Chapter 19
Kiss Me

Kyle led Layla out onto the terrace overlooking the rose garden. As the noise and splendor of the party faded, Layla finally let out a sigh of relief.

“Thank you, Kyle. Thank you, truly.”

Leaning against the marble balustrade, she pressed a hand to her chest. She had expected him to smile, but instead his face was stiff.

“Kyle?”

“Why did you put up with that?”

“Hm?”

“Letting them parade you around like some spectacle. Why didn’t you say anything? You’re Layla Llewellyn—the proud, sharp Layla Llewellyn.”

“So what?”

Layla smiled lightly, far calmer than the unusually upset Kyle.

“Nothing they said was wrong. I’m an orphan. I owe everything to Uncle Bill. And I’m going to be a teacher.”

“I don’t understand you sometimes.”

“People are complex creatures, Mr. Etman.”

“You’re only good at spouting nonsense.”

Her playful reply finally coaxed a laugh out of him.

“Go on, Kyle. I’m fine. Truly.”

“Go? Go where?”

“You have people to meet here. Plenty of friends.”

“Forget it.”

Kyle waved a hand dismissively and leaned against the railing beside her.

“Don’t be like that…”

“Layla, tonight I’m here as your partner.”

He turned his head slowly. Even in the dark, his gray eyes gleamed with warmth.

“So I’ll stay by your side.”

A smile spread across his lips, reaching his eyes.

“Because that’s where I want to be.”

The wind drifting in from the garden carried the sweet fragrance of roses. Layla pressed her lips together, fiddling with the railing instead of speaking.

“Why won’t you answer?” Kyle teased gently.

She lowered her gaze to the pointed tips of her shoes before glancing up again, awkward.

“…I don’t know.”

“Don’t tell me you’re shy in front of me now?”

“That’s not it!”

“Your face looks red.”

“It does not!”

She flustered, pressing both hands to her cheeks.

“Got you.”

Kyle chuckled, and Layla, caught off guard, laughed as well.

That was when Mrs. Etman, searching the hall for her son, spotted them on the terrace.

“Kyle. What on earth are you doing out here?”

She approached with a heavy sigh.

Straightening at once, Layla bowed politely. The woman acknowledged her with a curt glance, then fixed her stern eyes back on her son.

“There are plenty of people waiting for you.”

“They’re waiting for Father, not me.”

Kyle gave her a crooked smile, but his mother’s gaze only hardened.

“Kyle Etman. Are you mocking me?”

“You know that’s not what I meant, Mother.”

“Come along. The Dowager is asking for you. Surely you wouldn’t keep her waiting?”

Her tone made clear she would allow no protest.

“Go on, Kyle,” Layla whispered.

The Dowager Duchess had always doted on the doctor’s only son, and Layla knew how proud Mrs. Etman was of that fact.

“I’ll wait here.”

To reassure him, Layla added a bright smile.

“Thank you, Layla.”

At last Mrs. Etman smiled back. Her eyes—so like Kyle’s in their gray shade—were always cooler when turned on Layla. Layla knew that, too.

With heavy reluctance, Kyle turned to go. He looked back again and again, until Layla raised her hand in a small wave.

“Wait for me!” he called, scowling.

“You have to wait for me, Layla!”

She wanted to say Of course, but no words came. All she could do was smile and wave, stronger, braver than she felt.

When Kyle and his mother left, the terrace grew quiet again. Music and laughter from the hall drifted out with the glow of light, weaving an almost dreamlike atmosphere. Without her glasses, the light blurred softly, making it all feel even more unreal and beautiful.

Layla Llewellyn’s part was done.

Relieved, she gazed around in childlike wonder. With calm returning to her heart, she finally noticed herself—her own unfamiliar reflection in this night.

She shifted slightly, the ribbon at her waist and the hem of her gown quivering with her movement. Mischief stirred. She rose and dipped again, watching the full skirts ripple like waves.

The white gown, embroidered with gold thread, was as beautiful as the dreamlike night itself. Its silken touch was so soft that at first it had made her whole body tingle.

And the necklace.

Her smile faded. Layla touched it lightly, almost reverently.

Why had Lady Brandt said such a thing?

Perhaps it had been another refined form of scorn, or pity. But Layla didn’t care. Uncle Bill’s gift was dazzlingly beautiful. To her, that was all that mattered.

She looked up again, smiling—and froze.

A tall figure stepped onto the terrace. For an instant she thought it was Kyle and her heart leapt, but it was not.

It was the Duke of Herhardt. And with him, Lady Brandt.

“The night air is so clear, isn’t it?”

Claudine breathed deeply, smiling as if she had brought Matthias out here for no reason but the breeze.

“I love summer nights. They’re so beautiful. Don’t you agree, Your Grace?”

She leaned lightly against the balustrade, her radiant smile turned on him. Matthias’s gaze slid past her, to the true reason he had come: Layla Llewellyn, standing stiff at the far end of the terrace.

“I don’t particularly care for summer, Lady Brandt.”

He stopped at Claudine’s side. His eyes lingered briefly on Layla’s face. She looked overwhelmed, flustered by their intrusion.

“Really? I was certain you liked summer,” Claudine said playfully, now turning her back to Layla to face him fully.

“You always seem so detached, Duke. Of course, I don’t mean that as reproach.”

She clasped her hands behind her and stepped closer. They were now close enough for their breaths to mingle.

“But that detachment… I like it. That calm, that unshakable poise—it’s so aristocratic, so elegant.”

“I’m glad it pleases you.”

Matthias did not step back. He met her eyes evenly.

“Kiss me.”

Claudine’s bold request hung between them. Matthias said nothing, only studied her.

“I may like your composure, but surely a little passion is necessary between us, don’t you think?”

She tilted her head, her chestnut curls bouncing lightly.

“If we’re to be engaged, married, spend a lifetime together…”

“A little passion…” Matthias echoed. He narrowed his eyes for a moment, then gave a slight nod.

“A fair point.”

Without hesitation, he lifted his hand to cup her cheek. Claudine’s eyes widened in surprise before fluttering shut.

As her lashes cast shadows over her cheeks, Matthias’s gaze drifted—unconsciously—to the far end of the terrace.

Layla.

She was rooted to the spot, wringing her hands, eyes wide.

Still staring at her, Matthias bent and brushed his lips to Claudine’s.

And Layla Llewellyn played her part as spectator, just as Claudine had wanted. Frozen, stiff, she stared blankly at them. Even distance and darkness could not hide the flush burning her cheeks.

Throughout the restrained kiss, Matthias’s eyes never left hers. Her green eyes—helpless, unguarded—looked as pure as that moonlit night.

When at last Layla tore her gaze away, the kiss ended too. Claudine’s lips curved in a secret smile as her eyes opened, just as Layla fled down the steps into the garden.

“Shall we go?”

Matthias offered his hand politely. Claudine placed hers in his, as though nothing unusual had occurred.

“I feel certain now, Your Grace,” she said as they reentered the hall, smiling.

“Certain that we will make a very good couple.”

Layla ran down the steps in a panic. She knew they would not follow, yet her pace only quickened.

The sharp clack of her heels echoed through the quiet garden until she reached the great fountain at its center. There she finally stopped, breathless.

Pain flared in her feet—forgotten in her flight—where the new shoes had rubbed them raw.

“Ah…”

She slipped them off, wincing. Blisters and scrapes marred her skin; blood seeped from her heels. She wanted nothing more than to run home to the cottage, but she had promised Kyle she would wait. At the very least, she owed him a proper farewell.

Still, she could not bear to go back into that glittering, suffocating mansion.

Hesitating, she limped down the path toward the right. The rose-covered pergola stood there. Perhaps she could wait in the garden until Kyle returned.

But could she sit there?

She eyed the bench beneath the trellis of roses. She had helped Uncle Bill prune and tend those vines, yet she had never once rested there. Servants were not permitted.

But tonight she was a guest of Arvis. Surely it was allowed.

After much hesitation, she finally lowered herself onto the edge of the bench. Removing her shoes would take more courage.

She leaned back against the armrest, hugging her knees. The cool marble beneath her bare feet soothed the sting a little. Pretty shoes, so cruel to wear. She couldn’t imagine putting them back on.

If only she hadn’t run.

As she gingerly touched the worst wound, a shudder ran through her. The memory had surged unbidden—of the Duke kissing his fiancée while his eyes were locked on her.

Her face contorted. She could not understand either of them—Matthias’s unflinching stare, or Claudine’s calm acceptance of a kiss given with another woman in his eyes.

“Why would you do that?”

Layla muttered to herself, scrubbing her lips with her fingers.

“…Filthy.”

She rubbed harder, with the back of her hand, even inside her lips, as if to erase the memory of that gaze, that kiss, that night under the moon.