If You're Going to Sell Yourself, Sell It to Me - Chapter 92

Georgiana, suddenly held in his arms, blinked in shock, frozen like a statue.

What exactly was happening to her?

Her mind went completely blank, as if wiped clean like a sheet of white paper.

His eyes, cloudier than she had ever seen them, lowered as he nuzzled his face into her hair—just like Becky would.

“Have you come into my dreams again? You look much better than before.”

He mumbled words she could barely understand, as if talking in his sleep.

For a moment, she wondered if he had mistaken her for someone else, and a thorny unease pricked at her chest.

“Locke…”

Georgiana parted her lips to say his name but quickly clamped them shut.

It wasn’t even his real name.

So instead of calling him, she simply pursed her lips and smacked his forearm with the flat of her palm.

But then—

“Georgiana… If hitting me helps ease your resentment, then hit me as much as you want.”

His words were so absurd that she dropped her hand in sheer disbelief.

He was definitely asleep, but what kind of dream was he having to say something like that?

What had happened to him in the time they had been apart to make him like this?

She tried several times to wriggle free, but the more she struggled, the tighter Lockwood’s arms wrapped around her, trapping her completely.

Even so, she had no intention of shouting to wake him up. His face, completely relaxed in slumber, looked utterly exhausted.

His journey here must have been grueling.

Georgiana, gazing at him with slightly misty eyes, quickly averted her gaze—though no matter where she looked, she was still within his embrace.

‘What am I doing worrying about him? Have I already forgotten how much suffering he caused me?’

The humiliation on the ship, the terror of being hunted—she must never forget those moments.

Georgiana bit down on her lip.

Deciding that it would be best to wait for him to fall into a deeper sleep before making another escape attempt, she stilled her movements. As if in approval, he absentmindedly stroked her head.

Refusing to react, she glared at his chest, which rose and fell steadily. Unlike her, still tense and alert, he seemed entirely at ease, his breathing growing deeper.

Watching him like this, she soon found herself becoming drowsy as well.

Now that she thought about it, she had been working late nights lately.

With tension running high and warmth surrounding her, sleep fell upon her like heavy rain.

***

After arriving at the mansion with Henry, Locke was guided to a different room instead of the one he usually used next to Angela’s.

He briefly considered asking if the butler had forgotten his usual lodging or if the room hadn’t been cleaned, but since he wouldn’t be staying long, he let it go.

Leaving Henry to unpack, Locke grabbed the dollhouse with his free hand—the opposite of the one supporting his crutch—and walked straight to Angela’s room.

He wanted to at least see her sleeping face.

A quiet knock on the door made the maid watching over Angela peek out. Her eyes widened upon seeing him. He gestured for silence, and she stepped aside.

A year and a half had not passed in vain. Angela looked a little more mature, shedding some of her childlike roundness.

Yet, she was still so small and adorable.

As Locke gazed at her for a long time, an unsettling feeling gnawed at him—like he had missed something important.

He couldn’t pinpoint it, but his gut told him it had to do with Georgiana.

Had he really seen a ghost in the garden? Or had it been a hallucination?

She had been wearing white—the color spirits were said to favor—so it seemed more likely that she had been an apparition. He had never been one to believe in ghosts, but if he hadn’t fallen asleep on his feet, then he had no choice but to conclude that what he saw was real.

The ghostly figure of Georgiana had seemed surprised to see him, yet she had looked more at peace than ever before. There had been no sign of the burns that always marred her face in his dreams.

Recalling the old image of her, his chest grew even heavier.

Had he wanted to see her so badly that she was now appearing before him while he was fully awake?

Locke let out a long sigh and rose to his feet.

Even so, he couldn’t shake the thought of returning to the garden. Ghost or not, he wanted to see her again.

Just as his hand reached for the doorknob—

Scratch, scratch.

A sound came from another door.

Not the one he was about to open.

Which meant there was only one other possibility.

And there was only one creature in the mansion that could make such a sound.

It seemed Becky had rushed off somewhere as soon as she entered the house and was now inside that room. Since she often roamed between Angela’s room and Locke when he was there, it was undoubtedly her.

As he approached, she let out a small cry.

Thinking it was just an empty room, Locke pushed the door open without hesitation.

Becky, who had been scratching at the door with her front paws, rubbed her tail against his leg.

But he had no time to pay attention to Becky.

The moment he caught the scent wafting from the open room, he froze in place as if nailed to the spot.

If his memory was correct, this scent undoubtedly belonged to her.

It seemed everything around him today was conspiring to remind him of Georgiana.

He was drawn forward, intoxicated by the familiar fragrance enveloping him.

The deeper he stepped into the room, the stronger the scent became.

It wasn’t overpowering—just the delicate floral fragrance unique to her, lingering at the tip of his nose.

His eyes turned red, and his nose stung slightly.

The notion that men shouldn’t cry no longer applied to him. Back in the battlefield’s chaos, alone in his tent, tears had come whenever they pleased.

And now was no different. Just catching her scent blurred his vision.

There was no one to ask why her fragrance lingered here, so he simply followed it to the strongest source—the bed.

The moment his head touched the soft pillow, it truly felt as if Georgiana were there beside him.

Perhaps returning to what was once his second home had loosened his defenses, triggering these emotions.

Whatever the reason, for the first time in months, he felt at ease. Even the terrible headaches that had plagued him were completely absent.

It seemed her scent alone was enough to heal him.

The sleep that had evaded him for so long finally swept over him like a tidal wave.

Locke quickly sank into slumber.

How much time had passed?

A small sound of footsteps approached, making the scent in the room even stronger. It felt as if a ghost were drawing near.

Too exhausted to open his eyes, he wasn’t afraid. Instead, he entertained an absurd thought—if this was a dream, then perhaps he could finally catch the ghost.

So he deliberately kept his breathing steady, waiting for the ghost to lower its guard.

One, two, three.

The moment the breath drew near, he captured the ghost and pulled it into his embrace.

It was strange that he could actually hold it, but in his deep sleep, he had no room for logical thought.

Whether or not it was truly Georgiana’s ghost, the body nestled against him smelled exactly like her.

He even lowered his head and rubbed his face against it.

As the ghost squirmed, he tightened his grip, momentarily forgetting all his misery. When it hit him, he simply offered his arm, telling it to strike him more.

It truly felt as if he had returned to the days on the ship, when he had lived alongside Georgiana.

For the first time in a long while, a faint smile graced his lips as he fell deeper into sleep.

Wishing this moment would last forever.

***

As the pale light of dawn tickled her face, Georgiana’s eyes snapped open.

Her entire body ached as if she had come down with a fever, but the moment she awoke, she realized the true cause.

Locke’s arms and legs were draped over her body.

Even though he had lost weight, there was still a significant difference in their builds.

With his body pressing down on hers as if to trap her, she realized it wasn’t the light that had woken her—it was the suffocating weight.

Looking toward the increasingly bright window, she bit her lip nervously. If he woke up now, it would be disastrous.

No, calling it disastrous would be an understatement—it would be catastrophic.

As frustration built inside her, she knew she had to escape before he woke up.

Fortunately, perhaps disturbed by her shifting movements, he loosened his grip just slightly.

Not missing the opportunity, she slipped away with movements more cautious than Becky’s.

Fearing Locke would wake at any moment, Georgiana rushed to the farthest guest room and locked the door behind her.

Even after a long time passed, her heart refused to settle.