Chapter 5. A Devil of a Man

Claire was slender, but tall—never someone you’d call small.

Yet under the man’s hands, she felt like a small, delicate doll. His strong grip lifted her with ease and placed her onto the saddle.

Disoriented by the sudden change in perspective, she flinched when fingers unexpectedly reached out and gently pulled her wet hair away from the back of her neck.

“Are you cold?”

“Ah, no… well, a little.”

“Endure it.”

The young duke fastened his jacket around her with surprising care. His tone was cold, but his touch was soft and gentle.

Claire was momentarily dazed by the contrast in his demeanor.

Perhaps he had tugged the reins—because the horse gave a few short whinnies before starting forward at a brisk pace. Just as Claire wobbled, unable to find her balance in the rain-blurred surroundings, a firm arm pulled her in.

Closer. So close their skin pressed together through the damp fabric.

It was a warmth even hotter than the sun.

Claire tried to adjust her posture, inhaling slowly. Through the scent of rain and dampness, the man’s natural fragrance hit her sharply.

The smell of a sunlit forest. The scent of sunlight pouring over dense greenery. Majestic and comforting—making her want to lean into it endlessly.

‘Even this… is warm.’

So warm, it felt unfair.

Claire bit down on her teeth.

She had promised herself she’d live strong and proud, even on her own—yet here she was, growing weak in a moment that meant nothing.

‘This isn’t right.’

She instinctively tried to put some space between them, but the young duke didn’t allow it. His firm hand pressed against her shoulder in a silent warning.

Thump, thump.

A heartbeat that seemed to shake the world. An erratic rhythm that sent chills from the crown of her head to the tips of her toes.

For the entire ride, Claire had to focus just to remember how to breathe.

Then, at some point, the horse came to a stop. Once again, that large hand gripped her waist.

He lowered her gently from the saddle. Her boots landed on solid ground.

The first thing Claire did was brush the jacket off her head. The world came back into view, and standing in the middle of it was the back of the man—so picturesque he looked like a painting.

A wide, solid back. A strong, upright neck. Bright golden hair.

Claire nearly froze in that moment, but snapped out of it when something swung open with a sudden noise.

She craned her neck to the side and saw a small cabin—and a man bursting out of it, swinging the door wide.

“…Young Master!”

“Hello, John. Where’s Nora?”

“She’s inside. Come on in!”

“I intend to.”

With a firm yet courteous hand guiding her, Claire stepped inside first.

“Young Master, this lady is…?”

“My father’s guest.”

“I’m Claire Wyde. It’s nice to meet you.”

Claire smiled as naturally as she could and extended her hand.

“I’m John, the gamekeeper for House Bertrand, Miss Wyde.”

John shook her hand briefly, then called loudly toward the interior.

“Nora!”

“What is it—oh my goodness, Young Master! In this weather! What if you catch a cold!”

It looked like a flood of scolding was coming, but the young duke casually waved it off.

“Then at least get us some towels.”

A woman with silvery-gray hair rushed out and handed them each a towel.

“And a change of clothes for Miss Wyde.”

Nora darted into a back room and quickly returned with a set of dry clothes for Claire. Then, without hesitation, she smacked the young duke on the back.

“What were you thinking coming all the way out here in the rain? And with a lady, no less!”

“I ran into Miss Wyde outside. And how was I supposed to know it would rain?”

“You did know!”

“I didn’t.”

“Liar!”

A devilish smile curled on his angelic face. The young man simply shrugged.

“I just gave the easiest excuse, Nora. Or do you know a better one?”

“……”

“Tell me, and I’ll use that instead.”

“Young Master!”

He just barely managed to cover one ear in time, but naturally, that smug act only made Nora glare even harder.

While they dried off, a torrent of scolding poured from her lips.

It wasn’t until the young duke dragged John outside—saying Claire needed time to change—that Nora finally stopped fussing.

“Whew! When will that young master ever listen!”

‘Just look at his face, ma’am. Does he look like someone who’d ever listen?’

Claire wisely kept that thought to herself. She quietly changed clothes, all the while glancing at Nora and hoping she wouldn’t become the next target of her lecture.

“Hello there, young lady. I don’t believe we’ve met before.”

Thankfully, Nora seemed more inclined to be welcoming.

Claire greeted her politely.

“Hello, Mrs. Nora. I’m Claire Wyde, here as a guest of His Grace the Duke. Please feel free to call me however you like.”

“A guest of the Duke is an honored guest in this home. Welcome. It doesn’t look like the rain will let up anytime soon, so feel free to stay the night.”

“Thank you for your kindness.”

“My meat pie is to die for. You can look forward to it!”

With a warm smile, Nora clapped her hands together. Claire offered to help with the meal preparations, but—

“You’re a guest, aren’t you?”

With that firm rebuttal, Claire had no choice but to sit back down.

Not long after Nora happily disappeared into the kitchen, the young duke reappeared.

He ducked to avoid hitting his forehead on the doorframe, then straightened up once inside. With a dry glance, he scanned the room before sitting on the sofa across from her.

He stretched his legs out, crossing them with a relaxed arrogance.

Even with his eyes closed and his posture languid, Claire found herself sitting up straighter without meaning to.

It was as if the very density of the room had shifted the moment he entered. Understandable, maybe—when a man like that took up space in a small room.

Quietly, she wrung her hands.

It looked like he’d changed clothes too. He wore a dry shirt now, with the top two buttons undone.

Claire lowered her gaze and studied the hands resting atop his knee.

One hand was gloved in black; the other was bare. The asymmetry was striking.

Perhaps it was the contrast between white and black, but it created a subtle kind of tension—something visually arresting.

She knew well how imperfect, unfinished forms could be even more captivating…

But still, she couldn’t look away.

Suddenly, in her field of vision, his hand moved.

Slowly. Silently.

Sensually.

Those pale fingers reached for the edge of the black glove and began to peel it off—very slowly. The fabric slipped away, revealing the smooth skin underneath.

Once the glove was fully removed, the young duke turned both of his hands toward her and showed them.

As if showing off a ring that wasn’t even there.

Claire blankly admired the backs of his hands, where veins stood out, and the long fingers with their neatly trimmed nails.

Then she snapped out of it with a start and looked up—only to find the young duke staring at her with an unreadable expression.

He slowly lowered his hands.

But his gaze never wavered.

Not knowing how to understand the unfamiliar look in his eyes—or perhaps not wanting to—Claire felt a deep sense of relief when Nora’s voice rang out.

She had a reason to escape.

Just as Nora promised, the meat pie was crispy and delicious. The warmth was more than enough to soothe her body after enduring the cold rain.

Even as they made light conversation, Claire was careful not to look beside her. If she did… she had the irrational feeling that something irreversible might happen.

No logic to it—but still.

After the strangely comfortable yet uncomfortable meal, Nora led her to a bedroom on the second floor.

“Thank you again for your warm hospitality.”

“Oh, not at all. We’re honored to have you.”

Nora gave her the usual instructions—if you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask.

“That’s the bathroom, and over there is the library. We have quite a few valuable books in there, so feel free to take a look.”

“Really?”

“Yes, important guests sometimes visit, like today. They often leave books behind.”

Which likely meant the young duke was in that library now. A shame… she’d have to pass for today.

Claire wrapped up the conversation with a soft smile.

She showered and collapsed into bed. As soon as her nose sank into the pillow, a fresh, grassy scent rose up around her.

Claire adjusted her position and lay still, listening.

The rain was still falling.

The gentle, rhythmic tapping on the window made her pull the covers up to her chin. As she closed her eyes, she repeated her resolve.

‘Don’t think about anything, Claire.’

Nothing at all.

Maybe it was a good thing she was so tired—sleep overtook her the moment she closed her eyes.

Just before she fully drifted off, a pair of gray eyes threatened to surface in her mind, but Claire chose sleep without hesitation.

When she opened her eyes again, it was around 4 a.m. No matter how she tried to fall asleep again, her mind stayed sharp. In the end, she sat up and made her bed.

‘There’s no way he’d be in the library at this hour, right?’

She sighed a beat too late. She’d promised herself not to think about him before falling asleep, and yet the moment she woke, there he was—right in her mind.

Claire groaned inwardly at her own foolishness and wrapped a shawl over her nightgown.

She crept quietly through the halls, half on tiptoe, toward the library. When she gently opened the door, the large window was the first thing to catch her eye.

Claire hurried over and ran her hands along the window frame.

It felt familiar—where had she seen this?

Where…?

“Ah. The portrait.”

She murmured the words to herself.

The portrait of the late duchess in the study. This was the very spot where the woman had been seated in the painting.

“Correct.”

Startled by the new voice, Claire spun around—even though she already had a good idea who it would be.

Sure enough, the blond young man with glasses was lounging in an armchair, a book in hand.

“Uh… how long have you…?”

She never finished her question—asking when he’d arrived.

But he understood her unfinished sentence perfectly.

“From the beginning.”

“Ah… I’m sorry for disturbing you.”

“It’s fine.”

But the very next moment, the young duke snapped the book shut.

“Since you’re clearly not here to read, shall we talk?”

“Pardon?”

“Let’s have a chat, Claire Wyde.”

Even before she could ask what about, her fingertips began to tremble with unease. She tried to hide it by clenching her skirt.

“To be honest,”

His fingers slowly brushed the spine of the book.

“I don’t much care for the idea of having a stepmother around my age.”

His tone wasn’t cold or harsh. The content was blunt, but the voice was not impolite—making it all feel like a dream.

Her thoughts dulled for a moment.

Could a lullaby sound this gentle and soft?

“Having a newborn baby sibling at this age, too…”

“…I don’t quite understand what you’re saying.”

“I don’t mind you leeching off my father. That’s just something artists do. But.”

His pale fingers gently tapped his temple.

Claire quietly stared at the man—his face so beautiful it felt cruel. A devilish sort of man with a face like that.

“If you’re going to be a kept woman to a man old enough to be your father, Miss Wyde,”

“Then at least be smart about it.”