Chapter 63
Pretty

With the play that had drawn laughter from everyone, the first part of the concert—filled with performances from the lower grades—came to an end.

Some children with siblings in the later program stayed with their parents, while the younger ones, who needed to be in bed early, began heading home.

“We’re so sorry, teacher. Truly sorry.”

Monica’s family kept apologizing to Layla right up until they climbed into their carriage.

“Please don’t say that. It’s fine.”

“Still, because of our Monica, you had to suffer such humiliation…”

The seriousness of Monica’s grandmother’s words made Layla flinch.

“How about we have a hot coffee together?”

With a warm smile, Miss Greber came to her side after seeing Monica’s family off.

“Thank you, but I think I’d rather be alone for a while.”

“Oh, come now. You were adorable.”

“You know that’s not exactly comforting, don’t you?”

Layla smiled wryly, answering playfully.

“I mean it. And honestly, you accomplished something big tonight. The noble guests hardly ever laugh—but you had them all roaring.”

Her friend’s encouragement only deepened Layla’s despair. Yes. He must have seen too. Dear God…

“Even the headmaster was pleased. He said donations are sure to increase thanks to you.”

“Tonight I find the headmaster very detestable.”

Letting out a long sigh, Layla gave a small laugh.

After sending Miss Greber ahead, Layla trudged toward the little park behind the town hall. She really needed to be alone. Her soul felt as though it had poured out of her like the white breath of winter, scattering into the night.

What on earth had she done?

Collapsing onto a bench tucked away in the empty park, Layla kicked off the shoes that had been tormenting her feet. Tilting her head back, she stared at the night sky and let out a long, stifled groan. At least shame didn’t kill people. She was still breathing, wasn’t she?

“Ughhh…”

Another muffled cry slipped out of her, scattering into the cold night like her spirit itself.

Matthias found her exactly where he had expected.

She’d be mortified, so she’d run to a place without people. She hated uncomfortable shoes, so surely somewhere with a bench. But she was timid too, so there had to be a lamppost nearby. Better still, a tree.

“As I thought.”

In the corner of the park behind the town hall, by a tall tree and a lamppost, Layla sat slumped on a bench, barefoot, sighing up at the sky.

Matthias approached with unhurried, light steps. Only when his shadow touched the bench did Layla startle, her head whipping toward him. She gasped sharply.

“How did you…”

Glancing around in alarm, she looked back at him, then suddenly stretched out her foot to press firmly on her shoes. She was remembering the night he had stolen them.

Her wary expression made Matthias’s lips curl faintly.

“Do you think that would really stop me from taking them?”

He glanced at the shoes as he teased. Flustered, Layla hurriedly shoved her feet back in, fastening the straps tight. She sprang to her feet, relief flickering across her face. There was no need to ask if her injuries had healed; her brisk, fluttering movements said it all.

“Sit.”

“No, I’m fine, Your Grace.”

Layla retreated step by step until she stood beneath the lamppost. Her defiance was irritating, but he let it go. The gaslight glowed soft and warm, casting her in a pale light that pleased him.

“You should be an actress instead of a teacher. I’ve never seen a performer who could make more people laugh than you.”

So that’s why he came.

Layla pressed her lips tight, lowering her eyes to her toes.

“I… I know it was a little clumsy.”

“A little?”

He laughed aloud. The sound made her cheeks burn so hot she thought shame really could kill her. She bit her lip harder, hands trembling as they twisted together.

“T-then, I’ll just…”

“Pretty.”

The word struck like a blow. Startled, Layla lifted her head. Matthias was watching her intently, his gaze angled down, unwavering.

Thank you?

That sounded ridiculous.

No, Your Grace?

Equally pathetic.

No matter how she scrambled for words, she found none. Should she just run? But she’d only be caught.

“Uncle Bill bought it for me,” she blurted out.

She meant the dress, though she knew he hadn’t meant that. Or maybe she meant the necklace. Tonight, everyone had commented on it.

Matthias’s eyes narrowed slightly before he chuckled again. His gaze traveled slowly—her flushed cheeks, her pale neck, the emerald necklace glinting there. Under that deliberate gaze, Layla hunched her shoulders.

“Do you like it?”

“…What?”

“The necklace.”

“O-of course. Yes.”

She answered firmly. For some reason, he found that amusing; he laughed again, softly, low in his throat.

So he could laugh like this too?

The unfamiliar expression made her stare at him in wonder. When his laughter faded, his eyes only deepened, fixed on her. The silence stretched until a bird suddenly took wing from a nearby branch, its wings flapping loudly.

Startled, Layla stumbled. Panic struck her—what if someone saw? The thought froze her in terror.

“I need to…”

She tried to flee, but before she could take a step, his hand caught her.

She gave a short cry as her back struck the cold lamppost. Matthias loomed before her, broad and unyielding.

“I-I’ll scream.”

She shoved at his chest, eyes brimming with tears.

“As you wish.”

His calm answer cut the air. One hand held her face firmly as his eyes searched every inch of it. She struggled desperately, but her resistance barely rippled his gaze.

“Where did you hide it?”

His voice was low, probing. Layla froze, confused.

“…Hide what?”

Her voice shook pitifully.

“I don’t… I don’t know what you mean…”

She looked at him helplessly. He stared at her for a long moment, then exhaled a breath tinged with frustration. He had thought he’d found a clue, only for it to vanish again.

It irked him. But her face, so close, so beautiful, dulled the annoyance.

His hand slid from her cheek down the line of her jaw to her throat. His fingers brushed against a cool pearl, and his throat bobbed unconsciously.

Her skin bruised easily. If he gripped too hard, it would leave marks. Better yet, if he kissed and bit, he could mark her from head to toe, covering her in proof that she was his.

Even with that temptation blazing through him, Matthias exhaled another long sigh. Instead of bruising, his hand caressed her trembling nape gently. He cupped her face again, fingertips brushing her lips. Soft. Warm. Inside, too, she must be…

When he pushed a finger past her lips, Layla’s eyes widened. His fingertip brushed against her tongue. She bit down, weakly. It didn’t hurt—it only made his lips curve with dark amusement.

“Harder, Layla.”

He murmured softly, almost like advice.

“That’s the only way it hurts.”

Insane. He was insane.

Horrified, she let go of his finger. He slid it out, glistening with her saliva, and traced it lazily along her lips.

If I kiss you now, you’ll resist again.

And it would be nothing to overpower her resistance, as always. He had only ever needed to reach out and take.

But.

Matthias hesitated. He thought instead of Layla yielding willingly. Of her small hands holding, stroking, embracing him. Of joy.

His hand dropped from her lips to her bare throat, stroking gently. His chest tightened; he swallowed hard. Damn it. Clenching one fist, he pressed the other softly to her cheek. And with a long, quiet breath, he let her go.

Dazed, Layla blinked up at him. Only when he stepped back did relief break across her face.

He had expected her to bolt, but instead, she lingered. Lowered her eyes, then lifted them again. Frowned slightly. Looked once more. Over and over. All the while, his gaze never left her.

In that strange, disorienting moment, a soft, cold touch brushed her lashes.

Startled, Layla looked up. Matthias too lifted his eyes to the sky.

Snow. The first snow of winter.

By the time the second part of the concert ended, night was deep.

After helping tidy up, Layla hurried across the hall. The weather was too harsh for walking home; she would have to catch the last stagecoach or bus heading toward Arvis. Time was running out.

“Layla!—I mean, Miss Llewellyn!”

At the foot of the town hall steps, she turned, startled by a familiar voice.

“Uncle!”

It was Petter, Bill Remmer’s friend and Arvis’s coachman, waving broadly at her.

“Come along, quickly!”

He gestured toward a carriage waiting at the roadside. Its crest was unmistakable: the House of Herhardt. Layla’s breath caught, and she shook her head violently.

“No! I’ll go alone…”

“It’s the Dowager Duchess’s order, Layla.”

The unexpected name left her stunned.

“She said since they’re returning to Arvis anyway, you should ride with them. Come along. They’re both waiting for you.”