MDIHC 28

〈028〉

“So in conclusion, Daniel just got a bump on his forehead?”

Lord Winchester summed up the situation neatly.

“It’s not just a bump! It’s seriously the size of a fist!”

But that was too neat! I protested indignantly.

“I know a bit about injuries, and I must say—an injury that large simply can’t form on a child’s forehead. Or on anyone’s, really.”

“It’s probably smaller than this… but still, he got a bump on his forehead! Our Daniel’s forehead!”

I grew more agitated at Lord Winchester’s calm reaction.

“Our Daniel, with his small, smooth, and adorable forehead! Ugh! I should have taken revenge!”

Eventually, unable to contain my anger, I clenched my fists and jumped to my feet.

“Were you hurt?”

Lord Winchester asked me, still composed despite my outburst.

“Regrettably, I didn’t manage to hurt them much. I mean, he’s still a kid, after all. Oh! I say that, but later, when the other ladies got involved, I did end up grabbing Countess Aitley’s hair. I pulled out some strands, but I don’t think she got injured. Unfortunately.”

“I was asking if you were hurt, Miss Neary.”

“Oh, me? No, I’m fine.”

“Here…”

Lord Winchester pointed to his own forehead—the exact spot where I had seen him injured the previous night.

What was this? Was he talking about his own injury? Or was it hurting again now?

“I believe you’re bleeding?”

“Wha—? But you said it wasn’t serious!”

“I’m not talking about myself. I meant you, Miss Neary.”

“Huh? Oh…”

I raised a hand to my own forehead in the same spot, and immediately felt a sting. That damned mother-in-law must have scratched me with her long nails when she grabbed my hair.

“Seems you’ve been scratched.”

“Did you apply ointment?”

“No, I thought it’d heal on its own soon enough.”

I felt awkward—not even knowing I was injured.

“If you apply ointment, it’ll heal faster.”

Where had I heard that before? Oh, right! I had said the same thing to Lord Winchester when I saw his wound.

Unlike me, who only spoke, Lord Winchester actually opened a drawer and took something out.

“Ointment.”

Ah, I see…

I looked at the ointment in his hand.

“…”
“…”

And he just stood there too.

Something felt off.

He must’ve thought the same thing.

“Go ahead.”

He offered me the ointment.

“It’s not that serious of a wound…”

I mumbled, but still reached out and took the ointment. If a scar on his handsome face would be a waste, then a scar on my ordinary face would make it downright awful.

I opened the lid, dabbed some on my finger, and roughly estimated the spot on my forehead.

‘If this were a romance novel, the male lead would say, “That’s not the right spot,” and then apply the ointment himself…’

I glanced at Lord Winchester. But he was sitting perfectly still, not moving an inch.

‘Well, of course.’

Romance was nowhere to be found. All I could see was the dignified air of a devoted, chaste man.

‘Now, where to wipe this?’

I figured I’d applied enough and pulled my hand back. I looked around for somewhere to wipe my hand, but there was no tissue box or anything like that in this time period.

‘Too much ointment left on my hand… such a waste.’

I hadn’t even checked my injury, and I’d scooped the ointment while watching his face—no wonder I had so much left.

“Did you apply yours, Lord Winchester?”

I asked him as he was closing the lid. He looked up at me. His forehead was perfectly matte—no shine.

“You can’t leave it like that. Such a handsome face, what a waste.”

I reached out to apply the leftover ointment to his forehead—kill two birds with one stone.

“Ah!”

But before I could touch him, he grabbed my wrist.

“L-Lord Winchester?”

His grip was strong. It was like he was restraining an assassin trying to attack him. His eyes flashed sharply as he looked at me.

Cold. Just like the first time we met.

“…”

I froze at the intensity of his stare. And then, oddly enough, he looked startled too.

What the… why him?

“Ah, I’m sorry. It was reflexive…”

He quickly apologized. If it really was a reflex, he let go of my hand right away.

“No, it’s my fault. I was being rude. I shouldn’t just touch someone’s face like that.”

I lowered my now-throbbing hand, offering an awkward smile.

“That’s not it. Your sudden movement just caught me off guard.”

Though for someone surprised, he didn’t show much emotion.

“I’m sorry. The ointment I used might be dirty to you…”

“I didn’t think that at all.”

“You might be worried about infection or germs…”

“It was honestly just instinct.”

“I see. It’s fine. I understand.”

“…”

We kept awkwardly insisting it was fine and that we understood—until suddenly, Lord Winchester went silent. I paused, sensing something, and watched his expression.

His chest rose and fell slightly, then he looked directly at me. His gaze was steady, filled with a kind of resolve. Then, lifting his hand, he pushed his bangs fully back.

“Please, apply it.”

With his clear forehead exposed, he looked straight into my eyes. Honestly, his eyes sparkled so intensely, and his expression was so stiff that it didn’t feel like a request—it felt like a command.

“Yes, sir.”

And like any side character overwhelmed by a Swordmaster’s pressure, I followed the order diligently.

‘His skin is… smoother than I expected?’

The moment my fingers touched his forehead, that was what came to mind. For some reason, I’d imagined his skin would be hard or rough—probably because of his overall image.

‘Well, he’s human too.’

As I gently applied the ointment to his smooth forehead, I thought about how he used to be a minor character—barely appearing in a few lines of the novel. Even after meeting him and getting married, he was still just “Daniel’s father” to me.

But now that I was touching him like this, I suddenly felt… he was a real person. I could feel his warmth.

‘And a very handsome man at that…’

Up close, Lord Winchester was undeniably handsome. His sharp yet elegant eyes, his prominent nose, and those tightly pressed lips—all made for a strikingly beautiful face.

“Miss Neary?”

“Y-Yes?”

Ack! Did he catch me staring? Startled by his sudden voice, I quickly pulled my hand back.

“You’re injured there too?”

He gave a small nod toward somewhere below my face.

“Oh, really?”

I tried to follow his gaze down to see where he was pointing. But all I could see was my chest and stomach. I bent down a little more, but—same result.

“Not there…”

At the sound of his voice, it hit me.

That face I just made—mouth pulled down, upper lip stretched—it was the exact pose people say makes you look worst in selfies!

Suddenly, my cheeks burned with embarrassment. As I tried to lift my head quickly, a large hand reached out in front of me.

Before I could even be surprised by the closeness, his hand grasped mine.

Unlike Lord Winchester, who had instinctively swatted my hand away earlier, I had no such reflexes. And so, my hand was caught—helplessly.