The Most Perfect Stranger (2)

Siena froze where she stood.

Having pushed the chair back toward her, he took half a step away and folded his hands behind his back.

For a moment, she thought of the state she was in.

Her skirt was still hiked up to her knees. And that man was staring right at it.

"……"

Unable to hide her embarrassment, she let a dissatisfied gaze travel slowly up and down him.

Why is he here of all places?

The encounter had been so abrupt that it hardly felt real.

Her first impression, absurdly, was that he seemed taller. The eye level was higher than when they'd crossed paths by chance last year, wasn't it?

But for someone who had announced, out of nowhere, a visit to a social club in the middle of the night, he was far too neatly put together. And why that expression, of all things?

As she silently studied him, Siena made a show of peeling off both of her stockings, wriggling her toes as she did.

"What brings you all the way out here?"

The moment the words left her mouth, reality crashed back in.

She had just spoken to him with far too much ease, for two people who were now openly hostile to one another.

She caught herself at once, but Claude's face showed not a flicker of disturbance.

"Do social gatherings require a purpose?"

At his unshakable composure, Siena forced herself to sound casual as she continued.

"You would, wouldn't you? You're not the type to set foot in a place like this unless you had business here."

In response to her glib reply, he gave a small nod and stepped one pace closer.

"You speak as though you come here often."

Siena found him strangely off today. Odd, in a word. There was something discordant about him.

He had taken only a single step, and yet she felt as though Claude Marcel had closed an enormous distance between them.

But Siena, chalking it up to the enclosed space, shrugged off every one of those warning signs.

"Hardly. It's my first time."

"Mine as well."

Again he answered as though this were how they always conversed. It was a curious thing.

They weren't exactly the sort of pair who could banter about running into each other somewhere like this, were they? The days of their closeness were long gone.

The relationship between Siena Vice — the Emperor's granddaughter who had once come and gone from the Imperial Palace as if it were her own home — and Claude Marcel, her one and only playmate, had ended long ago.

Precisely speaking, it ended eight years ago, the moment the two elder sons of the Marcel Duchy — its twin pillars — died at sea and the third son became heir to House Marcel.

That was the exact point when Siena, too, moved her residence to the Victe Estate, severing their ties for good. Now they were all but strangers to each other.

They brushed past one another occasionally — in the parliamentary hall, along the palace corridors, at banquets — but had they ever once stood face to face and exchanged words?

Siena, searching her memory, lowered her skirt, straightened her back, and met his gaze.

Unfortunately, in the past eight years, it had never happened. Not once.

And now, here they were, at the dead of dawn, talking beside the emergency exit at the back of a social club?

Claude Marcel, presently the most celebrated name in high society — and Siena Vice, its most notorious liability?

Everyone will be wild to catch a whiff of scandal. How dare she speak so familiarly to the Young Duke of Marcel, of all people.

A short laugh escaped her at the thought.

The stark contrast of it nearly left her speechless.

There was a time when she had been beloved by every subject of the Empire, while he, as the third son of House Marcel, had spent his life proving his loyalty over and over.

Who could have guessed the world would turn so thoroughly in a mere ten years?

It had all begun the day her mother — once an imperial princess — dreamed of usurping the throne.

Everyone kept it hushed, but wasn't it a fact beyond all excuse?

Ever since, the Count's family had been trapped in a position where they had to prove, endlessly, that they stood apart from her mother.

That was why she had held her ground tonight, smiling until the corners of her mouth threatened to cramp.

From the day her mother committed her crime, Siena had not been able to rest for a single day.

Truly — not even one.

Smothering the uncomfortable feeling, she slipped her shoes back on — and even then, he remained exactly where he had been.

Wondering why on earth he wasn't leaving, she stole a glance at his face, but he only stared back at her with an unreadable expression.

Whatever. Who cares. If he came here on business, he'll do his business and go.

Let him do as he pleased. Siena crammed both stockings into her adorable little handbag and brushed off her seat.

"Thanks for the chair. Well then, excuse me — I'll be off."

"You're leaving already?"

At his unhurried question, her retreating steps stopped short.

It was truly strange. In the past eight years, Claude Marcel had never once asked her a question like that.

"…Am I not?"

This unfamiliar Claude left a question mark hanging on the end of her words. Even though the sight must have seemed rather odd, he simply nodded and answered.

"I see. You must be busy."

Besides, she had long since dropped all formalities with him, yet he continued speaking to her with perfect courtesy.

Ah, this is strange. It's unnerving.

What is wrong with him?

Her lips twitched as she hesitated once, twice — and finally, Siena assembled a cheerful tone and asked him directly.

"Claude, do you have some other business with me?"

At her question, he lowered his gaze and drew half a step nearer again. The distance between them shrank further still.

Siena flinched back without meaning to, gritting her teeth.

This is genuinely unsettling. Why is he acting like this?

"How about calling it a night?"

"What? Why would I?"

Siena dismissed his suggestion on the spot. But Claude was not deterred by that brusque refusal either, and spoke again.

"There is an imperial event early tomorrow morning, is there not? And the person required to attend appears to be staying out far too late."

"I'm not the only one going to that event. Aren't you in the same boat?"

"Which is why I intend to escort you home."

…Why?

Suspicion and confusion churned together across her face.

Why would you escort me home? What is that even supposed to mean?

Normally, a suggestion to leave such a place together carried a sexual implication. Even if a man who wouldn't set foot in a club like this could possibly know that — it still left a bad taste in her mouth.

Siena, dumbfounded, stared at him blankly — then took one large step back and tilted her head.

A rigid mask settled in a single layer over the face she had, at some point, let soften.

"You must have had too much to drink, Young Duke Marcel. My apologies for the misunderstanding."

"Count Lumos is not a man worth keeping company with."

Siena, who had already turned to go, stopped in her tracks and looked back at him.

He had walked briskly back to where she'd been standing, and now stood beneath the light.

"Especially as a business partner."

At his words, Siena's brow furrowed. Even if he belonged to the Inspection Bureau, there was no way he could already know the membership of tonight's gathering, let alone the details of Count Lumos's investment scheme.

Could he have come here because of this?

No. Surely not. The Emperor would never send the Young Duke on an errand like this. A man of his standing, descending to the scene in person?

Siena's suspicion lingered a moment, then drifted away.

"…It may be unfamiliar to you, Young Duke, but Count Lumos holds a respectable position in the field of new enterprise. The people I met tonight are all prospective investors as well."

"Neither the venue nor the hour seem appropriate for discussing business. It would be far more sensible to put your foundations in order before gathering your investors."

At that blunt reply, Siena raised an eyebrow slightly.

Just then, from the far end of the corridor, came the sound of servants approaching, chattering among themselves.

Claude, turning his head behind him to follow her gaze, moved as if to bring the conversation to a close.

"…I'll keep your advice in mind."

She couldn't tell whether she had truly landed on his watch list, but this meeting — and this conversation — had been anything but pleasant.

Siena flashed him a bright smile.

"Do enjoy the rest of your evening."

It meant: it was lovely to see you, and let's never meet again.

Was a run of bad luck ever this long?

Fine — dragging herself home in the early morning, touching up her appearance, and heading straight back out was one thing. It wasn't as if this sort of thing happened only once or twice.

But the people who treated her as a thorn in their side, bundling themselves together like a matched set and wrapping themselves up so beautifully — didn't that seem a bit excessive?

Siena's gaze slid down from the head of the table, seat by seat, before coming to rest on Claude Marcel, seated directly across from her.

Who on earth seated that man there?