Chapter 23

Alberto’s breath brushed her ear. If he tilted his head even a little, their lips would meet. She wanted to lean back, but his hand on her chin held her in place.

She knew she should say something, anything, yet nothing came to mind.

Lawrence was practically family. In his letter he’d written that the gift was simply so she could think of him in this unfamiliar place.

But Alberto’s reaction—as if Lawrence had crossed some forbidden line—made her wonder if there was some meaning she didn’t understand.

“…Hhh…”

Alberto’s hand slid higher, rough fingertips skimming the flesh of her thigh, making her skin burn. Afraid of where this might lead, she grasped his wrist.

They were husband and wife and had a duty to share a bed, but in broad daylight? Even she knew that was unusual. That her body responded to the pressure of his hand embarrassed her. Maybe, she thought, he was just angry and she was misunderstanding.

“I don’t care who you meet,” he said, cutting off whatever she’d been about to say.

“Whether you look at me and think of your first love, whether you fool around with some servant in the Roen estate, or carry on with the man who took you in—I couldn’t care less.”

His cold tone steadied her but also, oddly, stung. If it meant so little to him, why act like a jealous man? Unspoken words piled up inside her.

“But some manners are necessary.”

“…”

“Wearing another man’s necklace in my house—are you trying to provoke me?”

If that had truly been her intent she might have felt a wicked sort of triumph seeing him angry. Instead, her heart went cold.

Every word he spoke felt like a blade, forged and sharpened.

“Once rumors start to spread…”

Alberto glanced down at her hand, still gripping his wrist. The faint tremor in her fingertips almost made him laugh.

“The ones who’d be hurt are me and…”

The slight gap beneath her skirt looked like the mouth of an enormous, sinful cave. Alberto swallowed thickly.

“my child.”

“… ”

“You can walk out and leave the baby with me, but the rest of us will have to live with that filthy gossip.”

Even pressed so close, Rabiana felt an invisible line drawn between them—as if she and Alberto lived in completely separate worlds, walls rising in between.

Those walls were so solid and high she could hardly breathe through them.

‘He’s the one who keeps pushing me away.

I never once said I wanted to leave in the first place…’

It stung. To anyone overhearing, Alberto’s twisting words would make it sound as if Rabiana had run off with another man and demanded a divorce.

The corner of her mouth trembled at the pain of that sly phrasing.

She wanted to object, yet feared the answer he’d throw back. What could someone like her—unable to stand on her own, forced to take help from others—possibly say to the man who’d decided to use her?

“…I’ll be careful so no scandal starts.”

What else could she promise, except to cause him as little trouble as possible?

“Lawrence is only, h-h…!”

At that instant, Alberto’s lips closed over Rabiana’s throat.

The sharp pull of flesh radiated a searing ache through her body. Unable to finish her sentence, she trembled, hands flying to his shoulders.

“H-hhn, why, what—”

He bit down on the tender skin, and his hand slid even farther in. After leaving a dark mark on her neck, Alberto finally lifted his head.

“Responsibilities,” he rasped.

His ragged breath fell hot upon her collarbone.

“They must be met, don’t you think?”

“…”

“A child. We need one.”

Alberto unfastened his cuff links; the loud clink of his watch hitting the table echoed.

Perched on the tabletop, Rabiana was—quite literally—surrounded.

She couldn’t climb down—her toes didn’t reach the floor—and Alberto blocked her path. She didn’t even know where the table ended; if she moved back, she might fall.

“It’s daytime…”

Rabiana tried again to push away the hand gripping her leg. When he yanked her thigh close, her body was pressed even tighter to his. Alberto yanked his tie loose in irritation.

“Does day or night matter to my lady?”

Throb.

The cutting words hurt; she couldn’t answer at once.

“Were we ever affectionate enough to care about such things?” he muttered, stabbing her again.

Their marriage existed only for an heir—the words branded her heart like a fresh scar.

Rabiana couldn’t break the hand holding her jaw. Their lips met; Alberto devoured her with frightening speed.

The table beneath her back felt icy enough to raise goose-bumps, while the hand clasping her thigh burned as if it might burst. His fierce gaze bored down on her.

Rabiana bit her lip. Her other senses, keener than most because she couldn’t see, trapped her—she felt exactly where his eyes landed, heard every uneven breath louder, and the occasional shameful sounds burned her ears red.

“Uh—ngh!”

The table rattled so hard it might snap; she clutched the edge.

Relentless waves pounded her. Like that day at ten when she’d feared the rowboat might break apart, dread flooded her—what if something inside her gave way?

“J-just, h-h… slower…”

Alberto was usually gentlemanly. Even their first night, he had focused on the act itself rather than his own desire; the goal of an heir seemed crystal-clear.

But today he was different. Why was he driving her so mercilessly? Tears welled as skin met skin, stinging hot.

“Slowly…?”

Veins bulged on the forearm gripping her hips. Sweat formed on the brow of the well-trained man and dripped onto her chest.

“It is? I’m asking you.”

She gasped, the words stuck in her throat; Alberto shook her again.

“Y-yes… yes.”

Her obedient reply seemed to please him, and he paused at last.

“All right, then.”

After letting Rabiana catch her breath, Alberto stripped off his jacket. The man who always looked immaculate now had a lock of hair falling over his brow; as he brushed it back, something poked from the pocket. He pulled out a small case.

‘Your Grace, did you have a fight with the Duchess?’

A fight? Hardly. This was nothing but Alberto’s one-sided venting.

If someone asked why he was angry, he would say it was Rabiana’s lack of basic courtesy, even in a contract marriage. Yet he sensed the logic felt off. If he truly disliked it, he could simply ignore her. The fire blazing in his chest came from a source he couldn’t place.

It felt as though he had forgotten something—something he could recall if only he knew what to look for. The constant lapses had become tiresome.

“Hold still.”

Panting, Rabiana stiffened as he clasped a necklace around her throat. The cool metal made her flinch, then relax. Fingertips traced the chain; on her pale skin, the clear diamonds suited her far better than the red ruby.

“What… is this?”

Bewildered, she barely finished the question before Alberto lifted her and carried her to the bed. Seating her on his lap, he kneaded the soft flesh of her hips, finding the yielding texture deeply satisfying.

He had often thought of this feel even while working in his study.

In fact, he half-regretted giving her that Braille book; ever since, the intense, absorbed look she wore while reading distracted him from his duties, stirring an unruly urge to break her concentration.

In short, Alberto had restrained himself for quite some time.

“You seemed to like necklaces, my lady.”

In truth, he had simply grabbed whatever jewelry was within reach, thinking all women liked the same things—but his twisted heart made his tongue speak on its own.

“…That’s not true. But still, this gift is, ha, far too generous…”