Please Kiss Me
Kyle led Leila out onto the terrace that opened toward the rose garden. As the noisy, glittering atmosphere of the party thinned behind them, Leila finally let out a long breath of relief.
"Thank you, Kyle. Really—truly—thank you."
Leaning against the marble railing, she smoothed a hand over her chest as she spoke. She had expected him to smile, but for some reason Kyle’s face was set hard.
"Kyle?"
"Why are you putting up with it?"
"Hm?"
"They’re treating you like a spectacle, hauling you around for everyone to stare at—why do you just stand there and take it? The proud, clever Leila Lewellin."
"So what if they are?"
Unlike Kyle, who was uncharacteristically angry, Leila only smiled, mild and unbothered.
"None of it’s untrue, is it? I’m an orphan. I owe everything to Bill. And I’m going to be a teacher."
"I know you, and still I don’t understand you."
"People are multifaceted by nature, Mr. Etman."
"Always so quick with the nonsense."
At her teasing reply Kyle finally huffed a laugh.
"Go on back, Kyle. I’m perfectly fine, truly."
"Go where?"
"You have so many people you ought to be meeting here. Friends, too."
"Forget it."
As if the whole business bored him, Kyle waved a dismissive hand and came to lean against the railing beside her.
"Don’t be like that…"
"Leila. I came here tonight as your partner."
He turned his head slowly. Even in the dark his brown eyes shone with a warm light.
"So I’ll stay by your side."
A smile spread gently across his lips and the corners of his eyes.
"Because that’s where I want to be."
A breeze drifted up from the garden, carrying the sweet scent of roses. Leila, who had been about to say something more, pressed her lips tightly together and absently traced the railing with her fingers.
"Why so quiet?"
Kyle prompted her softly. Still staring down at the pointed tips of her shoes, Leila lifted her gaze, a little awkward now.
"…I don’t know."
"Getting shy in front of me all of a sudden?"
"That’s not it."
"Your face looks red, though."
"It is not!"
Flustered, Leila raised both hands and pressed them to her cheeks.
"Got you."
Seeing him snicker, she lost her strength entirely and broke into a laugh of her own. That was the moment Mrs. Etman, who had been searching the hall for her son, spotted the two of them on the terrace.
"Kyle. What on earth are you doing out here?"
She sighed heavily as she approached.
Leila straightened at once and bowed her head in greeting. Mrs. Etman acknowledged it with the briefest of glances before turning her full attention back to her son.
"There are a great many people waiting to see you."
"Waiting for Father, more likely."
Kyle smiled lightly, but Mrs. Etman’s eyes only grew sterner.
"Kyle Etman. Do you find your mother’s words amusing?"
"Mother, you know that isn’t what I meant."
"Come. The Dowager Duchess is looking for you. You surely don’t intend to keep her waiting?"
Her manner made it clear that further argument would not be tolerated.
"Go on, Kyle."
Leila, who had been holding her breath, spoke carefully.
She knew perfectly well how proud and pleased Mrs. Etman was that the Dowager Duchess of the ducal house favored the family doctor’s only son.
"I’ll wait right here."
To set Kyle’s mind at ease she added a bright smile.
"Thank you, Leila."
Only then did Mrs. Etman smile at her. Those brown eyes were so like Kyle’s, yet whenever they rested on Leila they always held a coolness. Leila knew that, too.
Kyle moved off reluctantly, his steps heavy. Each time he glanced back, Leila gave him a small wave.
"Wait for me!"
His face creased as he called out.
"You have to wait, Leila!"
She wanted to answer readily, but she could not bring herself to open her mouth. All she could manage was to smile and wave more firmly still.
Once Kyle and Mrs. Etman had gone, the terrace grew quiet again. Music and laughter drifted out from the hall, mingling with the beautiful lights to create a leisurely air. Without her glasses the lights blurred and softened, which only made the scene feel more dreamlike and lovely.
Leila Lewellin’s part was finished now.
Relieved, she let out a childlike little sound of wonder. With space to breathe at last, she finally noticed her own unfamiliar appearance.
She shifted her feet carefully; the ribbon at her waist and the hem of the dress trembled. Mischief seized her. Rising onto her toes and sinking down again, she watched the full skirts billow and settle like waves.
The white dress embroidered with gold thread was as beautiful as this dreamlike night. The fabric felt so soft against her skin that for the first little while her whole body had seemed to tingle.
And the necklace.
The shy smile faded from Leila’s face as she gently touched the pendant at her throat.
Why had the young lady of Brandt said such a thing?
Perhaps it, too, had been only a refined form of contempt and pity—but Leila did not care. Bill’s gift was dazzlingly beautiful. No matter what anyone said, that was how it looked to her, and that alone was enough.
When she raised her head again, smiling, a tall man stepped out onto the terrace. For a fleeting instant her face lit with joy—Kyle?—then froze solid.
It was the Duke of Herhardt. The young lady of Brandt was with him.
"The night air is so clear, isn’t it?"
Claudine drew a deep breath and smiled brightly as she spoke. Her manner was so artless one might almost believe she had truly brought Matthias out here for the breeze alone.
"I love summer for the beauty of its nights. What about you, Duke Herhardt?"
Resting a light hand on the marble railing, Claudine beamed. Her gaze left Matthias’s face and settled on her true purpose for coming here—Leila Lewellin, standing at the far end of the terrace.
"I am not particularly fond of summer, my lady."
Matthias halted beside Claudine. His eyes, which had been resting on the rose-filled garden, brushed briefly over Leila’s face. She looked thoroughly startled and uneasy at the appearance of these unwelcome guests.
"Is that so? I had always thought the Duke liked summer."
Claudine now stood with her back to Leila, looking up at Matthias.
"Come to think of it, Duke Herhardt, you seem remarkably unmoved by things. Of course you know I don’t mean that as a reproach?"
Hands clasped behind her, she stepped still closer. The distance between them had narrowed until their breaths nearly touched.
"In truth I like that very indifference of yours. The refined way you never let yourself be swayed by every little joy or sorrow—it is so aristocratic, so elegant."
"I am glad it meets with your approval, my lady."
Matthias did not retreat; he faced her squarely.
"Please kiss me."
Staring straight at him, Claudine made the bold demand. Matthias regarded her in silence.
"I may like the unmoved Duke Herhardt, but don’t you think we still need at least a minimum of passion between us?"
She tilted her head, and her thickly curled brown hair bounced with elastic life.
"If we are to become engaged, marry, and spend our whole lives together, that is."
"A minimum of passion…"
Matthias narrowed his eyes for a moment, then gave a slight nod of acknowledgment.
"A reasonable point."
Without any hesitation or delay he cupped Claudine’s cheek. A flicker of surprise crossed her face, but she closed her eyes with natural ease.
While he gazed at the shadow of her long lashes, Matthias’s eyes, almost without his noticing, drifted toward the far end of the terrace. Leila, who had been fretting and shifting in place, looked up at him at the same moment.
Still holding her gaze, Matthias slowly lowered his mouth to Claudine’s lips.
The spectator Claudine had wanted—Leila Lewellin—played her part faithfully. Rigid, frozen, she stared at them in a daze. Neither the distance nor the darkness could hide the deep flush that had risen to the girl’s cheeks.
Throughout that thoroughly restrained kiss, Matthias’s eyes never left Leila. Those green eyes, fixed on him as if paralyzed and helpless, looked as innocent as they had on that moon-bright night.
Only when Leila finally averted her gaze did the two of them end their plain, unadorned kiss. As Claudine slowly opened her eyes and a peculiar little smile touched the corner of her mouth, Leila fled down the steps that led into the garden.
"Shall we go?"
Matthias offered his hand with formal courtesy. Claudine took it as though nothing at all had happened.
"I feel certain, Duke Herhardt."
Just as they were stepping back into the hall, Claudine spoke with a smile.
"Certain that we shall make quite a good couple."
Leila ran down the stairs in a wild scramble. She knew perfectly well they would not follow her, yet her feet only quickened.
The sound of her heels striking the path shattered the quiet of the night garden. Only when she reached the great fountain at the center did she finally stop. While she stood gasping for breath, the pain in her feet—forgotten in the frenzy of flight—came flooding back.
"Ah…"
She eased one shoe off and winced, a soft cry escaping her. The new high-heeled shoes had left scrapes and raw places all over her feet. On her heels the skin had torn away and blood was seeping. She wanted nothing more than to run all the way to the cabin, but in the end she turned around.
She had promised Kyle she would wait. At the very least she ought to leave word that she was going. Yet she could not bring herself to return to that brilliantly lit mansion, that strange and uncomfortable world.
After a moment’s hesitation Leila limped along the path that branched to the right of the walkway—the place where the rose-covered pergola stood. She would wait in the garden first, she decided, and only go back to the house when Kyle returned.
But was she even allowed to sit?
Leila stared at the bench, wrestling with the question. She had helped Bill prune and tend these climbing roses with such care, yet she had never once lingered beneath them. It was a place not permitted to the servants.
Tonight, though, she was a guest of Arvis. Surely that made it all right?
Only after thinking and thinking again did she finally allow herself to sit, very carefully, at the very end of the bench. Taking off her shoes required still greater courage and still more time.
Leila leaned her back against the armrest and wrapped both arms around her knees. When her throbbing feet touched the cool marble the pain eased a little. How cruel pretty shoes could be to one’s feet. She could not even imagine forcing those shoes back on.
If only she hadn’t run, she might have saved her heels.
Gently touching the worst of the raw places with her fingertips, Leila suddenly shuddered at a memory that rose unbidden.
The man who had kissed his fiancée while staring straight at her—the Duke of Herhardt. The thought alone made her face twist. Claudine, who had accepted that kiss so calmly even though she knew another person was watching, was no less incomprehensible.
"Why would they do that?"
Muttering to herself, Leila unconsciously rubbed at her own lips.
"…How indecent."
This time she scrubbed harder, using the back of her hand, even the inside of her mouth—as if she could erase the memory and the sensation of that moon-bright night when she had stood frozen, staring at that man.