Chapter 8 (Part 3)

“What family are you talking about, Madame?”  

His long fingers softly brushed the back of her hand, slipping between hers. The strange sensation of his fingers moving back and forth like waves left her mouth dry.  

For the family, for appearances.  

These were phrases the Duke usually said to her.  

Why was she now repeating them?  

“Are you finally admitting that you’re one of mine? That you belong to the Richard family?”  

The Duke tenderly caressed the signet ring on her finger.  

Therese felt unsettled by the heat in his voice and tried to deflect.  

“Your Grace, your fever seems to have worsened.”  

A high fever could harm his health, but she was afraid for another reason.  

She recalled the night he had tried to devour her lips instead of taking fever medicine.  

“How peculiar.”  

The Duke’s slow words carried a faint blush around his eyes.  

Therese, avoiding his gaze, desperately raised her voice.  

“Your Grace, I don’t understand what’s so peculiar. We’re in a marriage of convenience, and until we divorce, we should simply avoid doing anything that would disgrace our families.”  

“I used to think the same—until someone more important than the family came along.”  

The Duke’s whispered words carried the subtle heat of the night.  

Someone more important than the family.  

Hearing those words, Therese’s mind went blank.  

‘Does the Duke value me more than the Richard family?’  

With him speaking in such riddles, she thought it wise to leave the room immediately.  

“I’ll go get the medicine.”  

“The medicine is already here, isn’t it?”  

The painkillers Therese had taken out earlier were lying on the bed.  

Unable to come up with another excuse, she simply opened and closed her mouth while the Duke held her hand.  

“I truly care for you.”  

“…”  

It was something she never thought she’d hear from him, not even in her wildest dreams.  

So much so that she couldn’t even think of pulling her hand away and simply blinked at him.  

“From the day I saved you, my world has revolved around you.”  

The Duke’s words immediately brought to mind their first meeting.  

The image of Jeremy Richard removing his helmet was forever etched into Therese’s memory.  

“Your Grace, you’re feverish and emotionally confused due to your facial recognition disorder.”  

His claim that he could only recognize her face wasn’t a lie.  

He couldn’t even recognize Maria’s maid or Baroness Ferdian, who were practically extensions of her.  

But that was merely a condition, not something tied to affection.  

Just because he could see her didn’t mean he loved her.  

And seeing only her might lead him to mistakenly think he loved her.  

“Is it really just confusion?”

Jeremy’s lips curled upward as he watched Therese fiercely argue back.  

From the beginning, he had no expectation that she would accept him.  

After all, he was nothing but a sinner to her.  

‘But I won’t hesitate to express these feelings.’  

He knew too well how painful and futile it was to whisper unspoken confessions into the void.  

So, even if it meant being a little despicable, he was determined not to let go of the hand he held now.  

“If that’s how you feel, then abandon me and leave.”  

“Your Grace, this isn’t about abandoning you…”  

“I’d rather suffer from this fever than endure your indifference.”  

When he coughed, Therese’s face turned pale.  

“Please, just take the medicine. You have a reason to recover quickly, don’t you?”  

Soon, he would need to participate in the hunting competition hosted by the Emperor.  

If anyone discovered that Duke Richard was unwell, it wouldn’t just be inconvenient—it could spell disaster.  

“I’ll take it if you stay by my side tonight.”  

“…”  

Therese’s mouth fell open in disbelief at what was essentially blackmail.  

She had suspected it since nursing him back at Roshan’s house, but the Duke was far more childish than she had imagined.  

‘Why is he so obsessed with me?’  

Yet, the Duke’s recovery wasn’t just a personal matter. Therese couldn’t afford to act solely on her own desires either.  

Since they were still married, the Duke’s predicament directly affected her father and herself.  

“Take it. I’ll stay here.”  

At her words, the pained expression on the Duke’s face vanished completely.  

If she hadn’t seen the wound on his shoulder herself, she might have thought he was faking it.  

Lowering his lashes pitifully, the Duke murmured,  

“Feed it to me.”  

“…Ha.” 

It seemed the night would be a long one.  

***

Roshan, after bidding Therese goodbye, hurried to a shabby warehouse near the wall.  

Though technically owned by the guild, the space was rarely used.  

“Captain, you’re here.”  

Late at night, Victor, who had been waiting, bowed his head to Roshan.  

“You’ve done well.”  

As he passed by, Roshan offered a brief compliment, to which Victor responded a beat later.  

“I only did as you instructed.”  

During Roshan’s brief absence from the Caspian Empire, Victor had overseen matters here.  

It was also thanks to Victor that Roshan had been able to rescue Therese on the day they confronted Count Pablo.  

“Good. Has he spoken yet?”  

“Well, he is a noble, after all.”  

“…Hmm.”  

Roshan had secretly reported Count Pablo’s crimes to the knight order.  

Yet, despite clear evidence and circumstances proving his guilt, Count Pablo faced no restraint or punishment.  

This left Roshan with no choice but to take matters into his own hands.  

“I’ll handle it. Make sure the area is secure.”  

“Understood.”  

The interior of the building appeared ordinary at first glance.  

There were storage areas for flour and pepper, as well as old, unused furniture piled up haphazardly from the guild office.  

Walking further in, Roshan came to a dead-end wall.  

Reaching into a recessed part of the wall, he extended his hand deep inside.  

A mechanical sound came from beneath the floor where he stood.  

Moments later, the floor connected to the wall rotated, revealing a hidden space behind it.  

Inside the neatly organized room, a fireplace burned brightly, and one wall was lined with books.  

Taking a book from the shelf, Roshan sat by the fireplace.  

On the table in front of the sofa were drinks and light snacks.  

As Roshan smiled faintly at Victor’s preparedness, a voice cried out, trembling and angry.  

“You scoundrels! Do you even know who I am?!”  

In stark contrast to the tidy surroundings, a man was chained to one wall.  

Roshan paid him no mind, opening the book instead.  

His mind was cluttered, and he needed a brief moment of peace.  

But not even five minutes passed before his tranquility was shattered.  

“You filthy Pasa bastard!”  

The rough voice, filled with hostility, spat at him.  

It was clear the man harbored hatred for Roshan as someone from Pasa.  

Long ago, the Pasa Empire invaded this land.  

Both Caspian and Pasa had shed much blood.  

Even Therese’s nanny, Sophia, had been wary of him because of it.  

The invasion had undoubtedly been a mistake.  

But weighing the gravity of spilled blood was meaningless.  

The blood of both Pasa and Caspian was equally precious and hot.  

“For a noble, your tongue is rather crude.”  

Closing the book with a snap, Roshan stood.  

Sweat dripped down Geoffrey Pablo’s plump face as he watched Roshan approach.  

The slow, deliberate steps made it seem as though devilish wings were fluttering behind Roshan.  

When his ominous red eyes locked onto him, Pablo felt a fear unlike anything he had ever known.  

Still, he clung to the hope that someone stronger stood behind him.  

‘His Majesty the Emperor will surely save me.’  

Lifting his chin defiantly, his vision suddenly went white.  

The sharp sound of a slap echoed, and Pablo clutched his stinging cheek, his eyes wide in disbelief.  

“You dare strike me?!”  

Glaring at Roshan, clad in black gloves, Geoffrey screamed.  

“Wouldn’t it be more appropriate for someone with a conscience to lower their head?”  

Victor had rescued dozens of innocent citizens held in the underground hideout of Count Pablo’s retreat.  

They were ordinary young people—on their way home or responding to job postings, attending interviews.  

The man before them was the key suspect in countless disappearance cases.  

“What wrong have I done?!”  

Geoffrey’s swollen face showed not a hint of remorse.  

“It’s good you’re not pretending to repent.”  

Roshan, caressing the shamshir in his hand, smiled in satisfaction.  

(T/N: The Shamshir is a type of Persian/Iranian sword with a radical curve.)

He had wanted to deal with this man ever since hearing how he had nearly harmed Therese.  

But he had refrained because Therese was keeping an eye on him.  

Now, however, he could finally deliver proper punishment.