Cry. Begging Is Fine, Too
“You are truly so kind, Your Grace.”
Mrs. Etman’s eyes shone with sincere admiration as she gazed upon the Dowager Duchess of the ducal house.
“How could you bestow such a great favor upon us?”
The clearer the joy that spread across her face became, the more awkward Kyle Etman grew beside her.
Matthias watched the mother and son with an intrigued gaze. He knew well that his grandmother was fond of their family physician and rather liked the man’s son as well. Dr. Etman was a capable doctor of excellent character, so it was only natural.
Kyle Etman, who seemed to take after his father, would no doubt lead much the same sort of life, barring some unforeseen upheaval. Grandmother was certain of it, and Matthias agreed.
But that was as far as it went.
There was no reason for him to take any particular interest in such an obvious and tedious fact. Now, the quite ambitious lady of the Etman house, Linda Etman—so clearly cut from different cloth than the two men of her family—might be another matter entirely.
“Might we go and greet them now?”
Perhaps fearing the Dowager Duchess might change her mind, Mrs. Etman set aside her dignity for a moment and pressed the point.
“My dear.”
Dr. Etman, who had been watching quietly, offered a gentle restraint, but she showed not the slightest inclination to yield.
Matthias shifted his gaze back to Kyle Etman.
It had been some time since Grandmother had proposed introducing the Etman family to the Arndt baronial house. No one failed to grasp the meaning hidden behind her words that the two families were well matched in standing and might do well to cultivate a friendship. Baron Arndt had a daughter the same age as Kyle Etman—a daughter for whom thoughts of marriage were beginning to be in order.
Though they held no title, the Etmans were far wealthier than the Arndts. In reputation as well, they stood in no way inferior. Should the two houses become joined by marriage, it might well be the Baron Arndt who stood to gain the greater benefit.
“Yes, Mrs. Etman. That would be excellent.”
With a gracious smile, Katarina von Herhardt summoned a servant. Receiving the order to fetch Baron Arndt and his wife, the man quickly vanished into the crowd. Kyle’s expression, as he glanced toward the terrace that led into the garden, had grown so anxious he could no longer hide it.
As if he had left something precious behind out there.
Certain of it, Matthias let a faint smile tug at the corner of his mouth.
A mother with boundless attachment and expectations for her son, and a son who did not know how to disappoint her. When he quietly set Leila Lewellin down between them, another soft snort of laughter escaped him. Just then, guided by the servant, Baron Arndt and his wife appeared. Naturally, their daughter was with them.
Kyle was not so wholly without sense that he failed to grasp the meaning of the gathering now. Even with a look that said he wanted nothing more than to bolt, the boy could not abandon his role as the good and well-mannered son.
If that was how it was to be.
Matthias left the tiresome matchmaking scene behind. His stride as he crossed the terrace and descended the steps was unhurried, without the slightest hint of haste.
The end of a good son’s puppy love was plain enough. Leila would be cast aside, and in the end she would be left here—in his forest.
By the time that clear conclusion settled in his mind, Matthias had found her. As he had expected—she would not have gone far while waiting for the boy—Leila was lingering beneath a pergola in a quiet corner of the garden.
He approached with steps that grew even slower. Wondering why she was not startled and flustered as usual, he realized she was sound asleep. Faint moonlight that had slipped through the rose vines fell upon the small figure curled there.
Matthias stopped a short distance from the bench and looked his fill. At the shoes neatly set aside, the wounded feet, the slender arms wrapped around her knees, and the face that looked even gentler in sleep.
Her long hair spilled down, framing her delicate nape and shoulders. In the moment he grew curious about the feel of those cascading golden waves, Matthias slowly bent and picked up her shoes.
That was when Leila’s eyes fluttered open.
A dream, she thought vaguely. In the meantime, Matthias had leaned his back against the pillar of the pergola opposite the bench. In one hand he held what looked like a woman’s shoe.
Even for a dream, was that not far too strange?
The sudden doubt chased away what little drowsiness remained.
“…Your Grace?”
Still unable to believe it, she called to him in a whisper. Instead of answering, Matthias took out a cigarette and placed it between his lips. The smoke that drifted from his mouth and scattered white proved that this moment could never be a dream.
About to leap up in a near faint of shock, Leila realized too late that the shoes in his hand were her own. Caught between moving and staying still, she first edged as far as she could to the end of the bench. Matthias looked down at her as if watching some amusing spectacle and slowly swung the shoe.
“Shall I give them back?”
The low voice came with a wisp of bluish cigarette smoke.
“Yes.”
“Then cry for me once, Leila.”
The words that followed were even more languid and cruel.
Hearing something she could scarcely believe, Leila sat stunned for a moment. She wished Kyle would come soon, but the path leading to the pergola remained utterly still.
“He isn’t coming.”
As if he had read her thoughts, the Duke spoke calmly.
“Kyle Etman.”
Watching Leila frown in disbelief, Matthias whispered once more.
“The one you’re waiting for.”
Matthias discarded the cigarette he had barely smoked halfway without a second thought.
By the time even the thin rising smoke had died, Leila lifted her head with a surge of feeling.
“No.”
She cast aside the wish to hide her wounded feet and rose with a decisive motion. Planting both feet firmly on the ground, she willingly faced Matthias. She still feared him, but she no longer wanted to be made a plaything.
“Kyle is a man who keeps his promises.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes.”
Leila answered with conviction.
“You seem quite sure of yourself.”
“I believe I know far better than Your Grace what sort of person Kyle is.”
Gathering every scrap of courage she possessed, Leila spoke each word with deliberate force. A sneer spread across the Duke’s lips as he looked down at her.
“Certainty is not something one should throw about so carelessly, Leila.”
With those words he took a long step toward her. Though instinctive fear made her shoulders flinch, Leila did not retreat.
“I… I truly don’t understand.”
“What?”
“Why does Your Grace hate me so much?”
Unlike her trembling voice, Leila’s gaze was clear and direct.
“Because hating you makes me feel good.”
One corner of his mouth lifted as he answered evenly.
“It’s entertaining when you cry, and pleasant when I watch you beg.”
“How can you say such things?”
“Leila, I’m simply answering your questions.”
Even with the horrified girl before him, Matthias’s face remained unmoved.
“You don’t treat anyone else this way—not a single other person.”
Tears of humiliation threatened to rise, but Leila barely held them back. Once again Matthias nodded as if readily conceding the point.
“That’s true.”
“Then why only me…?”
“Because it’s you.”
“What?”
“Because it’s Leila—no one else—nothing at all.”
His answer was calm and dry. That fact made Leila feel all the more wretched.
“I apologize, Your Grace.”
Struggling not to cry, she glared at him. She found herself almost longing for the many relatives who had cast Leila Lewellin out for one reason or another. Even her drunken uncle had never been this cruel to her.
“I am truly sorry that someone as worthless as I have dared to remain on Your Grace’s estate.”
Now not only her voice but the hands clenched into tight fists began to tremble.
“If this was how it would be, why did you not simply refuse me then?”
“Leila. Isn’t that a little too cold?”
“You are already more than cold enough.”
No matter how hard she tried to hide it, a sob inevitably colored Leila’s voice.
“Don’t tell me you mean to drive me out now?”
“No.”
The eyes that held her took on an even deeper light.
“Don’t worry about that. You’re fulfilling your purpose well enough.”
“You said I was nothing.”
“That is your purpose.”
Opening eyes he had slowly closed, Matthias erased even the last trace of a sneer from the edge of his lips. His expressionless face looked so still and cold it was hard to breathe.
“That’s enough of the apologies.”
Matthias lifted the head that had been bent deeply toward Leila and stood straight.
“The Kyle Etman you’re waiting for isn’t coming.”
The hand that pointed to the empty path brushed the hair that had fallen over Leila’s shoulder. She stumbled backward in fright, but the bench blocked her and she could not retreat even a single step.
“So, Leila…”
Releasing the golden hair he had been quietly gripping and caressing, Matthias looked at her with a gaze deeper than before.
“Cry for me.”
Even as he issued the ruthless command, Matthias remained composed.
“Begging is fine, too.”
The suggestion, added as if he were doing her a kindness, seemed laced with a faint smile.
A madman.
She had thought so for some time, but now Leila could be certain. This man was, without a doubt, mad.
Even after Matthias had returned to the mansion, Kyle Etman remained held captive by his mother. Baron Arndt and his wife, apparently rather taken with the idea of becoming kin to the Etmans, showed considerable warmth, and Mrs. Etman’s response was much the same. Kyle’s manner had grown noticeably stiff, but his mother seemed to have little interest in her son’s feelings.
Matthias withdrew his attention from the affair that had once again become obvious and dull. Mixing among the familiar faces, he resumed the role of master of Arvis, Duke of Herhardt.
Leila had cried.
Whenever he recalled that moment, a deep satisfaction filled him. Unable to master her anger, she had trembled violently and then let thick tears fall. Against her reddened lids, her wet eyes had looked even clearer. In such moments Leila Lewellin’s eyes sparkled like the jewel he had hung at her throat, and Matthias liked that.
She had cried prettily, so he had willingly returned the shoes.
When he looked back as he left the garden, Leila was still standing in the same spot, weeping. Thinking of those tears as caused by him—and therefore entirely his—made Matthias’s departing steps even lighter.
Those tears washed away the petty irritation he had felt watching her enter the mansion on Kyle Etman’s arm. And that indescribable emotion from the moment he had kissed Claudine while looking at the girl, as well.
On this night, among the things that belonged to him, Leila had been beautiful—and beautiful Leila had cried because of him.
Therefore, it was a perfect summer night.
Just as Matthias reached that satisfying conclusion, Leila unexpectedly appeared again. She stood at the edge of the passage connecting the hall and the terrace, carefully searching for someone.
“Kyle Etman.”
Matthias whispered the name low.
Leila seemed to spot him soon enough. But she could not bring herself to approach. She appeared to understand what the people surrounding Kyle Etman—especially Baron Arndt’s youngest daughter—meant.
After standing hidden behind a pillar for a long while, Leila went to a passing servant and said something. Nodding, the servant started toward Kyle Etman, whose expression had grown cold as if he had reached his limit. In the meantime, Leila left the terrace.
On impulse, Matthias approached the servant.
“Call Count Klein for me.”
At the order he gave, the servant’s eyes widened. He glanced toward Kyle Etman as if hesitating for a moment, then gave precisely the answer Matthias had expected.
“Yes, Master.”
Turning, the man hurried into the crowd to carry out the command.
Matthias went out onto the terrace and leaned against the pillar where Leila had stood only moments before. She was moving away along the walk that cut through the center of the garden. Her feet must have hurt badly; she limped, and from about halfway along the path she took off her shoes and walked barefoot.
Matthias watched her while waiting for the servant. Of course Count Klein would not come. Suffering from nervous headaches, he had shown his face only briefly early in the evening and then gone home, as always.
By the time Leila had vanished deep into the path that led to the forest, the servant from before approached.
“I am sorry, Master. I am told Lord Klein has already returned home.”
“I see.”
Matthias nodded and smiled.
“Thank you for your trouble.”
With that greeting he leisurely left the terrace.
Only then did the servant return to his earlier errand. He approached Kyle Etman and relayed something; a look of dismay crossed Kyle’s face.
At last excused, Kyle dashed out onto the terrace, but Matthias paid the matter no further mind. For someone of her small frame, Leila Lewellin walked surprisingly fast. Kyle Etman, already far too late, would never catch her.
Matthias willingly accepted the glass of champagne Liette offered him.
A beautiful midsummer night. The party was perfect.