Chapter 13

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Translator: Harry Potta

Chapter: 13

Chapter Title: The Beast's Roar

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“Good morning, Miss Blanchett.”

His silver-gray eyes curved, pooling with morning sunlight.

“Hello.”

As Olivia offered a short reply, jets of water erupted from the central fountain in the rose garden.

Startled by the whooshing sound, Olivia’s shoulders twitched up and down.

Why do I keep running into this man? Olivia swallowed a sigh inwardly.

Ignoring his gaze, she stared fixedly at the hotel’s side entrance.

Please come quickly, Elaine.

The fountains activated on the hour starting at 8 a.m., which meant Elaine was due any moment now—but she still hadn’t appeared.

Worried that passersby might spot her, Olivia kept glancing around when the man spoke. Her eyes turned to him naturally.

“Let’s sit and wait together. She’s not here yet either.”

His refreshing smile left Olivia in an awkward bind.

He was subtly uncomfortable to be around. His striking looks, which drew eyes wherever he went, only made it worse.

She wanted nothing more than to turn and leave right then. If not for her appointment with Elaine, she would have. After a brief hesitation, Olivia spoke to Anne.

“Could you go check if something happened to Miss Elaine?”

“Yes, miss.”

Worried they might cross paths and miss each other, Olivia had no choice but to sit on the wisteria chair opposite Edgar. In the ensuing awkward silence, a staff member poured lemonade into glasses.

Olivia scanned the surroundings once more. Thankfully, it was early morning.

“Do you like tennis?”

Only then did her vigilant eyes, darting about like a sentry’s, settle on Edgar.

“I play occasionally when I have time.”

“You play pretty well for someone who does that.”

“I’m also fairly athletic.”

For no reason at all, her throat felt parched. Olivia took a sip of lemonade and set the glass down.

“Who taught you?”

Legs crossed, he propped an elbow on the armrest and brushed the corner of his eye with long fingers. The breeze carried the crisp scent of his skin lotion.

Olivia, swallowing the lemonade, suddenly choked and coughed. Her face flushed beet red as she hacked for what felt like ages.

“...My husband.”

Seeing him raise the ends of his thick brows in surprise, Olivia hastily corrected herself.

“He hired a coach for me.”

Because the Johann Leopold she knew—and this man knew—wasn’t the sort of man to leisurely play tennis with his wife.

Only then did he give a small nod.

Catching her breath, Olivia turned away from Edgar’s gaze toward the garden and its grand fountain. The rose garden, brimming with spring’s gentle aura, felt like a world apart in its beauty.

“That coach was sloppy.”

“Sloppy, you say?”

Olivia bristled and shot back.

“Your basic stance is all wrong. Wastes stamina needlessly. Don’t you think?”

A hint of cynicism laced his casual assessment, a smile tugging at his lips.

“I’m not sure I follow. The one who taught me was a truly outstanding teacher.”

Her tone was resolute. She stared him down with unwavering eyes, brooking no argument.

Suddenly, the chirp of summer cicadas echoed in her ears like a hallucination.

She pictured him—bronzed and firm under the sun—collar popped on his crisp white polo shirt, sturdy calves flexing in short pants as he leaped skyward.

Unrequited love. That shallow emotion had set her heart fluttering and aching in turn.

His senior’s warmth brushing her body as he adjusted her form, her heartbeat thundering so loudly in her ears.

The memory alone flushed her cheeks and quickened her pulse inevitably.

“Want to test just how outstanding that teaching was?”

The man’s playful voice pulled Olivia from her reverie.

“I don’t play matches with predetermined outcomes.”

Replying curtly, she gazed in the direction Anne had vanished, praying for her swift return. It looked like she’d have to give up the complimentary tennis courts after today.

“Just one set. Take a single game, and you win, Miss Blanchett.”

His voice dripped with magnanimous leisure, but his expression was pure mischief.

“You can snag at least one game from me. Your teacher was that good, right?”

Olivia, eyes on the distant west wing entrance, turned to him. The implication that he was merely humoring her was infuriating.

“Too much for you?”

He chuckled at his own fresh-faced smile. In that instant, flames kindled in Olivia’s eyes.

“Three games.”

The man before her widened his eyes ever so slightly.

“That’s only fair.”

Olivia beamed.

Hook, line, and sinker. The provoked woman took her place on the court, eyes blazing with competitive fire like the midsummer sun.

Scary.

Her seriousness drew a chuckle from him.

Edgar gripped the racket handed over by the staff. The shoulder bore the handwritten signature of Dumblin’s prince—a gift from his eighth birthday.

After a few practice swings, Edgar stepped onto the court. Olivia Blanchett watched him from across the net.

He approached her. Standing opposite across the net, she asked,

“What, getting cold feet?”

“No.”

Barely stifling a laugh, he continued.

“A match without a bet is no fun at all.”

“Don’t turn a wholesome game into gambling.”

“Another lesson from that fine teacher of yours?”

“You must love gambling.”

“Can’t deny it. I run a casino, after all.”

Edgar flashed a grin.

“I’ve got nothing to wager.”

“Ah, nothing extravagant. Just one little wish.”

Her blue eyes wavered, mind racing visibly.

“What, not confident?”

“What kind of wish?”

“Spoils the fun if I say now. Curious? Then lose.”

Edgar turned away, lips curling into a smirk. Moments later—thwack! The sharp crack of racket on ball signaled the match’s start.

Oh my God! Who’s that?

Elaine’s eyes went wide.

That famous Edgar Langcaster Lancelot and Olivia Blanchett, of all people.

When Anne had knocked on her door, Elaine had just finished dressing. She wasn’t the type to keep anyone waiting even ten minutes, so she’d wondered what was wrong.

“Add just a splash of whiskey to the lemonade. Enough for the aroma.”

Her eyes stayed glued to the tennis court even as she gave her order to the staff filling an empty glass.

She hadn’t caught when the match began, but it couldn’t have been long. The scoreboard showed Edgar already up by three games.

Elaine wasn’t a tennis expert, but anyone could see one side was blatantly going easy.

Like toying with prey already in hand—playful, yet gentlemanly enough to concede points now and then.

“Forty!”

The score now stood at 5-1. Having yielded yet another game, Olivia approached the bench.

“What on earth happened?”

Elaine took the towel from Anne and handed it over as she asked.

“Exactly what it looks like.”

Olivia’s face was flushed as she gave a wry smile. She wiped the sweat from her brow and gulped down iced water. When her hand moved to unbutton her blouse, a horrified Anne seized it.

“No, miss!”

Anne hurriedly fastened two buttons and fanned Olivia’s face with both hands. Her cheeks stayed stubbornly red.

“Don’t tell me—you made a bet?”

“How did you know?”

Olivia, rubbing her cheeks with the ice-filled glass, looked stunned.

“It’s written all over your face. ‘I won’t lose!’”

The two shared a giggle. At that moment, the shrill whistle signaling the break’s end pierced the quiet hotel grounds.

“Wondered where you’d holed up since morning. You traitor.”

A pack of ne’er-do-wells who’d been boozing all night at the hotel club sauntered over and plopped down around Edgar. Still reeking of yesterday’s liquor, they habitually ordered whiskey sodas.

“A bit underhanded against a lady, no?”

Edgar silently eyed Olivia before chuckling. Tennis with a woman was a first for him.

A shame he hadn’t discovered this thrill sooner. It put bedroom pleasures to shame.

“Hey, ball to the head or what?”

Before him swayed brown locks tied prettily with a blue ribbon. The woman perked up the moment she gripped the racket. And that shout of hers...

Uncharacteristically, Edgar burst into laughter.

“We’re the ones out money—why’re you losing it?”

The whistle blew amid the rakehells’ worried gripes over yesterday’s card-game wipeout.

Well then. Time to claim that wish.

Uncrossing his long legs, Edgar rose slowly, eyes fixed straight ahead.

The woman strode onto the court, her white skirt fluttering. Soft waves of hair danced in the spring breeze laced with floral notes. She was a fairy on the tennis court.

A fairy ablaze with the will to win.

Moments later.

Edgar, who’d approached the game half-heartedly, found himself genuinely flustered.

The woman had changed.

Returns came faster now. Her aggressive serves hurled balls beyond his predictions.

Ha! The lady who claims to hate gambling is pulling curveballs now.

Amused by his unforced error, Edgar readjusted his lax grip on the racket. He had to applaud the tenacious will it took to chase down that sideline shot.

5-2. First to snag one more game won. Edgar figured it’d be a breeze. But then—

Damn!

As she bounced the ball habitually to serve, the woman abruptly began unbuttoning her blouse.

From behind Olivia came the maid’s shocked yelp; from Edgar’s side, the rakehells’ whistles rang raucous across the green turf.

Ha!

Gustily breathing, Edgar marveled.

The woman kicked off her pale pink shoes, flinging them beyond the court.

Wheee! Excited whistles mingled with the maid’s heartbroken cry of “Miss!”