Chapter 60
What’s going on?
Was he about to lash out at her, like James once had? Marcia clenched her fist so tightly that her knuckles jutted against her skin.
“Please, you have to help me…!”
Wilford lay flat on the ground, his voice trembling as if he might burst into tears at any moment.
“If I leave you here, Lucas will have me killed!”
Lifting his head, Wilford showed her a pitiful, craven face.
“Wouldn’t it be better for you too? Living under Lucas’s protection instead of rotting away like this? For both of us… don’t you see?”
“Do you even know Lucas already has someone he’s supposed to marry?”
Marcia’s eyes reddened as her brows furrowed.
Wilford, who had been squinting narrowly, suddenly widened his eyes.
“O-of course I know. But if you were to return, Lucas would surely…”
Wilford bit off his words.
He knew full well the chance of Lucas abandoning Rosanna for Marcia was slim.
Even back when Lucas was merely Lucas, the Poudelli family had given everything to support him.
If Lucas suddenly cast Rosanna aside and chose Marsha?
The Poudellis would accuse him of ingratitude and betrayal.
The public’s trust would crumble.
And trust was everything to a businessman.
No one would gamble everything they’d built on the whim of a single woman.
He could always keep her as a mistress instead… but why bother?
But he knew Marcia would loathe hearing such thoughts.
For now, he had to please her.
So, wearing a forced smile, Wilford spoke smoothly.
“He would take you as his wife. He’d regret not cherishing you before, and would treasure you forever. You’d once again live as a noble lady of House Emelide…”
“Enough!”
Marsha cut him off, her tone sharp as steel.
“You still take me for a fool. Do you really think I’d melt at such empty words…?”
Her teeth sank into her lower lip.
“You wretched man! Get out of my sight. Or I’ll call the knights!”
She turned away.
“W-wait, Marcia! Please…!”
Wilford scrambled up on shaking hands, reaching for her desperately.
But Marcia no longer cared if he begged.
Once, the old Marsha Emelide would have fretted at the slightest sign of his distress.
But not anymore.
Stupid Marsha Emelide.
Why did you ever care so much for trash like this?
Because of him, she had wept, despaired, even quarreled with her father.
Pitiful.
Seething, she rounded the corner—only to collide with something taller and harder than the rose hedges.
“How impressive.”
Claudio looked down at her, lips curved in a faint, mocking smile.
Startled, Marsha stumbled back a step.
“M-Mr. Dio? What are you doing here…?”
Her eyes darted to the cloak in his hand, and she realized he must have been meeting with a maid.
How much did he hear?
Swallowing hard, her gaze flitted aimlessly.
Then Claudio bent low, his voice a smooth, velvety whisper.
“You seem to attract danger everywhere you go. Even here, trouble finds you.”
Though his words were mocking as ever, Marcia felt no anger this time.
How much did he hear?
And what do I do now?
She fretted, knowing Claudio already lived under the Duke’s watchful eye.
And now, because of her, he’d been dragged into yet another scene.
“I’m sorry for the disturbance. I-I didn’t mean to meet him, it just happened…”
“Oh? Why explain yourself?”
He tilted his head.
His golden hair, lit by the lantern’s glow, shimmered like silvered moonlight.
“I wasn’t blaming you. If anything, I should apologize.”
“What… what do you mean?”
“It seems this mess happened because I failed to keep my men in line.”
Turning, Claudio approached Wilford, who was frozen with a foolish, frightened look.
“And what rock did you crawl out from under?”
Wilford’s face blanched.
He should have expected discovery once the commotion started, yet he hadn’t.
“What are you?”
Crimson eyes, sharp and merciless, bore down on him.
They stood on the same ground, yet Claudio loomed as if on a mountain.
Meanwhile, Marsha thought with relief: So he didn’t catch the details of our talk…
That was fortunate.
Someday she would have to explain her past to Claudio, but it was one thing to confess in her own words, another to have it exposed by a man like Wilford.
And of all people, Claudio was the last she wanted to know she had once been engaged to that wretch.
Not him.
Never him.
She froze at her own thought.
Why only him?
She wanted no one to know of her shameful past, yet somehow the thought of Claudio knowing felt unbearable.
Claudio’s deep voice cut through her turmoil.
“You were loud enough before. Why silent now?”
“Ah—he’s an old acquaintance of mine,” Marsha blurted hastily, “a merchant. We… didn’t part on good terms, so I lost my temper.”
Claudio turned his head, those piercing eyes settling on her.
“I wasn’t speaking to you. I asked him.”
His gaze returned to Wilford, who trembled like prey before a predator.
H-he must be a knight… surely. Who else could carry such a presence?
If he’d been just a servant, Wilford might have tried bribery.
But a knight? That would only backfire.
He needed to speak carefully, or this would end badly.
Then a desperate idea struck him.
“I-I’m Marcia’s former fiancé.”
Marsha’s face was drained of color.
Why would he say that?!
She had deliberately lied, calling him merely a merchant, not the son of Viscount Rosney.
Wilford should have seen that keeping their bond hidden was better for both of them.
But Wilford thought otherwise.
If he emphasized his past ties with Marsha, maybe he could stir sympathy.
“Sir Knight, I beg your mercy. I mean no harm. Ever since Marsha vanished, I’ve searched endlessly for her. There’s not a place in the Duchy of Dominique I haven’t scoured. Even Sedem, I searched from end to end. The only place I hadn’t checked was this castle. I couldn’t rest without knowing. And now—to find her here at last!”
Tears glistened as he covered his mouth, his voice breaking with false emotion.
“Please, let me take her back. Marsha is no maid. She’s a lady of noble blood, destined for more…”
“You…”
Marsha nearly lunged at him, her face contorted with fury at his endless lies.
But Claudio raised an arm, stopping her in place.
“I let you talk, hoping for something worth hearing. Instead, it’s all the same drivel.”
“W-what…?” Wilford stammered.
Claudio smirked faintly.
“If it comforts you, I’ll tell you this: Marsha isn’t a maid. And more importantly…”
He rolled his tongue against his teeth, then lifted his chin.
Moonlight and firelight slid over his flawless skin, casting a luminous sheen.
After a thoughtful sigh, he bent low toward Wilford, murmuring words only he could hear.
Wilford flinched, startled. “Wh-what did you say?”
Again, softly, distinctly:
“No one. Ever. Will take her from me.”
His whites gleamed, cold and merciless.
Marsha, who could only watch from the side, trembled with unease.
Claudio turned back to her—not with the terrifying glare he’d shown Wilford, but neither was it the gentle look of an ally.
“Is this man someone precious to you?”
“Wh-what?!”
Marsha cried out, horrified, just as when Claudio had once mistaken James for her lover.
“Absolutely not! Never!”
“Ah. Good. Being a former fiancé, I wondered if you still carried feelings. But if not, that’s a relief.”
Claudio shrugged lightly, smiling.
At that moment—
“Your Grace!”
A shout rang from beyond the rose garden.
Marsha’s eyes flew wide.
The Duke? Here?!
If the Duke had heard the commotion, if he saw Claudio embroiled in it—surely he would blame Claudio.
What should I do?
The man’s footsteps drew nearer.
Why this way, of all places?
Visd, the steward, rounded the corner—and stopped short, his breath catching as he glimpsed the two figures half-hidden by the roses.
“I-I have an urgent report… we checked the visitor’s register and found one man unaccounted for, and—!” He choked off, stunned at the sight before him.
Marsha stared blankly at Claudio.
Did he just call him… Duke?
