Chapter 54
A Matter of Responsibility

Layla couldn’t remember a single thing about how the meeting had gone. She had smiled, spoken, and moved like she was supposed to, but her mind was blank. All her attention had been consumed by that man—the Duke of Herhardt. Nothing else registered.

Why?

Her sideways glances at him were thick with fear and confusion.

As if mocking her, Matthias sat through the meeting with perfect calm and composure. The headmaster, elated by the Duke’s unannounced visit, gushed endlessly, and Matthias readily agreed with his plans for expanding the school. It wasn’t his concern anyway. None of it was—except for the trembling woman darting glances at him.

“Miss Llewellyn.”

The moment someone spoke her name, Matthias’s lips softened.

“Miss Llewellyn?”

This time, there was a note of puzzlement in the voice.

Everyone turned toward the teacher in question. Matthias was the last. Layla stood like a child being punished in the corner, wringing her hands, staring down at her toes. His lashes cast a shadow over his eyes as he studied her.

“Ah…”

Realizing she’d been called, Layla’s face flushed crimson.

“I’m sorry.”

She bowed hastily. The sight grated on him. This girl who had dared to talk back and defy him now stood here meek and shrinking, looking utterly pathetic.

“What on earth—”

“Please, go on.”

The headmaster’s frown and Matthias’s mild suggestion overlapped almost perfectly.

“The expansion plan,” Matthias said with a gracious smile.

“O-oh, yes.”

The headmaster, delighted as though the new building were already his, quickly forgot about the flustered young teacher.

As his speech grew more detailed, Layla busied herself serving tea alongside Miss Greber. Focus. Don’t make a fool of yourself again. She clenched her nerves tight. But the moment she drew near Matthias, her resolve dissolved into nothing.

Clink, clatter—the cups and saucers trembled in her unsteady hands. Matthias’s gaze followed the sound until their eyes met. Her expression was on the verge of breaking into tears, filled with fear, confusion, and despair. It was what he wanted—yet seeing it now, it gave him no pleasure.

He looked away. If she spilled the tea, she’d only blush deeper and flounder like before. Amusing, but not here. Fortunately, she managed to set the cup down without mishap. Her hands, pale as wax, caught his eye for only a second.

The meeting carried on.

While the headmaster droned, Matthias lingered on the memory of her hands. The slim fingers, the petal-like nails. He remembered them clawing desperately at him one summer afternoon, scratching, slapping, but unable to hurt him. He remembered pinning them to the dusty ground, her lips crushed beneath his.

By the time the meeting ended, that memory still lingered. The patrons approved the expansion, and Matthias pledged the largest donation of all. Behind their dignified faces, the nobles were impatient to go home.

“Would it be possible for me to see one of the classrooms?”

Matthias asked politely, his tone deferential.

“Of course, Your Grace. But the patrons are departing. I should be there to see them off…”

The headmaster’s gaze swept around, then landed on the most expendable staff member—the young teacher hiding in the corner.

“Miss Llewellyn, could you escort His Grace?”

Exactly the answer Matthias wanted. He inclined his head, as though granting a favor.

“That will do.”

Layla’s classroom was at the far end of the first floor. With the students dismissed and the stove put out, it was damp and cold.

She forced herself to light the lamps and step inside first. Just one more room to show, and it would be over. So far, the Duke had played the role of dutiful patron, examining only the facilities. She had managed not to faint or run. Just a little longer.

“This is where the younger students study…”

Her words faltered as the door shut with a thud. She spun around. Matthias was leaning against it.

“So this is Miss Llewellyn’s classroom.”

His eyes moved over the teacher’s desk, her belongings, the coat draped over the chair.

“Yes… that’s right, Your Grace.”

Layla edged back toward the window. It was the farthest she could get. Her chest hammered like the rain tapping against the panes.

He strolled toward her unhurriedly, like a man taking a walk. She pressed herself to the small desk by the window, her eyes darting helplessly.

“What do you think I’m going to do?”

He smiled. It didn’t comfort her. When he smiled with those cold eyes, he was at his cruelest.

“This is a school, Your Grace. Not Arvis.”

“Yes. A school.”

He didn’t stop.

“And I’m a patron of this school. So I’m not out of place here, am I?”

“You didn’t even announce you were coming. Why do this… in this way—”

“You think I’m a fool, Layla?”

He stopped two steps away, folding his hands behind his back with perfect ease.

“If I’d announced it, you wouldn’t be here. You’d have run however you could.”

Her lips parted, but she couldn’t deny it.

“If you have something to say, say it at Arvis instead.”

“No, Layla. Here is better.”

With a soft laugh, Matthias turned toward her desk. Layla stared desperately out the corridor windows, as though help might appear.

“It’s only here that we can talk like this.”

He glanced over her neatly arranged things—quills, blotters, porcelain trinkets, even an old chocolate box repurposed for pen nibs. Finally, his eyes lingered on the ink bottles. Black. Blue. Red.

His lips curved as he chose the red.

Layla almost protested, but dropped her head. He was just looking. Just touching things. Overreacting would only betray her rising panic.

Please… let the others come back quickly.

Her hands clasped in silent prayer.

Then the sound came—an ink bottle being set down. She looked up.

“Y-Your Grace!”

Her cry broke out as she saw him pouring the red ink across her coat, as though he were filling a glass of wine.

She rushed forward, horrified. He stepped back lightly, still holding the half-empty bottle. She dabbed frantically with a handkerchief, but the light gray coat was already ruined.

“What on earth are you doing?!”

Tears welled in her voice. He was as calm as ever.

“A matter of responsibility.”

The answer left her speechless, her lips parted, flushed with heat. He stepped close again—and calmly tipped the rest of the ink over her shoulder. It spilled down, staining her blouse, her skirt, even her shoes.

When the last drop was gone, he let the bottle fall. It clattered across the floor, spraying droplets even onto his polished shoes. He didn’t care.

Layla’s mouth opened and closed, but no sound came. Shock, fear, outrage choked her. She shook, gasping for breath, crimson-stained as though drenched in blood.

“What shall I do, Layla.”

He looked over the chaos he had made, his brow faintly furrowed.

“I’ll have to take responsibility.”

Even now, his smile was polite.

“Thank you for your generous understanding of Miss Llewellyn’s mistake,” the headmaster said, bustling at his side.

The other teachers had hurried after him. What they saw was a teacher drenched in ink, and a Duke kindly taking the blame.

“It was my fault,” Matthias repeated smoothly.

“I reached for the bottle she dropped, and it slipped. I owe her the apology.”

“We can only regret that such an accident marred Your Grace’s first visit to our school.”

“Not at all. It has been a pleasant visit.”

At the entrance, Matthias bowed courteously.

“Miss Llewellyn will come with me.”

His gaze passed the headmaster and landed on Layla, standing stiff and dazed. The more she tried to wipe the ink, the worse it smeared. She looked like she had been grievously wounded.

“No. I’ll be fine,” Layla said, her voice trembling with suppressed anger. Her eyes, no longer cowed, flashed sharp. Better that than cowering.

“Miss Llewellyn, His Grace has apologized. Accept it,” the headmaster urged, smiling nervously.

“It’s raining. You don’t even have your bicycle. Do as the Duke says.”

“I have an umbrella. I can walk.”

The paler the headmaster grew, the more Layla resisted.

“I understand your feelings, Miss Llewellyn. But if people saw you walking through the rain in that condition, imagine the alarm. The police might be called.”

Matthias’s quip drew laughter from the group. Layla bit her lip. Looking down at herself, she saw it—red ink covering her like blood. Perhaps it wasn’t a joke after all.

Miss Greber came to her side. With the headmaster’s eyes on her, Layla had no choice.

Matthias climbed into the carriage and waited, watching leisurely as she was ushered forward. Practically dragged, she was loaded in like luggage.

He shifted back in his seat, making space for her stiff, furious form.

The door shut. The carriage rolled away with only the two of them inside.