It was late, so Bella hurried to prepare the Duke’s bed.

As his chamber was cleaned daily, even without a personal maid in attendance, there was little for her to do.

‘He hasn’t fallen asleep on the sofa, has he?’

After smoothing the sheets until they were completely wrinkle-free, giving them one last brisk shake and standing up straight, Bella cautiously glanced towards where the duke was sitting.

She had wondered if he might have grown tired of waiting and fallen asleep while she was delayed.

However, contrary to her expectations, he was reviewing documents.

They said the Duke of Fraser was a workaholic.

Those must have been the faint sounds she had heard while arranging the bedding.

‘He seemed to have had quite a bit to drink before I arrived.’

Yet he could still read those fine, densely printed lines with ease.

Bella stole a quiet glance at his profile as he focused on the documents in front of him.

The first time she had seen him, they had been standing too far apart. The second time, she had been too flustered to look properly.

Now, seeing him up close, she understood why rumors spoke so highly of his looks.

He had a high, straight nose. He had a sharply defined jaw. His skin was as pale as his bright blonde hair. Perhaps because it was late, a few strands of hair that he usually swept back had fallen loose and were resting on his eyelids.

No matter how hard she tried to look away, her gaze kept drifting back to him.

‘Pull yourself together.’

Bella shook her head lightly.

To steal glances at a nobleman’s face—how improper.

It was all because of what he had said to her.

‘It’s only a name.’

She told herself that it was just a convenient way for him to address her. Yet she could not forget how he had pondered her name while she was arranging his bedding.

When she had previously said that she had no name, people had merely nodded and moved on.

“Just live as you are. What use does a maid have for a name?”

It was something that Miss Amelia had once said to her when she had stubbornly declared that she wanted to find her real name, refusing to accept the one the other maids had given her.

After that, no one ever tried to name her again.

She had grown used to living without one.

This was the first time.

The first time anyone had asked if it bothered her to have no name.

That was all.

Only because it was the first time.

“If you have something to say, say it. Don’t keep casting suspicious glances at me as though you’re about to steal something.”

At that moment, a low, steady voice broke the silence.

His eyes never left the documents in his hands.

The comment was so perfectly timed that it seemed to pierce straight through her wandering thoughts, causing Bella’s shoulders to jerk in surprise.

Did the duke have eyes in the back of his head?

Fearing that her unspoken thoughts had somehow been laid bare, she quickly turned her head away, feeling flustered.

“No, Your Grace. I was only about to inform you that I’ve finished arranging the bedding. If there is anything else you require before I leave, I will prepare it.”

“Leave? Where to?”

“To… my room.”

“Why?”

“Pardon?”

Startled by the abrupt question, Bella blinked.

A brief, awkward silence fell between them.

‘Why?’

It was late. She had finished her tasks. Naturally, she intended to return to her quarters. Yet saying so outright felt discourteous somehow.

She remembered the young lady’s warning: “Do not earn His Grace’s displeasure.”

She carefully chose her words.

“There is no designated space for maids within the guest chambers.”

“Ah.”

Logan glanced around.

Usually, when a personal maid was assigned, there would be an adjoining room next to the bedchamber where she would stay. But this room had no such arrangement.

Tap.

He placed the documents lightly on the desk.

“Tomorrow morning. Six o’clock.”

He rose, slipping his hands into his trouser pockets, and passed by her.

His voice lowered, almost a murmur.

“You’d best return and sleep early, Bella.”

It was neither a command nor a request.

Yet for some reason, that single sentence lingered in her ears long after.

***

It was two hours earlier than the Count’s household usually rose.

At dawn, Bella stood before the Duke’s bedroom door, hesitating.

She had hurried out without eating, determined to arrive by six o’clock as instructed. Now, however, faced with the firmly closed door, she could not bring herself to knock.

‘The duke’s personal maid…’

Should she turn back now and tell the head maid she could not do it?

“Good morning, Bella.”

As she lowered her hand, lost in indecision, she heard a man’s voice behind her.

It was slightly huskier than the night before, yet still unmistakably smooth.

She didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.

She could tell.

“Good… morning, Your Grace.”

Bella turned away, lowering her face to hide the blush spreading across her cheeks.

He seemed to have just returned from exercising. He was dressed simply and had damp strands of hair clinging lightly to his forehead.

“If you’re here, why stand outside?”

Logan stepped forward and opened the door to the bedchamber, extending his arm.

For a moment, Bella found herself caught between the door and the duke. An unfamiliar, clean scent drifted over her, and she held her breath without thinking. Her heart pounded wildly, as though it had slipped out of rhythm, and heat rushed uncontrollably to her face.

Quickly tucking her hair behind her ear to hide the red tips, she followed him inside.

“If you tell me what time you wake up, I won’t be late next time.”

“And how would you know what time I rise?”

“If you tell me, I will adjust accordingly—”

“Six o’clock is early enough in this place, isn’t it?”

He cut her off before she could finish.

He was right. Six was far earlier than the servants’ usual hour of rising.

“Perhaps that’s why none of them ever managed to arrive at the time I specified.”

He made the remark absently, then lifted the desk clock, whose hands were pointing precisely to six o’clock. His tone suggested that he had been testing to see if she would arrive on time.

Noticing the uncertainty on her face, Logan let out a soft laugh.

“Relax. I’m not reproaching you.”

He draped the towel around his neck and over a chair, brushing his damp hair back as he did so.

His gaze slowly moved over her, starting from her feet and travelling upwards.

It was not just observation.

It was scrutiny.

As though he were confirming something.

‘What?’

Bella froze like a snowman in the middle of winter under his unabashed scrutiny. Although he had not criticized her, she could not help wondering if she was being overly sensitive. Unconsciously, she brushed her fingers against her wrist — the place he had grabbed her on the day they first met.

‘He mistook me for someone else then. Is that why?’

But that misunderstanding had already been cleared up.

On reflection, she realized that the idea had been absurd from the outset. After all, a nameless girl who had drifted between orphanages in Rosedale could not possibly have anything in common with a noble duke from the capital.

Logan had never mentioned it again.

Shoving her racing thoughts to the back of her mind, Bella turned her attention to preparing his breakfast.

She sliced the bread with neat precision and carefully poured the coffee into a cup.

Meanwhile, Logan pretended to get dressed, but his eyes followed her every movement with quiet scrutiny.

She had said that she had never properly served a noble before. But he had noticed that the night before, too.

There was thoughtfulness in even the smallest of her gestures.

This sensibility could not have been acquired through simple, menial labor. The measured precision of her movements did not belong to an untrained person.

“What sort of duties did you handle at the Dowager Countess’s estate?”

Logan spoke as he slipped his arm into the sleeve of his shirt.

Out of habit, Bella lifted her head to respond.

And froze.

Her gaze had risen at the worst possible moment.

The sight before her struck her like a sudden blow.

His shirt was open, revealing the broad expanse of his chest and the firm contours of muscle beneath his pale, damp skin. Thin trails of water traced their way down his collarbone.

Her breath caught.

Clink—

The silver plate slipped from her hand.

Clatter, clatter, clatter—

It rolled across the floor and came to a stop at his feet.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

An awkward, heavy silence settled between them.