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Agatha was coming out of the prayer room on the second floor, glancing around. It was as if she didn't want to be caught.
Rose frowned and leaned forward, trying to get a better look.
Agatha was standing with her hands behind her back, holding something that looked like a cleaning cloth.
Could she have actually been cleaning?
Rose watched as Agatha hurried down to the first floor with the cloth in hand, then snapped back to her senses and began climbing the stairs again.
Even after arriving in her bedroom, the strange sight she had just witnessed continued to linger in her mind.
The only things in that prayer room were the keepsakes of the previous Duke and a small casket containing some remains.
Furthermore, like the other rooms, the maids cleaned it every day.
Why on earth would she go into that room holding a cleaning cloth herself?
A woman who looked like she might faint just from dressing herself.
Could she have stepped in personally if she were extremely dissatisfied with the state of the cleaning?
Lost in these idle thoughts, Rose sat—almost lying down—on the long chair on the balcony and opened her book to review.
Though the weather had turned cold with the arrival of winter, she always made a point of coming out here with a shawl wrapped around her while the sun was still up.
She loved basking in the sunlight.
Seeing the sky gradually turning red, it seemed the sun would set soon. A pity.
“Your lessons seem to have ended earlier than expected.”
Startled by the sudden voice, Rose, who had been practically buried in her book, looked up.
Ray Crawford had arrived, still dressed in his clothes from the day.
Since he was a man who visited her bedroom several times a week these days, his arrival itself wasn't surprising, but the timing was early.
“You’ve been coming early once in a while lately.”
After a brief silence, the man sat in the chair beside her.
“How were your lessons?”
“They were fine.”
Perhaps her answer was too short, as the man stared at her with an expressionless face.
Just thinking about how much he might torment her in bed later, demanding a proper answer, sent a shiver down her spine, and her mouth opened instinctively.
“He said I’m learning better than expected, so he won't have to come for lessons as often.”
“That is indeed good news.”
As Ray said this, he looked truly satisfied. Even Marcel, the teacher, hadn't seemed that happy.
“What if I learn so quickly that I actually make my debut? People will say so much again.”
At her joking remark, the look of satisfaction vanished from the man's face as if it had been a lie.
As if he had never considered that possibility, Ray simply looked at her in silence.
“I wonder. What should we do then?”
He murmured quietly.
Flustered by his serious reaction, Rose reflexively wrapped her arms around herself.
“Come here.”
Watching her, Ray said something abrupt. He was already sitting in the chair right next to her.
“Where?”
Without a word, he pointed to his thigh.
“Your leg isn't a chair... I'm fine.”
“You look cold.”
“It's not because I'm cold... No, but will I be less cold if I sit on you?”
Ray gave a short laugh and tilted his head.
“Who knows. I might make you forget the cold.”
Rose narrowed her eyes at his words, which were heavily laced with ulterior motives.
“I'm tired today, so just listen to me.”
Now that he mentioned it, his face did look exceptionally fatigued today.
However, while having relations in the bedroom was one thing, sitting on top of him felt far too embarrassing. At least the former had a purpose.
Moreover, the sky hadn't completely darkened yet.
As Ray watched Rose continue to hesitate out of embarrassment, his smile faded.
“Rose.”
Rose's eyes widened in surprise at the unfamiliar way he called her.
It was a name he had never once uttered, even in bed.
The name, spoken in his voice, sounded infinitely awkward, yet infinitely warm.
“Come here.”
At the gentle command, Rose hesitated before finally rising from her chair.
As she awkwardly sat on his thigh, he pulled her head down to lean against his chest. It was as if she were being embraced.
As she always felt, his body was large and firm. Though his only exercise was the occasional game of rugby or polo, his physique was lean and without a single shred of excess fat.
As he took off his outer coat and draped it over her, warmth flooded in.
Why is he acting so sweet?
Rose wondered with a troubled heart.
As if he actually liked her.
“You didn't even change your clothes... Isn't it uncomfortable?”
Rose asked, peeking her head out. It felt as though his crisp shirt would be completely wrinkled because she was leaning on him.
“I wonder.”
His low voice flowed out like a sigh.
“It's not uncomfortable at all.”
With those words, the man took out a cigarette and put it in his mouth, looking truly relaxed.
Rose watched in silence as Ray held her with one arm and lit the cigarette with a lighter in the other.
Perhaps...
He might actually like her. No, at the very least, it was clear he no longer disliked her. Though she didn't know why.
Did he like her body, or the sex?
“I'm probably right.”
The man murmured along with a puff of smoke.
“You're less cold now.”
The look in his eyes was as certain as ever.
“...It's about the same.”
“As if.”
He let out a short laugh, as if her stubborn reply was absurd.
Taking another drag of the cigarette, the man exhaled the smoke and passed it to her lips.
Rose inhaled deeply from his cigarette and then breathed out. She felt a strange illusion that the fatigue in her body was melting away.
“You said it was boorish to hand over a cigarette you've already bitten.”
The man put the cigarette back into his own mouth as if it were nothing.
“Well, it's ridiculous to pretend to be a gentleman at this point.”
He gave a self-deprecating smile.
“Considering I've spent days lunging at you to strip you naked.”
Lightly flicking the ash, the man brought the tip of the cigarette back to her lips.
“Actually, right now, I want to put something else in your mouth.”
He uttered the filthy words in an incredibly plain tone.
His attitude was no different from talking about the weather; looking at his expression alone, one would never imagine he had said such a thing.
However, as if to prove those words, the presence felt against his thigh was gradually growing.
It wouldn't have been strange if he had dragged her to the bed right then and there, yet he continued to simply hold her.
“...Are you okay?”
Unable to ignore the presence, Rose forgot to scold him and instead asked about his well-being.
“Well, I'm used to it.”
How could anyone be used to this state unless there was something wrong with their body?
It was a bizarre answer, but the man's face remained composed.
“Is the reason you married me because of my wrists?”
He asked, crushing the cigarette out in the ashtray.
At the unexpected question, Rose glanced at Ray.
To think that a man who likely never viewed her as someone in a position to choose to marry him would ask such a question.
“My mother also wished for me to marry in her will.”
Rose answered quietly, leaning her face back against his chest.
“Why did you give up on composing?”
“Every publishing house rejected me.”
Strangely, she didn't feel particularly ashamed to confess this. Perhaps it was because, as he had said, she had already shown him too many shameful sides of herself.
“Actually, investing in me might be a waste of your money.”
Rose spoke while listening to the beating of Ray's heart.
“I'm telling you honestly because I'm a person with a conscience.”
She could feel through their touching bodies that he was laughing. A slight vibration ran through his firm chest, and a low chuckle tickled her ear.
“If even one piece had been published, you wouldn't have married me.”
Ray murmured as if talking to himself.
Would that have been the case?
If she had possessed even one such shred of confidence, could she have ignored her mother's dying wish and lived her own life?
Rose thought about it, but she wasn't very sure. Her mother had looked so desperate just before she died.
Ray remained silent for a long time, his expression serious as if deep in thought. Perhaps because of that expression, he looked more tired than usual.
“Were you very tired today?”
Ray's eyes, which seemed to have been lost in thought, looked down at Rose.
“Who said something stupid to make you ask that?”
“...I never said that.”
“You hate stupid talk the most.”
“Is there anyone in the world who doesn't?”
Ignoring the man's incredulous tone, Rose pushed herself up to sit upright.
“Can I try to guess? Avery?”
“If that's the answer, it's too easy,” Ray replied indifferently.
“His Majesty the King?”
At the sudden start of this guessing game, a look of absurdity appeared on Ray's face, which had seemed uninterested.
He looked as if he were condemning her for daring to think the King could say something stupid.
“...You are far too arrogant and insolent.”
“What does it matter? Like you said, I'm a Boltonian. Go ahead and snitch if you want.”
Rose, who was no longer affected by such criticism, continued in a nonchalant tone.
“And yet you insulted His Majesty, saying he pays attention to unnecessary things.”
“That wasn't an insult; it was concern and loyalty.”
“If not His Majesty, then who... The others are too insignificant for you to care about.”
“...You talk as if you know everything about me.”
“The Prime Minister?”
Rose read a slight change in Ray's expression at the mention of the Prime Minister. Perhaps because they had spent so much time together, his expressions were now quite easy to read.
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