She knew Reina and Astaire were childhood friends. But Astaire had never once brought up stories from the past to her.

Suddenly, Reina spoke to her. “My lady?”

The title was “my lady,” distinct from the Grand Duchess.

Daphne, who hadn’t expected to be addressed, silently set down her teacup and turned to Reina.

“Yes?”

“Does Astaire still paint these days?”

She only narrowed her brow silently at the puzzling question.

Watching Daphne like that, Reina pulled up the corners of her mouth knowingly.

“Ah, you don’t know yet, my lady. Astaire’s hobby was art. At one point, he even seriously considered becoming a professional painter.”

“…I don’t think I’ve seen him paint.”

Despite being married to him, Daphne knew very little about Astaire as a person.

They ate together once a week, so she knew what alcohol he enjoyed drinking, what foods he liked and disliked. But she had no idea how he spent his leisure time.

In a way, it made sense. They’d had a professional relationship from the start until now.

In her memories, the man always showed her his back.

So his hobby was painting.

It felt strange to learn this now, long after their marriage, through Reina.

“I often set up an easel next to Astaire… Oh, I just had a good idea.”

Reina’s eyes sparkled for a moment.

“I’d like to paint a portrait of the Grand Duchess, if that’s alright?”

“A portrait? I’d be delighted to receive anything.”

“What about you, my lady?”

“What?”

Daphne couldn’t understand why she needed to be involved in Reina painting the Grand Duchess’s portrait.

“I heard you even served as student council president at the Imperial Academy. I’m also an Academy graduate, but to become student council president, you need to excel in academics, art, musical instruments, and sports.”

“Yes. But…?”

“I’m sure you must be quite skilled at painting too, my lady. I’m curious about your ability! How about showing us your skills for the Grand Duchess’s sake?”

It was a proposal that required no thought.

“Forget it, there’s no point in asking someone who’s already refused.”

The Grand Duchess drew the line first.

The meaning was clear: “I have no interest in how well you paint, and never will.”

Shortly after, a servant returned with art supplies.

An easel, canvas, paints, palette, water container.

Daphne wanted to leave. It would be nice if the two of them just enjoyed their time together, but while the Grand Duchess constantly ignored Daphne deliberately, she wouldn’t allow Daphne to leave first.

The three of them now moved to the sunny garden.

“Hmm, should I just sit like this?”

“Yes. That’s perfect, Grand Duchess!”

The Grand Duchess smiled shyly while seated in the wooden chair.

Despite appearances, the Grand Duchess had been through thick and thin since the previous duke died in an accident, until she successfully passed the dukedom to her son.

Daphne stood awkwardly beside Reina, watching her fill the canvas.

In truth, nothing was registering in her mind.

That’s when it happened.

“Eek!”

“Oh my, what should we do!”

A maid carrying fruit and tea on a tray stumbled and fell. With a crash, the palette and water container spilled everywhere.

The problem was that Daphne happened to be standing right there.

Her dress became covered in paints of all colors. Especially concentrated on her upper body around the collarbone and chest, the oil paints stuck to her bare skin.

“You should go wash up quickly! It’s not good if paint touches your skin…”

Reina spoke in an extremely bland tone. Compared to when she’d asked about illness, her face showed no concern whatsoever.

The Grand Duchess chimed in from the side.

“Yes, hurry and go change! You look pathetic, soaked like a drowned rat!”

Daphne left the garden and entered the mansion interior.

The moment the garden door closed, she heard cackling laughter from behind.

This actually worked out well.

They surely thought they’d driven Daphne away, but Daphne herself didn’t feel that way.

The paint stains all over her upper body felt damp and unpleasant.

Paint containing heavy metals couldn’t be good for the skin. First, she planned to go upstairs and change clothes.

Just as she was about to step on the stairs to go up, a familiar silhouette flickered across the corridor.

She quietly stopped walking.

Because that person was Astaire.

The Duke, discovering his disheveled wife, unusually widened his eyes before returning to his usual cold expression.

He closed the distance between them in just a few steps.

“What is this…”

Daphne ignored his persistent gaze. She climbed the stairs, but felt a presence behind her.

Somehow, heat rose to her eyes. She couldn’t define what this emotion was even to herself.

She felt miserable. Afraid. Scared.

Honestly, she didn’t want to show him her ugly appearance.

As she climbed the stairs through her watery vision, her foot slipped. Instead of the stairs, the ceiling and lights swam before her eyes.

“Ah!”

She was in the middle of the steep staircase.

Yet Daphne was safe.

She felt relieved despite herself at the firm comfort supporting her back.

“Be careful.”

Warm breath touched above her earlobe.

Against her will, Daphne’s face grew hot.

She deliberately twisted her body, wanting to escape his embrace. But Astaire showed no intention of letting her go.

Suddenly, both of Daphne’s feet left the stairs completely. Her vision flipped dramatically up and down.

In the blink of a surprised eye, she saw Astaire’s face right before her nose.

Daphne held her breath for a moment.

Astaire, firmly supporting her back and thighs, strode up the stairs.

“…Wh-what is this? Please put me down.”

No matter what the flustered Daphne said, he stubbornly continued walking.

“I can do it myself.”

Ignoring those words too, the man didn’t even have time to reach the bedroom and headed to his study with urgent steps.

Click, the study door closed. Now only the two of them remained in the room.

The Duke set Daphne down and immediately said,

“Take it off. Quickly.”

Daphne flinched and looked at Astaire.

Even though she knew what he meant.

Astaire also seemed to realize how his words must have sounded and hesitated.

“…Because it’s bad if that touches your skin. Unless you want hives that leave scars, or to get poisoned from it seeping into your skin, take it off quickly.”

Making an explanation he rarely gave, his words came out rapidly.

“Yes, I know.”

“What do you know.”

His handsome brow furrowed at her composed response. Astaire ran his hand through his hair in frustration and sighed.

“I’ll take it off if you leave.”

“Can you even take it off alone?”

She finally had to admit it.

That it would be impossible to remove by herself.

Her dressing room was filled only with outfits that required a servant’s help to put on and take off.

This time too, there was nothing she could do on her own. Not that this was particularly surprising.

“Could you call a maid to help me instead?”

Daphne spoke in as casual a voice as possible.

“Do we really need to go that far?”

Astaire dismissed it without a moment’s hesitation.

“We’re married anyway.”

Could they really call themselves a typical married couple right now?

But Daphne had no energy to question further. She just found this atmosphere extremely uncomfortable.

She wished time would just pass quickly.

“Turn around.”

Astaire’s voice fell decisively.

Strangely, a subtle silence began to flow through the room.

Daphne turned around, seemingly entranced by his command.

“…”

She stared intently at the pattern densely carved into the study wallpaper, and when that wasn’t enough, gently lowered her head.

Compared to her chaotic upper body, her shoes were surprisingly clean.

She was staring down, amazed that not a single drop of paint had splattered, when suddenly a dark shadow overlapped above her feet.

The man’s familiar scent also reached her nose.

“Then excuse me.”

His voice sounded closer than before. It was a polite voice, unbelievably so compared to the moment he’d mentioned being married.

Standing this close, they could probably even hear each other’s breathing.

Daphne quietly held her breath.

For some reason, she heard no sound. Not her own, not his.

Ziiip.

The sound of a zipper being pulled cut through the air.

Slowly from the top of her back downward, a cool sensation slipped between the dress fabric and her skin.

Naturally, her spine tensed. Her toes curled inside her shoes, and all her nerves stood on end toward her exposed back.

Daphne squeezed her eyes shut and bit her lip hard. Blocking her vision only made her sense of touch more sensitive to external stimuli.

Swoosh.

The sleeves wrapping her shoulders and arms also slid down soundlessly.

Thud.

The dress she’d been wearing fell completely to the floor. Now she stood with her back turned, wearing only a chemise so thin it was nearly transparent.

Swish, swoosh. She heard the sound of fabric being moved. Looking down, she saw Astaire moving the fallen dress to one corner.

“That’s it now…”

Daphne, exhaling a sigh drawn up from her core, stopped short.

Finding it strange that the harsh oil paint smell still lingered in her nose, she looked down again. She saw the chemise, damp with paint.

“…Wait, not yet.”

This wasn’t the end. Her head spun.

Daphne reached behind her back to untie the chemise strings herself. Her hand wandered in the air for a moment, searching for the few thin strings.

And mocking that small, cute struggle, another hand intervened and yanked the strings.

Daphne clutched at the thin fabric falling away helplessly, then let it go, knowing it was useless. Because of that, paint marks stamped below her elbows like seals.

Not wanting even that to be caught by Astaire, she carefully pulled her paint-stained arm inward.

“Is that all now?”

At his question, she almost turned around in her n*ked state.

His gaze was persistent. But she knew best that there was no s*xual intent in that gaze.

“…I’ll be right back.”

She heard footsteps, and the door opened and closed.

Only then did Daphne carefully turn around. With each breath she’d been holding, her delicate chest rose and fell repeatedly.

It felt strange to be completely alone in a space that was entirely his.

It was odd to enter his study, which she’d always visited for work, for a different reason, and even stranger to stand there n*ked.

Most of all, the harsh paint smell had now faded considerably, buried in Astaire’s scent.

Instead of the harsh smell that mirrored reality, his dreamlike, comforting fragrance washed over her.

There was no way to block this.

It wasn’t just the fragrance. Traces of the man scattered throughout the study also caught her eye one by one.