She had such a shameless dream.
Even days later, the mere thought of the dream made her face burn. Each time a wave of embarrassment crashed over her, Charlotte blamed the man in the carriage ahead for her discomfort.
No, it’s not her who was strange. It must be because she had been tormented too much.
On the tranquil surface of the lake, the man devoured his lover’s skin like a beast fresh from hibernation, cleverly choosing spots not easily seen by others—behind the neck, the insides of the wrists, above the collarbone.
At first, it tickled so much that she writhed, but later, she pushed him away due to the sharp pain. She learned the hard way that resisting only made things worse.
He knew she couldn’t swim when he brought her onto the boat. Otherwise, why would he…
Underneath her thin white gloves, Charlotte fiddled with the faint marks left behind as she sighed deeply. Across from her, Anna, noticing her deep breath, suddenly asked.
“Charlotte? Are you in pain? You’ve been so quiet the whole trip.”
“No, I’m just tired.”
The inside of her swollen lips stung with each word she spoke. Somehow, she had ended up going to the island. Although the carriages for the earl’s family and the servants were distinctly separate, eliminating any chance of being alone with Richard, Charlotte was relieved. It was probably for the best.
The swollen lips and the bite marks were healing. The struggle to hide them from Anna during showers was almost over. Charlotte quickly changed the subject.
“By the way, Anna, how much longer until we reach Corlen Island?”
“Well…”
Anna counted on her fingers and then folded one or two before answering.
“It’s the third day since we left Gredel Hill, so we should arrive at the dock by this evening.”
It was a half-day’s journey by boat from the southernmost dock to Corlen Island. It was her first time visiting the island, and her heart fluttered in anticipation.
***
The small passenger ferry to Corlen Island, which only took a few guests and sailed every third day, was efficiently run under the captain’s strict but silent command. The crew and stewards were excessively polite to the earl’s family, behaving almost like mice wary of a cat.
Among these cautious people, one stood out. It was during a meal when Richard glanced at a steward bringing food.
“Yikes!”
Startled, the steward dropped the wine. As the red wine spilled not into the glass but onto his jacket, he quickly bowed at a sharp angle.
“I’m so sorry!”
“My goodness, Richard!”
The countess across from him stood up in shock.
“It’s alright, Countess.”
The bewildered steward kneeled, pulling a napkin from the tray she was carrying. As she bowed her head, her nape was exposed. A strand of black hair slipped out from under the coif that was supposed to cover her face from cheek to chin.
Black hair… It had been too long. His purple pupils narrowed for a moment.
“Here, at least…”
Without knowing what she was doing in her panic, the steward hastily tried to wipe the wine-stained area when a large hand overlaid his. Richard removed her hand and reassured once more.
“It’s alright.”
The steward’s head slowly lifted. This man, whose mere presence made her nerves tingle, had just made eye contact, causing her heart to drop. The pungent scent of white musk mixed with a faint hint of arborvitae. Lightly tousled sandy brown hair, slightly raised long eyes, and indifferent purple irises.
The chill of his gaze made her feel as exposed as if she were naked, her face flushing with heat.
“I’ll get your jacket washed right away. Please give it to me…”
“What’s your name?”
In the midst of her rambling, the man who had just removed his jacket cut her off. Their eyes met, his gaze cool but not angry.
“…My name is Selma.”
“I see. I am Richard Kensington.”
Richard, having introduced himself, handed over his jacket.
“Then, Selma, please take this to Miss Hegel.”
“Yes, I truly apologize…”
She was likely a laundry maid. Deeply bowing, the steward turned to leave when a voice resonated in her head.
– Come to my room tonight.
Richard looked contemplatively at his bed, where a woman with disheveled black hair lay with a pale face, eyes closed.
She wasn’t dead. He rarely killed, after all. And it hadn’t been long since he had replaced the woman with a beast.
While pondering how to ‘restore’ her, someone knocked and entered without waiting for a reply.
“Richard…!”
The earl, looking anxious and scrutinizing the room, spotted the steward. His face contorted with realization as Richard called out to him.
“Seymour.”
“…You could have fed on the island.”
“It’s been a while since I’ve had the blood of a virgin.”
“So you haven’t violated her.”
“Never have.”
His tone implied it was unnecessary. There was no sign of guilt or moral conflict, just like a lion hunting a doe or a wolf devouring a sheep, his feeding was always ‘justified.’
The unfortunate woman affected by this would be fine by the next day, thinking it all a bizarre dream, just as others who had disappeared briefly thought.
It was an unspoken rule. The ‘feeding’ was always Richard’s responsibility alone, and Seymour never interfered.
With a shrug, Seymour placed what he brought on the bed.
“I came to return this.”
Seeing the freshly laundered jacket, Richard’s eyebrows raised. Reading the implication, he added,
“She seems to get seasick. She asked for it when I bumped into her.”
Cynthia’s daughter, who had looked as pale as death, had stirred a rare kindness in him because of her face. Having completed his errand, Seymour turned to leave.
“She’ll be off the ship by dawn. Get ready.”
As expected, there was no response.
***
It felt like lying on the waves. This had never happened before.
Charlotte muttered to herself as she felt utterly empty inside. Throughout the journey on the ship, she had felt dizzy. Soon her stomach churned, and she ended up retching violently. Anna, who shared the room, continued to look worried.
“I’ll be back soon, Charlotte.”
“I’m much better now. Don’t worry, and take your time with dinner.”
Even as Anna left the room with a concerned expression, Charlotte truly felt fine. Just close her eyes and sleep, and it would be morning. She’d be off the ship soon.
That was until an unexpected face flashed before her.
“Sir Richard asked me to give this to you.”
“…I see.”
Her face was flushed, her expression shy—it was a familiar sight. Women enchanted by a beauty they had never encountered before. She had briefly forgotten this since the night of the Cloverfield gala.
Her lover, Richard Daniel Kensington, was a man who captured attention wherever he went, regardless of age or gender. Though most were too intimidated by his coldness to approach him.
The jacket was stained with wine, and only that stained part needed cleaning. It should have ended there, if not for the steward’s ensuing question.
“Um… what does he like?”
“What…?”
“Oh, nothing.”
The woman blushed and smiled shyly before she quickly moved away. At the same time, a whirlwind of thoughts stormed through Charlotte’s mind.
Had the two of them spoken without her knowing?
Considering Richard’s typically cold and meticulous demeanor towards relationships, it was a ridiculous notion, but physical ailment had a way of unsettling the mind.
“If that were really the case… I wouldn’t let it go.”
“How so?”
“What do you mean, how?”
Her reply was abruptly cut short as she heard a response.
“Richard…?!”
“Shh.”
Before she knew it, Richard had silently entered and was sitting by her bedside, leaning forward. She felt his cool forehead against hers as soon as she shut her eyes. Their noses brushed, their breaths mingled. Richard then stroked Charlotte’s nape, not with a strange caress but with a straightforward touch.
Their eyes met from an incredibly close distance.
“You don’t have a fever.”
“How did you get in here… I mean, if we get caught…”
“We won’t.”
“…”
“Even if we do, it’s easily handled.”
His reply left Charlotte speechless.
“The dead don’t speak.”
“…You’re joking.”
“…”
Instead of responding, Richard straightened up.
“You said you get seasick. Seems that was true. Thought it was just an excuse.”
“With the steward…”
Her words burst out before she could think. It was something that had been bothering her, and she had blurted it out unintentionally.
“What did you say?”
Richard blinked, taken aback by the sudden question. It was an expression she had never seen on him before—surprised, perplexed, absurdly incredulous.
His answer came a beat late.
“You were worried about that even though you’re sick?”
“…!”
The embarrassment was all hers. Charlotte turned towards the wall and pulled the blanket over her head in a flush of mortification, writhing in further embarrassment.
“What are you doing!”
Lying next to her, Richard wrapped her in the blanket, his hand gently stroking her hair.
“Sleep.”
“…”
“It’s better if you don’t think too much.”
She had momentarily forgotten. He wasn’t just a kind man who would be considerate of a sick lover. Rather, he was utterly ruthless… As his grip tightened, Charlotte quickly said anything else she could think of.
“Good night.”
She felt like an obedient child complying with a simple command, but before she could contemplate the nuances of their interaction, her eyelids had already closed.
🍉🍉🍉
