their first time, Blair was overwhelmed by a sensation more unfamiliar than ever before. She'd never felt so breathless. Edmund plunged into her with such urgency that she had no time to prepare. He released the heavy breath he'd been holding all day and immediately began probing deep inside her.

"Haah..."

Blair hurriedly reached out, wrapping her arms around the back of his neck. It wasn't the best choice. The moment her warmth touched him, it only spurred the frantic thrusting that had been forcing its way in.

The table legs shook with a thud, scraping the wooden floor with a repeated, harsh sound. Blair grunted, her chin resting on his shoulder, then glanced up. The mirror opposite reflected their tangled forms.

Her feet dangled limply beside his tall frame, neatly dressed in a white shirt and black pants. Except for the damply tangled lower half, they were still fully dressed in mourning attire.

The procession of mourners continued in the courtyard. She even had the illusion of hearing someone weeping bitterly. Though she knew it was an inappropriate time, she was the one who had pulled him close. Yet Blair suddenly felt a chill in her chest.

Was this comfort, or was it an insult? She couldn't even discern what emotion had driven her to accept him.

"Um, ah... Should I at least take off my clothes..."

Her voice, nearly a sob, escaped amidst the relentless waves of pleasure. Edmund, exhaling, replied softly.

"I have to go out again tonight."

"But... ah..."

"Just a little longer."

Just a little longer like this. His unfinished words mingled with ragged breaths and scattered into the air. Then, as if binding her trembling body, he held her tightly and thrust into her relentlessly. Each collision with his sturdy frame sent bodily fluids slickly mixing and splattering everywhere. They drenched the lower parts, leaving milky stains on each other's skin. In that moment, Blair realized no words could stop him.

With each surge of Edmund's desperation, she sank deeper. Overwhelmed by pity and love for him, suffocated by the guilt engulfing her, she could barely breathe. Clutching his shirt, she desperately tried to hold onto her crumbling heart.

"Haah... Ahh..."

The raindrops pounding the window grew heavier, long streams of water sliding down the glass. Everything felt utterly unfamiliar. The scent of him, thickened by the dampness of the rain. The man whose face she couldn't see. The ragged breaths, the frantic thrusts, each penetration as if carving her into him—all were utterly foreign.

"Eh, Ed, wait...!"

Even as she dug her nails into the back of his neck, Edmund didn't stop. He continued crushing her, driving her beyond the edge of awareness. It was the moment his relentless, pulsing member throbbed deep inside her.

"...Ahh...!"

Unbelievably, the climax came swiftly. Fluid, clearly hers, gushed out and flowed down in waves. Unlike her mind, which knew this moment was utterly wrong, her body—thoroughly broken in by him—trembled to its fingertips, as if this unusually rough lovemaking was the most satisfying thing imaginable.

At that very moment, someone outside the door knocked, announcing their presence. It was the voice of the butler, Albert.

"Master."

Blair, who had been panting while clinging to Edmund's shoulders, looked up in surprise. The lingering traces of pleasure, thickly clinging to her entire body, had not yet faded.

"The palace has sent someone to convey their condolences. You must see them now."

The trapped heat dissipated in an instant, replaced by the cold reality that swept in with reason. Though servants were not permitted to enter the bedroom without permission, her heart raced as if their intimate affair had been exposed. Instinctively, Blair drew her legs together and held her breath.

"I'll be out shortly."

Edmund replied, still buried inside her, as he caught his breath. Only when the footsteps faded beyond the door did he withdraw his hardened member. Fluid that had been forced through the narrow opening now flowed out in a steady stream. The milky fluid pooled on one side of the round table before dripping down onto the floor.

Blair stared down at the messy trail with wide, stunned eyes. She gazed at the splattered black skirt hem, the underwear now scattered on the floor, and her own legs spread wide.

Meanwhile, Edmund, now visibly calmer, lightly kissed her cheek and stepped back. His face, having shaken off the unease that had rippled beneath the surface like waves beneath calm waters, wore an expression of perfectly restored composure. His gray eyes, devoid of any trace of the madness from moments before.

"You don't need to come."

"......"

"Rest now."

The man, having even adjusted his untucked trousers, returned to his impeccably neat and distinguished appearance. Having shed every trace of the unstable side she alone had glimpsed, he was now utterly perfect. The shell of this man, stitched together by cold order and duty, seemed utterly without flaw for a duke. Even a fool could see what position he was destined for.

Edmund picked up the jacket he’d left on the sofa and strode out of the bedroom. Though their encounter moments ago had been a decision that crossed a taboo for her, for Edmund it seemed merely part of a ritual.

It was another ritual to endure the funeral, a procedure to manage his anxiety, an attempt to control his wavering self in the face of his father's death. Not an explosion of emotion, but a sealing. So, contrary to expectation, what the two had exchanged was neither comfort nor love.

When Blair emerged from her swirling thoughts and looked up, Edmund had already left the bedroom. She couldn't even hear the sound of his receding footsteps. Left alone, Blair stared at her disheveled state and instinctively knew this moment was irreversible. She struggled not to collapse in the silence.

***

For the days the funeral proceedings lasted, mourners gathered incessantly from all corners. Since Edmund was already being treated as a duke, Blair too had to observe proper etiquette as the mistress of the house. Beneath her black veil, her face not permitted even the slightest smile, she received the many guests.

And when night fell, Edmund invariably held her.

It was an act repeated like a duty. To shake off the weight crushing him, he would seize her frail body and shake it. He would thrust into her, grinding and tearing, driving his monstrously swollen flesh deep inside her.

It would have been better if he had been driven by desire like he was at first. At least then, traces of humanity would have remained amid the boiling heat.

But after greedily holding her close, Edmund always reverted to his restrained self. Blair struggled to understand that gap. They kissed so desperately, their bodies entwined, sharing a heat strong enough to consume each other—yet why was she the only one left shattered? She couldn't comprehend it.

Even so, Blair still embraced Edmund. She wanted to stay by the man whom she had given her heart, even if it meant clinging to him like this. And she wanted to know when she might receive that love in return.

"Blair."

She lifted her head at the sudden voice. Edmund, emerging from the dressing room, was handing her his tie. The one she had given him, the one he'd worn since the first day of the funeral.

Blair smiled faintly as she took the tie and draped it around his neck. Her hands, now somewhat accustomed after several days, soon formed a neat knot.

"You've worn this tie throughout the entire funeral."

"I like it. And I promised to wear it on an important day."

Edmund added with a smile.

"And today happens to be a very important day."

Blair glanced up briefly to study his face. Then, without a word, she adjusted the tie's knot.

It was indeed today, as he had said. The day the Duke of Liberte's final will was revealed to the world.