He Desires That Woman
In his gaze, Leila trembled helplessly.
Even when she pretended to be bold, she was actually quite timid.
Recalling the way Leila Lewellin had always been since childhood, Matthias strode forward. When he stopped about a step away, her eyes fell on his hand—more precisely, on the glasses he was holding.
"I'm... sorry."
Leila barely managed to open her lips. Her eyes looked thoroughly angry, yet the apology remained polite.
"I never imagined Your Grace would be here. I'm truly sorry..."
"If I weren't, would it be fine for you to come in as you please?"
Matthias tilted his head and regarded her. Every time she blinked those large eyes, the shadows of her lashes fluttered over her reddened lids. Her face looked as if she might cry, yet her gaze stayed upright.
"Like this... like a thief?"
He laced a slight sneer into his low voice. Leila's cheeks flushed vividly even in the dark.
"I only wanted to reclaim what was mine."
"Ah. This?"
When he held up the glasses, her cheeks burned even hotter. Looking closely, the corners of her eyes and the rims of her ears were red as well.
"Yes."
For all that, her answer was rather bold.
"My glasses that Your Grace hid."
Even so, she was trembling.
Matthias gripped the glasses again and walked toward the window—the same one from which he had once thrown Leila's hat into the river.
"Ah, no!"
Leila, who had been watching blankly, went pale and rushed after him.
"Give them back! Please!"
The shawl draped over her shoulders slipped to the floorboards. Realizing it too late, she hurriedly raised both arms to cover the deep neckline of her nightgown.
"Isn't it a little absurd that you, who have thoroughly seen every inch of my body, are making such a fuss over mere sleepwear?"
Matthias smirked as he looked down at her, now flushed all the way to her nape.
"...That was an unavoidable situation!"
Leila shook her head in horror.
"It wasn't what I wanted—I had no choice either..."
"Did I want it?"
"What? Ah... I'm sorry. I didn't mean it that way."
She scrambled to pick up the shawl and cover her shoulders and chest. Her half-dazed expression was so amusing that Matthias chuckled low in his throat.
"Why the sudden pretense of being a lady? You said yourself you weren't one."
"...Whatever I may be, Your Grace is a gentleman."
Her refusal to yield was polite yet provocative. Matthias laughed once more.
"Is that so?"
When the laughter faded, his voice dropped lower still.
"You never know, Leila. I might not be a gentleman either."
"Ah, no!"
Having tightly knotted the ends of the shawl, Leila cried out in haste.
"Your Grace is a gentleman!"
"Is that so?"
"Yes! The finest gentleman in all of Carlsbard!"
"Quite a generous assessment."
"Everyone who knows Your Grace would think so."
"Is your opinion different?"
"...No."
Yes!
Crushing down the truth she wanted to shout, Leila shook her head vigorously.
"That can't be."
Leila Lewellin had sold her soul for those glasses tonight.
"So please, Your Grace, give them back."
She was so upset and wronged that tears threatened to spill, yet she pleaded once more.
"They are truly precious and important to me."
Enduring the humiliation, she even bowed her head.
She felt as though she could kick every pebble in this forest, but Leila knew exactly how disadvantageous her position was.
If he chose, the Duke of Herhardt could brand her a thief without the slightest effort. He could hurl the glasses into the river beyond the window. Everything so easy for him would be fatal to her.
So she had to endure.
Just as Leila renewed that resolve, Matthias caught the glasses he had tossed into the air and stepped closer. When the final step closed between them, the distance was near enough that each could feel the other's warmth.
Startled, Leila lifted her face. The eyes looking down at her were deep and still—exactly like deep water. Like the cold, deep river that had swallowed her on that scorching afternoon when all this misfortune began.
As she blanked at the thought, her vision suddenly sharpened. Only then did she realize Matthias had settled the glasses onto her face. The hand gently cupping her cheek was hot and soft as sun-warmed sand.
He was clear, while everything else blurred.
Flustered, she tried to look away, but he strengthened the hand against her cheek and forcibly drew her gaze back.
Why...
She wanted to ask, yet an unfamiliar, frightening sensation overwhelmed her. That was the moment his hand touched her lips.
The slowly moving fingertips came to rest between her softly parted lips. His exhaled breath tickled her forehead—hot and soft, just like the touch of his hand.
Meeting her eyes all the while, Matthias traced the wet, tender flesh inside her lower lip. The tip of his nail entered deep enough to graze her teeth, withdrew, and entered again. Having forgotten even how to flee, Leila could only endure that gaze and that touch, utterly defenseless.
Just as the incomprehensible act made her want to burst into tears, Matthias slowly closed his eyes. Strength tightened and then eased in the hand gripping her chin.
When that hand finally released her face, Leila staggered backward. The pain of having been unable to breathe properly while he held her rushed in all at once.
She trembled finely and panted for air. In that interval Matthias opened his eyes. Those detached blue eyes filled her with shame and fear.
After regarding her for a long while, the Duke of Herhardt commanded quietly,
"Go."
Afterward, Leila could scarcely remember the time it took to leave the boathouse.
She had offered a greeting, turned, and simply walked and walked, yet every memory remained hazy. Only when she became aware of the cool wind, the cries of insects, and her own shadow walking beneath the moonlight did she find herself already standing at the end of the forest path.
Still dazed, she headed toward the cabin. As always, without venting her frustration on pebbles and branches or running as if in flight, she simply walked. Those slower-than-usual steps carried no weight at all, like a ghost's.
At the pump in the corner of the yard she drew water and washed her face. Lips she rubbed and rubbed again without thinking swelled red. She scrubbed until the skin stung, yet that strange sensation would not fade.
When she quietly returned to her room, her face, shawl, and the front of her nightgown were soaked with cold water. Without even thinking to dry them, she sat blankly on the edge of the bed.
She did not know what anything meant, but of one thing she was certain.
She never wanted to face him again.
With a light flick of his fingers, the canary that had been sitting quietly in its cage flew over.
Matthias, leaning languidly against the windowsill, extended his hand. The canary perched on his finger as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Because the feathers of its clipped wings had grown out, the bird could fly a little farther. He would have to trim them again, yet it no longer seemed necessary to cut them as short as before.
Listening to the canary's song, he looked down outside the window. The gardener Bill Remmer was hard at work. The figure of Leila Lewellin, who had so often helped him, had not been seen for several days—not since the night she came for the glasses. That was when she had begun desperately avoiding him.
After returning the canary to its cage, Matthias put on the red jacket of his hunting attire.
He desired that woman.
Matthias now understood the true nature of this emotion with perfect clarity.
That woman—Leila—he desired her.
There was no longer any reason to deny it. Leila Lewellin had grown into a beautiful woman, more than enough to stir a man. Yet he also knew that desires of this kind lingered only briefly before vanishing.
Was there any need to leave a stain upon his life merely to satisfy something so fleeting?
That night, with Leila before his eyes, he had thought and thought. And he had reached his conclusion.
No.
Leila Lewellin was not a being of sufficient worth for that, and the desire she inspired remained within the range he could control.
Then there was no need.
With that calm verdict he had released her. But for her to flee very far—well.
"All preparations for the hunt are complete, Master."
Hessen approached quietly and reported. Nodding, Matthias accepted the gun he offered and left the bedroom.
"Is something wrong?"
Kyle, who had been staring at her, asked in a somewhat worried tone. Leila, carefully pasting petals of well-dried wildflowers into her notebook, calmly raised her eyes to meet his.
"No."
Her voice, answering without hesitation, was as clear as ever.
"Does it look that way?"
When she asked back, she slightly furrowed the corners of her eyes and lowered her voice to a near whisper. Whenever Leila wore that expression and spoke in that voice, the skin around Kyle's cheeks somehow grew warm.
"You've been cooped up at home so much lately. It's strange."
As if erasing any sign of fluster, he shrugged casually.
After blinking slowly a few times, Leila regained her usual expression—soft lips that seemed to carry a faint smile even when closed, and eyes that sparkled with keen intelligence.
"Now that I've found my glasses I ought to be out and about more diligently, yet somehow it's the opposite."
Kyle rested his chin in his hand and watched her. She smiled blandly and carefully recorded the place of discovery and the flower's characteristics beneath the pressed petals.
In a few days she would take that notebook to the library and comb through plant encyclopedias. Wanting to see the smile she would wear the moment she finally learned the flower's name, Kyle decided he would go with her. Leila was a girl who wanted to know the names of every bird and flower in the world. He liked that quirky side of her.
After lightly pressing with blotting paper so the ink would not smear, she carefully closed the notebook. The recovered glasses sparkled on her small face.
"Want to go for a walk? As far as the riverside with that tree you like."
"No."
Leila answered before the sentence was even finished.
"You used to come and go every day—why suddenly cut off your visits? Why? Did you see something scary in the forest again?"
"It's not that. And I can't go into the forest today anyway."
"Why? Ah—is it the Duke's hunting day?"
She nodded as she pushed the notebook to the far end of the table. Before long the noisy clatter of hoofbeats began to sound.
"Wow. Amazing."
Kyle dashed to the window and admired the view. The Duke of Herhardt's party was passing along the path beside the cabin and entering the forest. Beaters and hunting dogs led the way, followed by five young men on horseback.
Beside Kyle, Leila carefully peered outside. The Duke of Herhardt was riding a glossy dark-brown horse today as well. The red jacket of his hunting attire and the gleaming shotgun stamped themselves upon her vision.
"Of course, Leila, I don't hunt. I never will in my life."
Kyle, still admiring, abruptly changed his expression. At that very moment the Duke of Herhardt turned his head toward the cabin. Even though she was already hiding behind the curtain, Leila startled and stepped back from the window.
For the past ten days she had done everything in her power to avoid him. She never went near the riverside, of course, and never set foot in the forest either. She felt sorry for Uncle Bill, yet she could no longer help with the gardening as diligently as before. She worked hard whenever the Duke was away and fled the garden the instant he returned.
She intended to endure the inconvenience until summer ended. When autumn came he would become engaged and leave for the capital, and Arvis would grow peaceful once more.
"Is your heart not feeling well? Want to stay at my house?"
Kyle studied her complexion and asked with concern.
"No, Kyle. I'm fine."
She shook her head slightly and returned to her seat at the table.
"It'll be over by evening anyway."
Just as she casually opened a book, a gunshot rang out. The barking of hunting dogs and the thunder of galloping horses followed.
With bloodless fingers that clenched into a fist and then opened, Leila turned a page she had not properly read.
It seemed she would have to go into the forest this evening after all. There would be many poor birds that needed burying.