Champagne and Subtle Promises
Meibel suddenly grew chatty as she drank the second glass of champagne. Carlisle chuckled dryly, offering only half-hearted replies to her bubbly stream.
From the way she was acting, it seemed she would pass out drunk before the bottle was even half gone.
“You should be careful too, Lord Baron. The guidebook mentioned police reports about specialist con artists frequenting passenger ships. In fact, Uncle lost a large sum gambling on a steamship bound for London last May.”
“Indeed.”
“Yes, Aunt scolded Uncle constantly about it the entire time we were traveling.”
“How dreadful.”
Carlisle refilled her glass once more.
Meibel’s cheeks flushed as she smiled shyly.
“Merci, Monsieur.”
Carlisle barely held back the laughter rising in his throat. Her pronunciation truly did not sound like French at all.
“Me-hsi.”
He corrected her gently.
Meibel looked up at him with serious eyes and repeated parrot-fashion.
“Me-ur-hsi.”
“Meh-shi.”
“Merr-err-hsi.”
Carlisle clenched his teeth and covered his mouth with his fist, turning his head to hide the laugh and cough it back. She clapped her hands lightly in delight.
“Oh! I almost forgot. Shoes must never be left outside the door. The bootblack provides a complimentary service, but we are not responsible for any loss. What kind of irresponsible service is that?”
Carlisle suppressed the twitch in his lips and answered gravely.
“...I will remember.”
“Also… the ship has a branch of the Louvre department store. You can buy postcards and souvenirs there. I’d love to send some to Arabella, Louise, and the Darlington family.”
“A splendid idea.”
Seizing the moment she paused to think, Carlisle poured the rest of the champagne into her glass.
Meibel opened her mouth as if to speak again, then closed it.
Although the guidebook had clearly moved her, why was she hesitating now? He wondered what other topic she intended to raise.
After a long moment of hesitation, she lowered her gaze to the edge of the table.
“...Baron, do you know there is a cinema aboard the ship?”
“Yes. I did not.”
Carlisle lied calmly. Having crossed the Atlantic on this very vessel five or six times a year, he knew every facility and service by heart.
“So… would you… watch a movie… together with me…?”
Meibel licked her dry lips, watching him carefully.
Carlisle leaned back against the chair with a perfectly neutral expression.
“If you are not too busy… but of course you will be.”
Her voice faded away.
He answered without hesitation.
“I am busy.”
It was no lie. Although bootlegging still brought in the largest profits, he was steadily increasing the share of legitimate trade that had only recently begun to take shape.
In Paris he would negotiate exclusive distribution rights with several clients. In Épernay, near the Champagne estate, he planned to purchase two wineries devastated by the war. A few days’ rest at the villa in Southern France would be possible, but since it was his first visit since 1903, the state of the war-ravaged villa remained unknown. If extensive repairs were needed, he would have no choice but to become busy again.
There was no time to idly dote on his young wife. It was better for her to learn early on that he could not be relied upon.
Meibel bit her lip and lowered her head. Her shoulders visibly slumped.
“Oh… I thought you would.”
“The movie, then, together with the evening’s entertainment…”
Seeing her so dejected, Carlisle felt as though he had kicked a rain-soaked puppy.
“I will make time for one day.”
Meibel’s head snapped up in surprise, her face instantly flooding with crimson as she nodded vigorously.
Having spoken so boldly, a wave of disappointment washed over her. Her throat suddenly parched, she reached for the untouched champagne glass and drank deeply.
She was aware that she had been unusually generous to Meibel. A mere year and a half, yet legally his wife, and… owing a debt to Iris.
Carlisle rationalized the situation with a convenient excuse.
Meibel, face flushed with champagne, stumbled out of the Grand Dining Salon the moment they left. Carlisle caught her by both shoulders.
“Are you all right?”
Meibel barely lifted her head, blinking slowly. Her purple eyes, glazed and unfocused, regarded him like a stranger.
“...Hm?”
She answered a beat too late.
“Can you walk?”
“Yes… yes…”
Carlisle let out a short laugh.
“You speak well enough, at least.”
But the instant he released her shoulders, Meibel’s steps tangled. She collapsed straight into his arms, unconscious.
The plan had succeeded perfectly.
Carlisle carried Meibel back to the suite and laid her on the stateroom bed. He turned to leave, then paused. Head bowed, he exhaled a long sigh.
He returned, removed her shoes, and tugged the hem of her dress down to her ankles. The smooth silhouette of her leg and the garter clip securing her stocking were revealed.
With rough hands, he drew the skirt lower. Then he sat on the edge of the bed, wrapped an arm around her shoulders, and raised her upper body slightly to remove the dress and bolero jacket. The delicate embroidery covering both front and back looked rather uncomfortable.
“Hoo… that’s scary, Baron…”
While slipping one sleeve off, Meibel murmured in a sniffling voice.
Carlisle froze, holding her half in his arms. She hiccuped once, then buried her head against his chest.
Her breaths came in regular rhythm—clearly sleep-talking.
What did she dream I did?
Feeling the position uncomfortable, Meibel wriggled closer, burrowing into him.
In the dim, narrow stateroom, the warm, soft scent of her body mingled with the perfume of freshly cut lilies-of-the-valley. Her heated skin clung to his chest.
Her unfamiliar warmth sent goosebumps racing along his arms. His heart, which had been beating steadily, skipped a beat.
He swallowed the curse he had nearly spoken.
Carlisle lifted Meibel off his chest and removed the other sleeve. He lowered her onto the bed, then stood abruptly.
A sharp tension—unlike anything he had felt even with a gun to his head—hit him like a wave, stealing his breath. He swept his hair back with a hand that trembled slightly. A thin sheen of sweat already glistened on his forehead.
Without looking back, he left her stateroom and wandered the reception area.
“Damn it.”
Guilt was replaced by a deeper sense of sin that tightened around his throat.
Every event of his life up to now had tightly controlled his desires and instincts. Countless women had tried to seduce him, yet none had succeeded.
He had never felt sexual arousal at the sight of a naked woman, nor had he ever been aroused. Instead, he had grown cold.
He was not without desire. It was simply that he indulged in such base urges alone. The thought of projecting them onto someone else made him nauseous.
So I must ignore it.
Carlisle took a deep breath and exhaled. His gaze fell on the cigar case and lighter resting on the console table.
He removed a cigar, stepped onto the veranda, and sank into the wicker chair. The cold night breeze cooled the heat radiating from his body.
He placed the thick cigar between his lips and lit it with the trench lighter. The lighter, fashioned by combining two rifle cartridges, remained flame even in high wind. It had been a gift from Isaac, his former orderly, in exchange for saving his life.
The scent of oil and metal brushed his nose and drifted out over the sea. The rumble of the ship’s turbines drowned out the waves. The low moon cast a dull, milky light across the pitch-black water, faintly outlining the horizon.
Amid the drifting haze of cigar smoke, Carlisle’s consciousness drifted to a time twenty years earlier, wandering the Atlantic.
By now, the memory should have faded.
He remembered his mother, eyes wide with excitement, gazing endlessly at the sea from the deck of a steamship ferrying between France and New York.
She had suddenly noticed someone beside her, glanced sideways at him, and afterward never stopped sighing deeply.
The endless ocean seemed ready to swallow her whole in a single breath. She seemed to wish it so.
Carlisle had stayed by his mother’s side, choking on the fear of losing her for even a moment.