Deceived, Yet Drawn to You - Chapter 1

Prologue

Blair straightened her clothes once more before leaving the bedroom.

She stood before the wide mirror, fastening the buttons up to her neck, and tilted the brim of her hat slightly to conceal the flush that had risen on her cheeks.

No one must know. The sinful feelings she harbored, the bright red emotions she couldn’t even name herself, must never be discovered.

Yet no matter how much shadow the wide velvet hat cast, no matter how tightly the dark green dress bound her body, it was impossible to hide the fierce pounding of her heart against her ribs.

Blair, who had been gazing at her unfamiliar reflection beyond the mirror, turned her eyes to the window. The thin curtains fluttered and scattered the sunlight. Through them drifted clear birdsong and the distinct bright noise of midday.

It was a ripened weekend afternoon. The people working here at the capital townhouse, being servants from the count’s household, hardly knew her well, and at this hour they were likely busy with household chores.

So no one would suspect.

Why the only daughter of the Count of Twyford, raised to be so proper, had spent the previous night sleepless, what decision she had made this morning, and where her steps were now leading her.

Blair carefully pushed open the bedroom door. She walked down the hallway paved with milky marble, descending the stairs at a slow pace. Unlike her throbbing chest, her manner was not hurried in the least, as graceful as always.

“Young Lady.”

The head maid, passing near the entrance hall, noticed Blair and halted. Her eyes swept over Blair’s neat attire for going out.

“Are you planning to go out?”

“Yes, since I rarely come to the capital, I thought I might attend an exhibition.”

With a smile on her lips, Blair lied with a clear, pure voice.

“Would you call Hamilton for me?”

A lie. She remembered well her father’s teaching, that lying was a sin committed by deceitful and wicked women, yet she went against it without even a blink.

Soon after, Blair left the townhouse. Passing a fountain spraying cool streams of water, she stepped into the car where the chauffeur was waiting. The engine started, and with its noise the car moved forward through the front yard, passed the iron gates, and headed toward the city.

It was an afternoon in spring with an unusually gentle sun. The breeze carried the sweet scent of lilacs. The streets of the capital Borsa, flowing past the car window, were filled with spring. Blair’s eyes, gazing outside for a while, were repeatedly colored by shifting hues.

The chauffeur glanced at the count’s daughter, who made not a sound. Even in the jolting car, Blair sat with a straight back.

Indeed, the master he served was the Count of Twyford, famed for his fastidiousness. For his only daughter, raised under such strict and conservative education, to behave so elegantly and demurely was hardly strange.

Yet to the middle-aged chauffeur, the young lady who had returned to the capital after ten years for her engagement seemed faintly excited. The brim of her hat could not quite hide her cheeks, flushed prettily like roses, and her slightly parted lips looked like those of an innocent girl.

Perhaps that was why the words that soon slipped from between Blair’s lips sounded sincere.

“It’s such fine weather for a walk.”

“…Ah, yes, indeed. The sun is warm, and the lilacs are in season. Perfect weather, Young Lady.”

When Hamilton replied in a bright tone, Blair turned her gaze from the window to him, speaking with a bit more strength in her voice.

“I am thinking of taking a walk alone before going to the museum.”

“A walk, you say?”

“Would it be difficult?”

“Not at all. It’s not a bad idea. Where shall I take you, Young Lady?”

“Then.”

Blair paused, as though lost in thought. Then, with an unwavering voice, she answered, “I want to go to Chails.”

***

The car carrying Blair raced toward Chails, the most affluent district of Borsa. Soon she informed the chauffeur she would get off near the central park. Surrounded by a sparkling river and blossoms of shade, the great park was the perfect place for a leisurely walk. Across from it, as befits a wealthy district, stood rows of splendid mansions, and Blair’s destination was none other than one of them.

Escorted naturally, she stepped out of the car and headed toward the park, then turned a corner, out of the chauffeur’s sight. The address she repeated to herself countless times the night before rose in her mind.

‘72 Fairfield Street…’

78, 76, 74…. Passing the grand multi-story buildings, each number carved on the doors made her heart beat faster. Her gloved hand felt frozen with tension.

At last, her steps halted. Instead of pressing the doorbell, Blair gripped the golden lion-shaped door knocker and rapped on the door. Calmly, she waited for a reply, eyes tracing slowly up the dark entrance.

In keeping with his private nature, the townhouse led directly inside. Instead of a garden visible from the street, it had its own secluded yard and annex, where he lived alone.

Then who would open this door to greet her? His butler? Or perhaps the head maid?

“…Ah.”

Lost in thought, Blair let out a small sigh. It was the man himself. The one who appeared between the half-open door was none other than him.

Blair lifted her head and quietly met his gaze. As always, she faced the gray eyes that looked down on her with a loosened calm. Towering above the crowd, he had always watched her with those subdued eyes.

“Miss Twyford.”

The man’s characteristically cool scent drifted faintly with his breath. Even on a weekend afternoon, with dark hair brushed back to bare his forehead, his appearance was impeccable. The gray sweater fitting his broad frame looked as neat as formal wear.

It was just as when Blair first saw him at the charity event. Though dozens of men in suits had gathered there, the only one who engraved himself deeply in her mind was Edmund Libert.

“I thought you lost your nerve and ran away.”

The low voice calling her carried an unmistakable sneer. Blair bit her lip.

“Miss Twyford turns out to be bolder than expected.”

“…I won’t pretend I wanted a welcome.”

“Come in.”

Edmund exhaled briefly and stepped back. At his invitation, Blair entered the house lightly. The heavy door shut behind her with a thud.

There was no time to take in his space. Blair simply followed him as he led the way to the parlor.

“I’m curious.”

With his back to her, he took a bottle from the cabinet and poured brandy into a glass. Blair silently watched his broad shoulders.

“What exactly do you want to do, coming all the way here?”

“……”

“How prepared are you?”

Edmund turned, drank, and met her gaze. Though he was the one who swallowed the strong liquor, it was Blair who felt her throat dry.

“I’d like to see for myself.”

At last, he cast off courtesy, his lips curling with a bitter smile. Blair met his eyes in silence. Leaning back against the cabinet, he stared straight at her, fingers stroking the curve of the glass.

She knew he was just as pressed with urgency. Yet his manner showed no hint of lack, and Blair disliked it. Knowing her heart, he still pretended not to, speaking as if to probe lightly.

The decision was already made. From the moment she left the townhouse, there was no thought of turning back. There was no need for more words. Above all, Blair wanted to shake him.

So she tore off the velvet hat she had pressed low. One by one, she slipped off her silk gloves and placed them on the nearby table. The man, staring steadily, let his gaze fall as if drawn by gravity.

To her white, slender fingers—more precisely, to the engagement ring his friend had placed there.

Blair hesitated only briefly, then removed the ring and set it on the gloves. Just the fact that her sight and her hands were freed to embrace him made her breath quicken.

She pushed back the chair and rose. Her face betrayed agitation, but her steps toward him carried not a trace of hesitation. Watching as if at an amusing show, Edmund at last erased his smile.

Blair approached him and stretched out her hands. In that instant, the man who seemed as solid as a statue seized her urgently. With a sudden grip that could never be imagined from his composed manner, he dragged her in and pressed his lips to hers.

Her pounding heart filled her chest to bursting. Was it because of the satisfaction of finally holding the man she longed for?

Or was it because, on the verge of marrying another, she now committed adultery?