Chapter 12

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Translator: Harry Potta

Chapter: 12

Chapter Title: Diane Brooke's Temptation

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Finally, she dabbed a drop of perfume on her wrist, rubbed it in, and touched it behind her ear.

The perfume, a blend of mysterious ocean notes and fresh tuberose mingling with a crisp floral scent, came in a turquoise bottle that matched the duchess's eye color.

It was a gift Johann had intended for Olivia's birthday, but Diane had intercepted it. In its place, she had delivered a heavy, musky fragrance laced with dragon's blood.

She had seen Johann wrinkle his nose at the overpowering scent wafting from her. She had barely stifled her laughter.

When she had visited him to get approval for the jewels Olivia had purchased, Diane had casually remarked,

"The perfume you gifted her doesn't suit the lady's taste."

Recalling that moment, Diane chuckled again.

She turned this way and that in front of the mirror before stepping out of the room. She walked down the silent corridor, illuminated only by the red wall sconces, toward Johann's bedroom.

It was nearing midnight when Johann, pleasantly tipsy, entered his bedroom. The moment he opened the door, a thick wave of perfume assaulted his nose. A woman turned around in surprise.

Olivia.

"You're finally here."

The secretary he had hired for his wife stared at him in shock. Olivia? It was absurd, and irritation flared up.

"What are you doing here?"

"It rained all day. The bedding feels a bit damp."

Diane watched Johann cross the bedroom, gauging his mood as she continued.

"I was going to change it to fresh sheets."

"Is that your job?"

Johann flung open both balcony doors. The rain had stopped, but the humid breeze made the curtains swell lazily. The hem of the woman's thin dress swayed gently too.

Johann leaned against the wall opposite her, arms crossed, looking down at the woman.

"Everyone seems to be asleep, so I brought them myself."

In his drunken haze, the woman looked decent enough.

His wife's secretary wasn't dressed like someone there to tend to the bed—she looked like she had come to share it.

If he were the kind of brute who threw any woman onto the bed without discrimination, she would have been more than tempting.

Being eyed up by a man always sent a thrilling jolt through her. Especially one like Johann Leopold.

The man peeled away from the wall and slowly walked toward the display cabinet.

With his sleeves neatly rolled up, he held a wine bottle and opener in one hand, two glasses in the other, exuding a languid sexual allure as he moved unhurriedly.

Diane turned, pretending to smooth out the bedsheet wrinkles. She bent at the waist, striking a pose that accentuated the curve of her hips.

"Have a drink with me."

Ah! Just as she thought.

At the voice from behind, Diane slowly straightened and turned. Johann sat down, gesturing with his eyes to the chair opposite.

Diane wanted him to see only her most beautiful sides, every moment.

As she walked toward him, she made sure her long legs in silk stockings peeked through the slit in her dress.

Diane had never sat alone with Johann before. There had always been the duchess or an aide as an unwelcome barrier.

Johann plunged the opener deep into the cork and carefully extracted it.

Watching his long fingers and smooth hand tilt the bottle into the glass, she imagined those hands caressing her body. Heat surged through her core, her heart pounding fast.

"It's late, so just one glass."

Diane shyly replied as Johann pushed the glass toward her.

She watched him fill her glass too. Part of her wanted to leap onto the bed and roll around with him like animals right then. But she had to hold back tonight.

This couldn't be a one-night fling. She didn't want to be an easy conquest. What she wanted was to become the Duchess of Leopold, so she needed to torment the man a little longer.

The candlelight in the center of the table enveloped them in intimate glow.

Johann said nothing. He merely swirled his glass, staring at the red liquid spiraling inside.

What should she say?

Intending to let him take the lead in conversation, Diane waited for him to speak.

Men loved showing off their superior knowledge.

If she offered mild counterarguments and let him claim victory in the debate at the end, his sense of superiority would make him lavish her with passion in bed as a reward.

Diane took a sip of wine, imagining the peaks of pleasure this man would bring her. And then, at last, his lips moved.

"Do you know about the men my wife met?"

"Pardon?"

Caught off guard by the unexpected question, Diane blankly echoed him. This wasn't a topic for a lowly bastard like her to intrude on.

"My wife's men."

Johann's low,沉 voice snapped her back to reality like a splash of cold water.

"Yes, of course. But I can't speak carelessly about the private life of the lady I served—"

Johann cut her off.

"You seem to be mistaken about something. I hired you."

"……."

"And I'm the one firing you."

Johann crossed his long legs and, looking weary, lifted his arm from the armrest to rub his temple.

Diane gazed at the man whose even threats mesmerized, then began her tale as if making a difficult decision.

"By the time I found out, their relationship was already deep. I tried to dissuade the lady, but it was no use. She met him behind my back."

Diane didn't like this topic, but since it had come up, she steered it to her advantage. Becoming a loose woman could happen in an instant like this.

It was she who had suggested bringing a man into Olivia's life to stoke Johann's jealousy, she who had provided the meeting spots, and she who had spread the rumors through high society to reach his ears.

"Whenever I tried to persuade her to stop betraying you, she would punish me—"

"Names. Just the names."

His chilling tone and gaze were eerie, but Diane smirked inwardly. Then doubt crept in.

Why ask about this now? He hadn't cared during their marriage.

"Kyle Mitchum, a dancer with the ballet troupe. Then Andrea Nikolai, the painter who did her portrait. Milton Lamont was the shoemaker handling her shoes."

"Is that all?"

"Yes."

"The chances my wife met someone behind your back?"

"Impossible. I always accompanied her on outings."

"Then, did my wife ever meet Edgar Langcaster Lancelot?"

"Pardon?"

Diane faltered and asked again.

Why bring up that name here?

Irritation began to build. She didn't want to waste time like this.

"As far as I know, the two never met privately."

At that moment, Johann's eyes gleamed strangely. He stared impassively at the wine glass still in his hand and said coolly,

"Get out."

Pardon?

Diane was so dumbfounded she nearly repeated the stupid question.

It had been nearly a week since she arrived at the Lancelot Hotel. Olivia was growing accustomed to this unfamiliar place, even fond of it. It was time to decide on her residence.

"Briar……."

After staring at the map for a long while, Olivia murmured to herself as she folded it.

Anne brushed Olivia's lush brown hair, which fell to her mid-back, and asked,

"What's famous about that place?"

"No, I was thinking of trying to live there."

"In Briar?"

"Yeah."

She couldn't stay at the hotel forever, so finding a home made sense, but Anne hadn't expected Litton.

Anne assumed it was just a trip for a change of pace. It might be a long journey, but she'd return to Rondos eventually.

But Rondos didn't seem to be in her lady's future.

"They say Briar roses are the most beautiful in Britt. Must make good money. Should I start a rose farm here? What do you think, Anne?"

Olivia's voice held a hint of excitement.

"If you like it, I like it too."

"Then, shall we go this weekend?"

"Yes, my lady."

Anne neatly arranged Olivia's thick brown hair with a wooden-handled brush, then piled it high and tied it with a blue ribbon.

"Your hair. Scared it'll get cut?"

"Pardon?"

"Wouldn't a bob suit you too?"

"It might, but……"

Anne trailed off.

She pictured the girl, smaller and more delicate than her peers.

Her arms and legs, gaunt and pale from malnutrition, contrasted with her deep brown hair, glossy and full as if it had absorbed all her body's nutrients.

The countess had grabbed the girl's hair with blackened sewing scissors and hacked it off mercilessly.

Even as the large blade scraped her tender scalp, drawing blood, she showed no mercy.

That girl had kept her hair short until she turned seventeen and left the attic. Olivia trembled at the sight of scissors.

"……Will you be okay?"

Anne asked cautiously.

Her lady hadn't let scissors near her hair since leaving the attic.

"Yeah. It'll be easier to manage."

"Don't do it on my account. I like brushing your hair."

Anne's expression looked odd. Olivia peered into her frozen past, like shards of ice.

"Ah……!"

She fell silent for a moment, then smiled.

"I'm okay now. Cut it nicely for me when you have time."

"Yes, my lady."

Anne nodded.

Olivia headed to the tennis court with Anne. Since court access was free, she planned to use it diligently until leaving the hotel.

Arriving ten minutes early for her appointment with Elaine, Olivia swung her racket lightly to warm up.

Under the clear morning sun, she closed her eyes briefly and breathed in the fresh air. Amid the birdsong, she heard footsteps.

Olivia opened her eyes, smiled, and turned—only to see Edgar, dressed in tennis whites, approaching through the maze-like green hedges. Their eyes met before she could escape.