The Marquis Claims His Bride
Suddenly, she felt a gaze. Kayla’s wide eyes met Owen’s in midair.
Shh!
He pressed a finger to his lips so only she could see, rolling his eyes dramatically left and right. Then he rolled the envelope containing her pajamas into a tight bundle and shoved it deep into the drawer before straightening his back.
Madness… He searched my room without a word!
Yet what could she do? Kayla cared nothing for her blood-stained pajamas. Her attention had already locked onto the notebooks scattered across his desk—confidential ledgers crammed with her father’s investigation records and her own buried secrets. Those, at least, she had to protect at all costs.
Heart pounding, she shot to her feet. At that exact moment—
“Did you hear me?”
The man placed something into her hand with his free fingers and offered a benevolent smile.
“From now on, you will not speak without consulting me first. You will also give your statement in my presence.”
“Who… are you?”
“Oh, it has been a while, but I am rather hurt. We were classmates, after all.”
He gestured with his eyes toward the business card now resting in Kayla’s palm.
“Carlo Morrow. Legal counsel to Marquis Niguel Seymour Dean Maderson.”
Ah…
Marquis Niguel was the sole grandson of Duke Maderson. And the man standing before her was the third son of Baron Morrow—once her fellow student at the Royal Academy.
She hesitated, wondering whether etiquette demanded a curtsy, then simply lifted confused eyes.
“Why would someone of your standing come to me…?”
“Defending the Marquis’s fiancée is only natural.”
“……What?”
“His fiancée?!”
For the first time since entering the room, Kayla and the inspector were united in pure shock.
It was impossible. Marquis Niguel already had a fiancée—the entire Hasper Empire knew Princess Theophanie Ahint Sprouse.
“The Marquis must also provide a statement. Yet not only has he refused, he has suddenly—”
“Refusal has nothing to do with it!”
Carlo’s smooth smile turned to ice as he cut the inspector off.
“Coordination. The man is extremely busy.”
After the sharp warning, Carlo restored his trustworthy smile.
“Marquis Niguel is destined to become head of the Maderson family and Grand Duke of the Desant Empire. Choose your words with the utmost care. Ah—here he comes.”
We—that is, the inspector and Kayla—found ourselves drawn toward the entrance as though magnets had been fixed to our feet.
True to Carlo’s words, Marquis Niguel was striding through the police station doors alone. The tricorn hat men prized as a mark of dignity was nowhere in sight. His thick, dark-blond hair, freed from any covering, lay perfectly combed without a single strand out of place.
Had he come straight from a morning banquet? The emerald brooch securing his milk-white satin cravat caught the sunlight pouring through the glass and glittered, creating an odd sense of dissonance. Light cascaded behind him like an aura, lending him an otherworldly air.
Simply standing there, he seemed to fill the entrance so completely that the flustered officers and constables were pushed aside.
Taste aside, even at the Academy, whenever Basil and Niguel occupied the same space, it was always the Marquis who drew every eye first. He carried the quiet dignity of a cold temperament—not because he was noble. She had seen plenty of nobles at the Royal Academy, yet he was different. There were people like that: different in grain, different in origin. When one shared a room with them, or even met their gaze, an involuntary sense of impropriety arose, forcing one to examine one’s own conduct. Such feelings accumulated until one wished to avoid the situation entirely—while still yearning to impress, to draw closer, yet lacking the courage. That was Marquis Niguel.
Perhaps that was why Basil’s popularity had flourished; he had been comfortable, gentle. Even Basil’s signature poignant smile had elicited the same ambiguous expression from her—hovering between indifference and curiosity.
Seven years.
Since the party that had upended her entire life, until this moment.
Facing that face again, her left shoulder—once pierced by claws—began to throb.
The noisy, chaotic sounds inside the station died instantly.
His head tilted slowly from right to left before stopping near Kayla. Then he strode forward—directly toward her.
The sound of his boots crossing Inspector Duncan’s special-task unit rang out sharply. With every step the taller, more powerfully built man took, his black cloak billowed. When every gaze remained fixed on him, the superintendent who had been in the office moments earlier dared to step into his path.
“It is an honor that you have come in person for such an important matter. Allow me to escort you—”
The Marquis’s steps carried him straight past the smiling man. He halted only when he stood directly before Kayla.
Too close.
Kayla, retreating, found herself pinned against the inspector and could only stand helplessly as the Marquis looked down at her.
“Your teeth are chattering.”
Even when he had spat venom through clenched teeth, the distance had been exactly this.
“Reckless and cunning. Stop loitering and disappear.”
The voice that had ground out those words still echoed vividly in her mind. Revulsion rose—then she met those blue eyes that seemed to drain the very air from her lungs, and her body trembled of its own accord.
Niguel gazed down at her and spoke.
“Finished?”
A cold, low voice one could never forget once heard. He spoke as calmly as if they had parted yesterday and met again this morning…
Even as the thought formed, her gaze drifted unconsciously toward Owen. The Marquis’s eyes narrowed fractionally.
Carlo stepped in for the distracted Kayla, holding out documents he had taken from his bag.
“Please submit all questions in writing using this form. Answers will likewise be provided in writing.”
In the midst of the unbelievable scene unfolding before her dazed eyes, Niguel plucked the crumpled bonnet from Kayla’s hand.
Hik!
A marquis placing a bonnet on her head—as though it were the most ordinary thing in the world, natural and practiced. The moment the white-gloved hand brushed her slender neck—
Ugh.
The ribbon knot was suddenly yanked tight beneath her chin. Quite deliberately. A silent command to obey without protest.
Her lifted gaze wavered for an instant. Wait—
This scent!
The sharp, familiar fragrance from her dream washed over her. She stared wide-eyed into those impassive blue eyes.
Suddenly the corner of his mouth curved upward. His gloved thumb brushed gently along her jaw—exactly where the bloodstains had been.
Her heart plummeted to her feet. The spot he had touched burned as though pricked by hot needles, yet she could not move.
Unable to speak, Kayla looked up at him with frightened eyes.
Your Excellency… was it you?
As though in answer, he narrowed his eyes at the corners, withdrew his hand, and smiled enigmatically.
The breath she had drawn in shock burst out as a violent cough.
The Marquis removed his cloak and draped it over Kayla’s trembling shoulders, then flicked his gloved fingers. At the signal, quick-witted Carlo approached Owen’s desk.
“It may be troublesome, so shall I take it?”
“Take what?”
Owen stared between the outstretched hand and its owner, dumbfounded.
“There is no way a warrant could have been issued this quickly. Correct?”
Only then did Owen glance hurriedly at Kayla—his eyes silently protesting that he had not searched her room on purpose. He had merely intended to safeguard anything they might target, in case higher orders arrived.
Carlo, standing before the reluctant Owen, swept his gaze across the room and spoke loudly enough for everyone to hear.
“If, by any chance, you are in possession of the reference person’s belongings without permission, I suggest you return them before the matter grows any larger.”
At the polite yet unmistakably threatening words, Kayla exhaled in relief.
Bang!
Her vision flashed white. As she staggered reflexively, the Marquis’s hand clamped firmly around her shoulder. In the next instant the light flashed again—bang—and went out.
The reporters who had resisted so fiercely even when driven away finally departed amid a clamor, hauling their enormous cameras and vanishing in seconds.
Only then did she realize photographs had been taken.
From that moment on, Kayla could not think at all.