Chapter 72
Brought to you by Valir Scans! To support our team and enjoy the latest releases, please read directly on our official site: valirscans.org
Dear, I believe you may be misunderstanding.
Chapter 72
Wanton.
A word I had never uttered once in my entire life.
Yet in this moment, no other word existed that was more fitting or complete.
'Good heavens, licking my palm... actually licking it!'
I could not fathom the sensation from mere moments ago.
In all my years, I had never committed such a wanton act. My heart thundered as though it would shatter my ribs and burst free from my chest.
In that instant, Lucas Black, who had been staring at me in a daze, suddenly burst into laughter.
"Ahahaha!"
His rich, crystalline laughter resonated beautifully through the night Garden.
He doubled over, clutching his abdomen as he laughed.
His laughter sounded genuinely delighted and was quite pleasant to hear.
'Why, why is he laughing?'
Grace Oellin stared at him with a bewildered expression.
Lucas Black wiped the corners of his eyes before suddenly pulling her into his embrace.
"Wanton, you say wanton."
Before she could even cry out in surprise, she found herself swept into his broad arms, her eyes widening in shock.
I was too startled to do anything but gape.
"Ah... what am I to do with you, Grace Oellin?"
He whispered while holding the back of my head firmly against him.
"What, what is it?"
Feeling my heart racing wildly, I asked in a daze.
Lucas Black was so tall that my ear rested against his heart.
Remaining still, I realized the powerful beating was not mine alone.
"Soon I shall be your husband, and yet you call me wanton..."
"...!"
The vibration resonating from his heart tickled my ear.
"...How will you ever manage then."
His deep, suggestive voice clung languidly to my rounded ear.
"I find myself already anticipating our wedding night. Don't you, Grace Oellin?"
...Mother above.
I could not imagine what would happen that day.
Yet strangely, I was not merely afraid.
What was this peculiar sense of anticipation? Grace Oellin was utterly confused.
* * *
Carolian Adeia was twenty-two years old.
Until she lost her father at twenty, she had lived a reasonably happy life.
They were not wealthy, but they never went hungry, and her aging father doted on his late-born daughter like a princess.
'Beautiful Carolian! You will be loved by anyone you meet!'
She was the most beautiful young woman in the Coastal Village.
All the young men in the village adored her.
Among them, Logan—who owned no fewer than three ships—seemed the most suitable.
His sun-darkened skin and robust frame resembled the young man her father had described himself to be in his youth.
She had naturally assumed she would marry Logan.
At least, that was the case until she pestered her father to visit the Capital as a coming-of-age celebration.
'Beautiful young lady, what is your name?'
A young gentleman with wavy, bright chestnut hair approached her as she wandered through the Capital in a daze.
Norman Oellin.
'...You say you come from such a small countryside? I thought you were a princess from some distant land.'
Unlike the men from the Coastal Village where Carol lived, he was elegant and refined.
When Norman's pale fingers touched Carol's cheek, she felt her heart race violently.
His graceful accent seemed infinitely sweet and dignified to the young Carol.
Norman placed rare delicacies she had never tasted into her mouth, adorned her neck and ears with dazzling jewels, and whispered of 'destiny.'
The innocent young woman delayed her return home day after day, entranced by his whispers.
About ten days had passed.
When she awoke after drinking the sweet wine he had brought, Carol realized she could never marry Logan.
'I, I never intended to go this far....'
Her bare white skin, unclothed.
Carol pulled the blanket up over herself and stared at Norman lying beside her with a pallid, drained expression.
Norman, waking late from sleep, smiled and pulled her close, kissing her hair.
'Lovely Carol. Last night was magnificent. Stay by my side now. I will make you a Marquess's wife.'
He whispered sweetly.
That was two years ago.
"...What are you doing, Carol? You need to listen to me."
"M-Marquess. I don't want to. Not today. I'm not feeling well."
"Carol. Carol. Carol.... You said the same thing last time and rejected me, didn't you? What are you doing, abandoning your duties as a wife?"
Norman Oellin smiled as gently as when they first met, binding Carol's wrists.
Carol stared at him with eyes full of tears.
She wanted to scream—who keeps a wife locked away in a cottage?
But she could not bring herself to resist him.
It had been two years since he forced her to stay here, saying he would take her away once he inherited his title.
Since that night's mistake, she had never once returned to her hometown.
Her father, who came looking for her, collapsed while arguing with her as she despaired, saying she could not return home.
It was a heart attack.
Carol felt as though her father's death was entirely her fault.
Pretending to console her as she crumbled, Norman brought her to this desolate place where no one could find us.
Trapped with no way in or out, she had fallen squarely into Norman's snare.
"But, but.... When can I leave this place? Norman...!"
Crack!
A sharp sting lashed across her cheek.
"Didn't I tell you to address me as Duke? It seems you're due for some punishment."
Carol collapsed to the floor and burst into tears.
Watching her weep, Norman clicked his tongue and drew closer.
Then, with warm hands, he embraced her and soothed her.
"Hush now—don't cry, Carol. It breaks my heart when you cry like this. Look, when mother cries, the baby cries too, doesn't it? That's right? Just endure a little longer. Yes? My innocent, obedient Carol. I'll get both you and the baby out of here. Let's just bear it for one year."
"D-Duke... I want to leave this place. It's so cold and lonely here."
"There, there, be good. Tomorrow I'll have Torres bring plenty of meat. I'll bring you the bread you love and fresh juice too. Oh yes, that thing. You wanted macarons, didn't you?"
While pretending to comfort her, he undressed her.
Carol knew this embrace was false, yet she could only cling to Norman.
All that remained for her now was a baby two hundred days old and this man.
"Don't worry, Carol. You have nothing to worry about."
Carol stared at Norman's cruel smile before closing her eyes.
The tears would not stop.
* * *
"Waaah—"
Torres, Norman's coachman, soothed the crying infant as he hurried away from the cottage.
"Hush, hush.... Be good, little one? Please stop crying, will you?
The young man Torres, who had never borne or raised a child, knew nothing of how to comfort and soothe an infant.
He simply walked aimlessly about the surroundings, cradling the baby in his arms.
The only mercy was that the weather wasn't cold, allowing him to hold and comfort the child outside.
"Waaah— Waaah—!"
Oblivious to Torres's desperate hopes, the child wept bitterly.
The infant, barely six months old, seemed poorly nourished and remained far too small.
"Is the baby crying from hunger? No, what am I supposed to feed such a tiny infant...?"
This had all been so sudden.
So neither Torres nor the baby's mother had time to prepare anything.
Torres pitied the crying child, but there was little he could do.
That helplessness tormented him all the more.
'...That beast is less than human.'
He thought of his master inside the small cottage.
Without money, he had entered into a servant's contract that was no different from slavery, but if circumstances allowed, he wanted to quit as the Oellin House coachman immediately.
No—if he could, he wanted to beat that man to death with the whip he held in his hand.
He was well aware of the nobility's reckless and filthy conduct, but among them, Norman Oellin was truly someone not worth associating with.
Marquis Capren maintained an air of propriety, and his outward demeanor revealed little—but his son, Norman Oellin, was entirely different.
Young and hot-blooded with a temperament as twisted as they came, he orchestrated some new scandal every year.
Particularly fond of women, the lives he had ruined were far too numerous to count.
Yet if Torres dared expose or interfere with such matters, there was no telling what calamity might befall him, so he could not act recklessly.
Because of this, Torres lived each day as though he were being forcibly shoved into a filthy cesspool.
'Ah... but the most pitiful of all is Carolian Adeia.'
Torres cast an uneasy glance beyond the cottage.
Inside that dwelling, young and delicate Carolian Adeia was being tormented by her master.
Two years ago, barely after reaching adulthood, she had the misfortune of catching Norman Oellin's eye.
Golden-tinged pink hair, pale sky-blue eyes, a round face with a sorrowful expression—
That lovely maiden had been lured away and confined to this cottage, where Norman Oellin had secretly made her his mistress.
Her elderly father, who had protected her, had passed away, and Norman Oellin seized the opportunity without hesitation.
'Poor Carolian Adeia. Now you truly are alone, aren't you? Hush, don't cry. When I become a marquis, I'll make you my wife. So stay by my side.'
He had seduced her with honeyed words.
'But if Father learns of your existence, he won't let it slide, so hide away for now. Don't meet anyone else without permission. Do you understand?'
He had isolated her in this desolate place.
When she became pregnant, he abandoned her, and Carolian Adeia had no choice but to bear the child.
Brought to you by Valir Scans! To support our team and enjoy the latest releases, please read directly on our official site: valirscans.org