Chapter 79
“Marsha, what’s wrong?”
Lucas’s voice trembled. He told himself that if Marsha accused him, he could explain everything. Whatever those people had told her, he had only ever acted to protect her. She knew—she remembered—how cruelly Rosanna had tormented her. All he had wanted was for Marsha to live in peace, to smile in a place where she felt safe…
In the moonlight, his eyes glistened as though he might break into tears at any moment. Marsha held her breath.
Lucas had once been a good friend to her.
The sort of friend she could overlook a single mistake for. But after learning how he had hounded and used Wilford for so long just to track her down, she couldn’t greet him warmly. She couldn’t.
Yet there was one thing she had to ask.
“Why didn’t you keep searching for my father’s killer?”
Lucas’s eyes widened, shock flaring in his bloodshot whites.
Why would she ask me that?
If she had known of his abduction, she would demand to know why he had taken her. But this? This was a question he had never expected. It must mean she didn’t know. That was a relief—but then…
How did she even learn that?
Such knowledge wasn’t something she could stumble on. Not without help.
What has she been doing these past four years? Who’s been telling her these things?
And tonight—at a gathering Lucas had only just managed to attend—Marsha appeared like the star of the evening, radiant in her gown. How could that be, unless…
Unless she met another man. Someone capable. Someone who could do all this for her.
The thought struck him like a knife, and he remembered the bitter times when all he could do was watch her from afar, standing at Wilford’s side. His teeth clenched. Darkness swam before his eyes.
“Why are you so startled?” Marsha pressed. “Is it because you’re wondering how I found out? Or because I’ve discovered something you meant to keep hidden?”
“…Marsha, all my thoughts were consumed with finding you,” he muttered, exhaling hard, trying to tamp down the storm inside him.
Marsha shook her head slowly.
“If you had truly cared about me, you would have kept looking for the one who killed my father. That was my last request. How could you trample it so easily?”
“How could I care about that when you were gone?”
“…That trivial thing?”
Her lips quivered with fury.
Lucas pressed the heel of his hand to his eyes, groaning. He hadn’t meant to speak that way, but jealousy—images of Marsha living in another man’s arms—was tearing him apart.
“Was that what you thought back then, too?” she demanded.
He couldn’t answer—only drew ragged breaths.
Marsha’s hand tightened into a fist until her knuckles stood out white.
“Then why did you pretend you’d honor it? You should have refused me outright. At least then I wouldn’t feel this betrayed!”
“Were you even in your right mind then?!” Lucas’s voice cracked, loud and raw.
“Be honest, Marsha—the Count’s death was inevitable. No matter how much I raged, how could anyone uncover the truth of a midnight murder on a deserted forest road? You were barely clinging to life, yet that one request was all you cared about. So yes, I said I’d do it. What else could I have said? If it had been you in my place, wouldn’t you have done the same?”
Marsha stared at him, hearing not his excuses but his true self laid bare.
So this is who you really are.
The gentle, considerate Lucas she had known was nothing but a mask. For years, he had worn it flawlessly, deceiving her.
A broken laugh slipped from her throat.
“Hah…”
Lucas froze, realizing what he had done.
“Marsha, no—I didn’t mean to shout. It’s just… you don’t understand how I feel—” He stammered like a fool, lips trembling when she refused to even look at him.
This wasn’t the reunion he had dreamed of. Never had he imagined it could be so wretched.
No… I’ve found her again. That’s enough. As long as she doesn’t know I ordered her abduction, all is not lost. We can still begin anew.
“Marsha. Come back with me.” His hand trembled as he reached toward her.
“Back? Where?”
“The Count of Emelide’s estate is your home.”
“It’s yours and Rosanna’s now.”
Her gaze was ice.
Lucas swallowed his anger and forced himself to speak evenly.
“…If you don’t return, where will you go? Where have you been these past four years? Living like this, showing up here in that gown… Don’t tell me—”
“I don’t owe you any explanation.”
Her eyes locked on his, unflinching.
“Lucas. We can never go back to what we once were.”
To the days of shared smiles and concern—they were gone forever.
“From now on, you’re less than a stranger to me.”
“Marsha…”
She silenced him with a sharp look.
“But I don’t begrudge you inheriting the Emelride name.”
It hurt to admit, but it was true. Lucas and Rosanna had deceived her, yes, but they too had suffered under the late Count’s cruelty. Perhaps it was fate that they should inherit.
“As for my father’s death, and my life—I’ll decide what to do. Stop meddling in me. Be happy with Rosanna.”
“Marsha—!”
He started toward her just as a voice rang from the corridor.
“My lady, where are you?”
The maid—back from fetching her shawl.
Ah.
Marsha moved quickly to leave the terrace, but Lucas seized her wrist. She glared at him, trying to wrench free, but he held fast.
“My lady…?” The voice was closer now.
If they were caught together like this—!
“Don’t make a scene. Go back quietly.”
“How can I leave you?”
“What, will you drag me away by force?”
Lucas opened his mouth, but before he could answer—
“What’s going on here?”
“Your Grace.”
Claudio’s voice.
Marsha flinched. Lucas, too, froze in shock. The only duke in this land…
The Duke of Gloria!
Marsha tore free at that moment, fleeing from the terrace.
Marsha! Lucas lunged after her—
But Claudio’s voice cut across him.
“…And why are you stepping out of there?”
Lucas turned rigid, like prey caught in a predator’s gaze.
Marsha, seeing Claudio stride toward her, hastened to meet him.
“I just needed some air. It was stifling inside.”
“Tell me the truth. Did something happen?”
“How could it? You left me in the care of the ladies yourself.”
“…”
Claudio didn’t reply, only fixed his gaze on the terrace curtains swaying in the breeze. Nothing seemed out of place—yet his eyes lingered.
Marsha, uneasy, urged, “Let’s go back in. Everyone’s waiting.”
Claudio didn’t care about the others, but the hall was warmer than the corridor. He let her guide him.
“You should’ve taken a shawl.”
“It wasn’t that cold.”
Their bickering voices and the maid’s footsteps faded down the hall.
Left alone, Lucas staggered.
What… was that?
Why had they spoken with such ease? With such closeness?
So the Duke of Gloria was the one keeping her…? Then what are they to each other?
Reeling, Lucas stepped off the terrace—only to find himself face-to-face with Count Beveridge.
“Lucas. Why are you coming from there?”
“I… well…” Lucas faltered, scanning where Beveridge had come from—the central staircase, not the hall.
“The Count wasn’t in the hall, so I stepped out.”
“You should’ve waited inside.” Beveridge sighed, tugging irritably at his tie.
“We’re leaving.”
“But the wine—”
“Bring it next time. The Duke will be visiting the West soon enough.”
Looking weary, Beveridge walked ahead. Lucas’s feet wouldn’t move. How could he leave, when Marsha was still in that hall?
“Well? Are you coming?”
At the Count’s impatient tone, Lucas had no choice but to follow.
