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.

“Miss.”

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. Even the scenery of the capital, Borsa, drifting past beyond the car window was steeped in the feeling of spring. For a while, colors tinted Blair’s eyes as she gazed outside, appearing and fading in turn.

The driver cast a sidelong glance at the count’s daughter, who sat without making a sound. Even amid the car’s jostling, Blair maintained an impeccable posture.

Then again, the man he served was Count Twyford, notorious for his exacting nature. For an only daughter raised under the discipline of such a strict and conservative father, it was hardly strange for her to carry herself with such refinement and quiet composure.

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, miss.”

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, miss?”

“Then.”

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

***

The automobile carrying Blair sped toward Chails, the most affluent residential district in Borsa. She soon asked to be let out near the central park. Surrounded by a glittering river and the shade of flowers, the vast park was a perfect place for a leisurely walk. Across from it, befitting the wealthy district, rows of extremely luxurious townhouses stood lined up, and Blair’s destination was none other than one of them.

Stepping out of the car with a natural escort, she headed toward the park, then slipped around a corner out of the driver’s sight. The address she’d repeated to herself countless times the night before rose in her mind.

‘72 Fairfield Street….’

78, 76, 74…. Each time the numbers engraved on the doors changed as she passed the grand multi-story buildings, her heart thudded faster. Her gloved hand felt as though it was freezing stiff with tension.

At last, her steps stopped. Instead of pressing the bell, Blair grasped the golden door knocker shaped like a lion and knocked. She calmly waited for an answer, slowly lifting her gaze to take in the jet-black door.

True to a man who valued his private domain, the townhouse where he stayed connected directly to the interior. Rather than a garden visible from outside, he lived alone in a building with a secluded rear courtyard and an inner annex.

Then who would open this door and receive her? The man’s butler? Or the head maid?

“…Ah.”

Lost in thought, Blair suddenly let out a small exclamation. It was him. The person who appeared through the door that had opened without her noticing was none other than the man himself.

Blair lifted her head and quietly met his eyes. She faced the ash gray eyes that always looked down at her with lazy composure. Even among a crowd, the tall man stood out, and he always regarded her with those heavy-lidded eyes.

“Lady Twyford.”

The man’s distinctive cool scent brushed faintly against her breath. Even on a weekend afternoon, his dark hair was neatly slicked back to fully reveal his forehead, and his appearance was impeccable. The gray sweater that fit his broad frame made him look as orderly as if he were dressed in formal attire.

It was just like the first time Blair saw him at the charity event. Though dozens of men in suits had been present, only Edmund Libert had been deeply imprinted in her mind.

“I thought you’d be frightened and run away.”

A low voice laced with undisguised mockery called her name. Blair pressed her lips together.

“Lady Twyford turned out to be a surprisingly bold young lady.”

“…I won’t lie and say I was hoping for a warmer welcome.”

“Come in.”

Edmund let out a short breath and stepped back. Once permission to enter was given, Blair stepped lightly into the townhouse. Behind her, the heavy door shut with a thud.

She didn’t even have the leisure to look around his space. Blair followed the man as he led the way to the sitting room.

“I’m curious.”

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

“What you came here wanting to do?”

“….”

“How prepared you are.”

Edmund turned back, took a sip of the liquor, and met her eyes. He was the one drinking the strong brandy, yet somehow Blair was the one who felt parched.

“I want to see for myself.”

A faintly vicious smile hung at the corner of his lips as he finally dropped the polite tone. Blair met Edmund’s gaze in silence for a moment. The man, leaning his lower body diagonally against the cabinet, returned her stare directly while tracing the curve of the glass with his knuckles.

She knew his urgency was no different from her own. Even so, his attitude of seeming to have nothing to lose displeased her. Pretending not to know her feelings while merely prodding at her like this was equally distasteful.

The decision had already been made. From the moment she left the townhouse, she had no intention of turning back. No more conversation was needed. More than anything, Blair wanted to shake the man’s composure.

So she swept off the velvet hat she’d been wearing low over her head. One by one, she slipped off her silk gloves and placed them on a nearby table. The man who had been quietly watching her let his gaze fall downward as if pulled by gravity.

Toward her white, slender fingers, or more precisely, toward the engagement ring his close friend had placed on her hand.

After a brief hesitation, Blair removed the ring as well and set it atop the gloves. Just freeing her hands enough to fully take him in and wrap her arms around his solid body made her breath grow shallow.

She pushed back the chair and stood. Despite the agitation visible on her face, there wasn’t a trace of hesitation in the steps that carried her toward him. Edmund, who had been watching as if enjoying a show, finally wiped the amusement from his face.

Blair approached him and reached out with both hands. In that instant, the man who had seemed as solid as an unbreakable statue lunged forward impatiently. Hands she could never have imagined from his composed demeanor seized her roughly, pulled her close, and kissed her.

The pounding beat filled her chest until it felt tight. Was it the satisfaction of finally being held by the man she’d wanted to touch so badly?

Or was it the immorality of committing adultery while standing on the brink of marriage to another man?