Chapter 34
An Excuse to Break Her Heart

The moment Kyle spotted Layla walking along the forest path, his face lit up with a smile warm as the sunset.

“Layla!”

At the sound of her name, Layla lifted her head from where she’d been watching her own feet. Her eyes widened at the sight of him. That was the moment Kyle loved most—the instant her gaze found him and her steps quickened. His Layla, coming lightly toward him with a small, bright smile.

“When did you get here?”

“A little while ago. I went by the cottage, and they said you’d been summoned to the duke’s house. So I was on my way to rescue you.”

“Rescue?”

“Of course. Why else would Lady Brandt call for you?”

“Not this time.”

Layla laughed softly as they fell into step together, and Kyle slowed to match her pace.

“It wasn’t Lady Brandt. It was the Dowager Duchess who summoned me.”

“The Dowager Duchess? She called for you?”

“Yes. To congratulate me on passing, and to ask if there was a gift I wanted.”

“And what did you say?”

“That I wanted nothing. That simply being allowed to live here in Arvis was gift enough.”

“That sounds exactly like Layla Llewellyn.”

Kyle gave a small laugh, unsurprised. When he gently reached for her hand, Layla didn’t tense up the way she once had. That small change was enough to swell Kyle’s heart with happiness.

They walked together, hand in hand, down the familiar path. They spoke of the day’s chores, the mystery novel in the newspaper, their little plans for summer—ordinary, intimate chatter to match their shared steps. By the time dusk settled, the forest had grown dark.

In the shelter of that darkness, Kyle found his courage.

He tightened his grip and tugged her close. Layla stumbled back, pressing against the trunk of a tall tree. Kyle stood before her, his heart racing. It had all happened in a blink, yet to him it felt endless.

“Kyle?”

Her voice trembled. Even in the dim light, her lips glowed a soft red.

Kyle squeezed his eyes shut, summoning every ounce of his resolve, and bent down. His lips touched warmth—but not the softness he had imagined.

Opening his eyes in surprise, he gave a small, rueful laugh. His lips had landed on the back of her hand. Layla, her face flushed scarlet, was pressing her palm firmly against her mouth to block him.

“I… this kind of thing feels strange, Kyle.”

He lifted his head slowly. She spoke haltingly, her eyes cast down.

“When we do that… it feels like something wrong. And I just…”

Her lashes lowered, long and pale, trembling as they pointed downward.

And you don’t think this is worse?

The retort hovered on his tongue, but Kyle swallowed it and laughed weakly instead. His cheeks, too, were red now.

“Come on, Miss Llewellyn. What do you know about kissing?”

“Huh?”

“On the train, you sounded like an expert, lecturing me like you knew everything.”

“What do you—oh.”

Recognition flickered in her eyes. The day she had rattled off talk about reproduction and nearly made him want to leap off the moving train.

“That was…”

She rolled her eyes in thought, then swallowed hard.

“I’m not really sure.”

That familiar little phrase—her whispered escape whenever she felt cornered—hadn’t changed since the very first day he met her.

Kyle sighed, a soft, defeated sound. To be marrying her soon, yet unable to even manage a proper kiss—it was ridiculous. And yet, he didn’t truly mind. What he wanted most was her heart. He couldn’t risk wounding it by giving in to impulse.

He cupped her cheeks gently, stroking with both hands, and pressed a single kiss to her forehead. He clung stubbornly to his restraint, and somehow, he managed to keep it.

As he drew in a breath, the sweet scent of roses filled him. Layla’s scent.

Fresh from his bath, Matthias moved to the west window of his chamber.

His routines were precise. He always woke at dawn, went straight to wash, and showered for the same measured time before beginning the day. It was a habit, as natural as breathing.

Perhaps this moment was the same.

With a faint trace of self-mockery, he looked down through the open window.

Of course, she was there. Layla. The roses in his garden were in full bloom, and she was among them, following the gardener about, chattering without pause. Perhaps because her time in Arvis was nearing its end, she seemed never to leave his side now.

Once, he had thought Layla Llewellyn a terribly quiet child. She hardly ever spoke—at least not in front of him or Claudine.

“Master, it’s Hessen.”

The knock came at the appointed time.

“Come in.”

Matthias answered curtly, his back to the window. The breeze stirred the curtains as Hessen entered.

He read the morning paper while his butler reported on the day’s schedule. Nothing pressing until luncheon.

“Now that you’ve returned, my lord, Arvis feels complete again.”

For once, instead of quietly withdrawing, Hessen added the remark.

Matthias set down his cup and looked at him.

“My grandmother and mother might be offended to hear that.”

“Ah—no, my lord, I didn’t mean…”

“I know.”

A brief smile crossed Matthias’s lips.

“I know what you meant.”

It was gone in an instant, but his gaze remained calm, as smooth as still water. Relieved, Hessen bowed himself out.

Even after the door closed, Matthias lingered at the window, eyes scanning the pages. Sunlight filtered through his hair, washing the blue from his gaze to a paler shade.

He read an article on Count Klein’s enterprises—his luncheon companion—before finally lowering the paper. And there she was. Layla, at the edge of the flowerbeds near the house. The straw hat he had once pulled from the river shaded her face, her braid swaying as she laughed at something the gardener said.

Even without seeing her expression, he knew—she was laughing.

Matthias narrowed his eyes and raked a hand through his hair.

Would it have been better not to return at all?

He had thought so the moment his foot touched Arvis soil.

His life had been a staircase of careful plans, each step leading to perfection. All he had to do was ascend.

But the staircase had warped.

He still didn’t fully understand why he had chosen to break the order. Perhaps it had begun the night he tore up his extension papers. Or the day he had insisted on delaying the marriage for a year. Or even earlier—the day he stooped to pick up a fallen bicycle. Perhaps some forgotten day before that.

I still desire you.

He knew what it was.

And so I wish for you to disappear.

He knew that too.

His turmoil was the gap between burning desire and desperate denial. It was a question only time could answer.

Closing the window, Matthias changed clothes and strode the corridors with long, steady steps. He dismissed his attendants and left the house alone, heading into the woods toward the river. Where the light was brightest, the shadows deepened.

In the heavy shade, he stopped, momentarily dazed.

He had never wanted before. And so he had never known longing. But now—an even stranger realization struck him.

He did not know how to live without what he wanted.

The closer Daniel Rayner drew to the gardener’s cottage, the paler he became. Though the sun was not yet high, his brow was dripping with sweat.

“This is madness.”

The sight of the roof through the trees made him groan.

Linda Etman wanted him to “hold onto” the money the gardener had saved for Layla’s tuition. But stripped of its polite wrappings, it was theft.

The noble, elegant Linda Etman had urged her younger cousin to steal. All for the single purpose of tearing that poor girl away from her son.

Daniel wiped his face with his handkerchief, gripping his case tighter, his fingers twitching.

Even he had thought it a shame—that Kyle, son of the eminent Etmans, should fall so hard for a girl beneath his station. Everyone had expected him to marry at least into a lesser noble house.

And yet Kyle was sincere, Dr. Etman supported him, and as for the girl—Layla wasn’t so bad. He had accepted it. Even Mrs. Etman, he had thought, had accepted it. Who could have imagined the blade she hid behind her gentle smile?

“Money’s the root of it all.”

Muttering bitterly, Daniel forced his steps toward the cottage.

Linda had assured him it would be empty at this hour. If Layla happened to be there, he could claim he’d stopped by Etman House and come to congratulate her instead. They were already acquainted; it would not be suspicious.

He almost wished she would be there, wished the scheme would collapse. But when he knocked, the cottage was silent.

With a mix of despair and resignation, he pushed the door open. As Linda promised, it was unlocked.

If her tuition money is stolen, someone else will step in, he had argued. Dr. Etman himself, if no one else, would cover it.

Linda had only smiled, bitter and knowing.

Do you think I don’t know my own husband better than you?

Then why…

The missing tuition is just an excuse.

An excuse?

An excuse to break her heart.

Her words had carried a sigh.

Daniel had said nothing. If this was the straw he had to grasp, then he didn’t want to know more. The more he knew, the deeper the disgust, the heavier the shame.

He told himself he was only helping his cousin safeguard the money. That was all.

It didn’t take long. He stuffed the money into his case and stepped out again, strangely lighter. The die was cast. His part was done. He only had to hand the money to Linda and collect the payment that would save his house.

To avoid running into the gardener, Daniel chose the longer route along the river. But that cautious choice proved his undoing.

He realized it when he encountered the young man on the path.

Daniel froze. The man stopped too, not in alarm, not with suspicion—simply watching him with steady eyes.

A servant?

Relief flickered, but only for a moment.

No servant strolled the riverbank at this hour in shirtsleeves. And the face… oh, the face was unmistakable. He had seen it in the papers, and from afar more than once.

It was Matthias von Herhardt, the Duke.