She dabbed a drop of perfume on her wrist, rubbed it in, and then touched it behind her ears.
The perfume, a blend of mysterious sea scent and fresh tuberose with a hint of citrusy floral notes, was contained in a turquoise bottle that resembled the Duchess's eye color.
Yohan had gifted it to Olivia for her birthday, but Diane had intercepted it. In its place, she had given Olivia a perfume with strong notes of musk and ambergris.
She had seen Yohan wrinkle his nose at the strong perfume emanating from Olivia. She barely suppressed a smile.
When she had visited him to get approval for the jewelry Olivia had purchased, Diane had casually mentioned, "The perfume you gave her doesn't suit her taste."
Diane chuckled again at the memory.
She turned this way and that in front of the mirror before leaving the room. She walked down the hallway, lit only by the dim red wall lamps, toward Yohan's bedroom.
Close to midnight, Yohan entered his bedroom, moderately drunk. As soon as he opened the door, a strong perfume scent assaulted his nose. A woman turned around in surprise.
Olivia.
"You're here."
The secretary he had hired for his wife stared at him with a surprised expression. Olivia, of all people. He was annoyed by the absurdity of it.
"Why are you here?"
"It's been raining all day. I thought the bedding might be a little damp."
Diane continued, watching Yohan's expression as he crossed the bedroom.
"I was going to change the sheets."
"Is that your job?"
Yohan flung open the two doors to the balcony. The rain had stopped, but the curtains billowed slowly in the damp, rain-soaked breeze. The woman's thin dress also fluttered gently.
Yohan leaned against the wall opposite her, arms crossed, and looked down at her.
"It seems everyone else is asleep. I brought them myself."
The woman, seen through the haze of alcohol, was quite presentable.
His wife's secretary looked more like she had come to share the bed rather than just make it.
If he were the kind of man who would bed any woman without a second thought, he might have been tempted.
Being the object of a man's gaze always brought a thrilling pleasure, especially when it was a perfect specimen like Johann Leopold.
The man pushed off the wall and slowly walked to the display cabinet.
In one hand, he carried a wine bottle and an opener, his sleeves neatly rolled up; in the other, two glasses. His slow movements exuded a languid sensuality.
Diane turned and pretended to smooth out the wrinkles in the bedsheets, bending over to accentuate the curve of her hips as much as possible.
"A drink?"
Ah! Just as she thought.
At the voice behind her, Diane slowly straightened up and turned around. Yohan sat down and gestured to the chair opposite him.
Diane wanted to show him only her most beautiful side at every moment.
As she walked toward Yohan, she made sure her long legs, clad in silk stockings, were visible through the slit in her dress.
Diane had never sat alone with Yohan before. There was always the Duchess or an aide present, like an obstacle.
Yohan inserted the opener deep into the cork and carefully pulled it out.
As she watched his long fingers and smooth back of his hand as he tilted the bottle to pour into the glasses, she imagined those hands caressing her body, and a hot shiver ran down her spine. Her heart beat faster.
"It's late, so just one glass," Yohan said as he slid a glass toward her.
Diane said shyly as she watched him fill her glass with wine. She wanted to rush to the bed and roll around with him like an animal, but she had to restrain herself today.
She couldn't let it end with a one-night stand. She didn't want to be an easy woman. She wanted to be the Duchess Leopold, so she needed to make him wait a little longer.
The candlelight in the center of the table enveloped them both in secrecy.
Yohan was silent, swirling his glass and watching the red liquid swirl inside.
What should she say?
Intending to give him the lead in the conversation, Diane waited for Yohan to speak.
Men liked to show off their superior knowledge.
If she offered a moderate counter-argument and then allowed him to win the argument at the last moment, he would be filled with a sense of superiority and would be eager to please the woman who had allowed him to feel victorious, especially in bed.
Diane took a sip of wine, imagining the heights of pleasure the man before her would offer. And then, finally, the man moved his lips.
"Do you know the men my wife met?"
"Pardon?"
Caught off guard by the unexpected question, Diane asked back with a blank expression. This wasn't the time for a sordid bastard to interfere.
"My wife's men.Diane's mind snapped back to attention as if splashed with cold water at Yohan's low, deep voice.
"Yes, of course. But I can't just talk about the private life of the person I served—"
Yohan cut her off.
"You seem to be mistaken. I'm the one who hired you."
"……."
"And I'm the one who can fire you."
Yohan crossed his long legs and, looking tired, raised his arm resting on the armrest and rubbed his temple.
Diane watched the man, whose threats were even charmingly seductive, for a moment before starting to speak as if she had made a difficult decision.
"The relationship was already deep when I found out. I tried to stop the Duchess, but it was no use. She met him behind my back."
Diane didn't like this topic, but now that it had come to this, she steered the conversation in a direction that would benefit her. Becoming a loose woman was just a moment away.
It was she who had suggested to the foolish Olivia to bring men in to provoke Yohan's jealousy, she who had provided the place for their rendezvous, and she who had spread rumors in society to reach Yohan's ears.
"Every time I tried to persuade the Duchess to stop betraying the Duke, she would punish me—"
"The names. Just give me the names."
The chilling voice and gaze were frightening, but Diane laughed inwardly. But then a question arose.
Why is he curious about this now? He didn't care when he was actually married.
"Kyle Mitchum, a ballet dancer, was the first. And Andreya Nikolai. The painter who painted the Duchess's portrait was the second. Milton Lamont was the shoemaker in charge of the Duchess's shoes."
"Is that all?"
"Yes."
"What's the probability that your wife met someone without your knowledge?"
"Impossible. I always accompanied her when she went out."
"Then, did your wife ever meet Edgar Lancaster Lancelot?"
"Pardon?"
Diane was flustered and asked again.
Why is that name coming up here?
Diane was getting annoyed. She didn't want to waste time like this.
"As far as I know, the two of them never met privately."
At that moment, Yohan gave her a strange look. Then, still staring at the wine glass in his hand, he said casually, "Leave."
Pardon?
Diane was so dumbfounded that she almost repeated that stupid sound again.
It had been almost a week since she had stayed at the Lancelot Hotel. Olivia was getting used to this unfamiliar place and was growing fond of it. It was time to decide where to settle down.
"Brier……."
Folding the map she had been looking at for a while, Olivia muttered to herself.
Anne, who was brushing Olivia's luscious brown hair that reached down to her waist, asked, "What's famous about that place?"
"No. I was thinking of living here for a while."
"In Brier?"
"Yeah."
She couldn't stay in a hotel forever, so it was right to find a house, but Anne didn't know that it was in Litten.
Anne assumed that she was simply taking a trip to change her mood. It would be a long trip, but she thought that she would eventually return to London.
But it seemed that London was not in her mistress's future.
"Brier roses are said to be the most beautiful in Britain. It must be profitable. Should I start a rose farm here? What do you think, Anne?"
Olivia's voice was slightly excited.
"If that's what you want, Miss. I'm happy too."
"Then, shall we go this weekend?"
"Yes, Miss."
Anne neatly arranged Olivia's voluminous brown hair with a brush with a wooden handle and tied it high with a blue ribbon.
"My hair. I should cut it."
"Pardon?"
"Don't you think a bob would look good on me?"
"That's true, but……"
Anne trailed off.
She thought of a girl who was smaller and more delicate than others of her age.
Compared to her pale, thin arms and legs, which were malnourished, her dark brown hair was shiny and voluminous, as if it had absorbed all the nutrients from her body.
The Countess held a pair of scissors with black handles and grabbed the girl's hair, cutting it off mercilessly.
She didn't care that the girl's delicate scalp was scratched and bleeding at the end of the large scissor blades.
The girl's hair was cut like that until she was seventeen and left the attic. Olivia trembled at the sight of scissors.
"……Are you sure you're okay with that?"
Anne asked cautiously.
Her mistress had never had scissors to her hair since she left the attic.
"Yeah. It'll be easier to manage my hair."
"Please don't do it because of me. I like touching your hair, Miss."
Anne's expression was somehow strange. She glimpsed into Olivia's past, which was like frozen ice.
'Ah……!'
She paused for a moment, then smiled and said, "I'm okay now. Cut it nicely for me next time you have time."
"Yes, Miss."
Anne nodded.
Olivia headed to the tennis court with Anne. The use of the tennis court was free, so she planned to use it diligently until she left the hotel.
Olivia, who had arrived about ten minutes earlier than her appointment with Elaine, lightly swung her racket to warm up.
She closed her eyes for a moment in the clear morning sunlight and took in the cool air. She heard footsteps among the chirping of birds.
Olivia opened her eyes and turned her head with a smile, and Edgar, dressed in tennis clothes, was walking through the blue hedges that were landscaped like a maze. She met the man's eyes before she could avoid him.
