Chapter 41

Chapter 41

“Ongoing? What exactly did you two talk about?”

Philip felt ready to tear his hair out.

“If you won’t tell me, as I said before, we can’t properly support you—”

“Well, it’s a little too private to explain in detail. Even if you’re my secretary, I doubt you really want to know the bedroom specifics.”

“…Excuse me?”

James’s expression lost all trace of humor as he spoke in a cool voice.

“Injury. Bedroom matters.”

He glanced sidelong at Philip, continuing in a low, deliberate tone.

“Let’s leave it at that. You were valedictorian at Romberton First University; I trust you can put two and two together.”

Philip froze, eyes wide, shoulders tensing visibly. James gave him two firm pats on the arm and walked out of the office.

The sound of the door clicking shut left Philip alone in stunned silence, his pupils trembling with realization.

Injury. Bedroom. Private matters.

When he pieced those together, there was only one conclusion to draw.

The representative had told him to prepare a criminal complaint saying that woman had injured him.

The bedroom?

Private matters?

Miss Taylor?

That delicate woman beats our boss up at night…?

If true, this wouldn’t even qualify as a scandal. It was well beyond that.

Philip clutched his head, screaming internally.

No matter what happens, no one can ever find out about the representative’s tastes!

Having fallen completely for James’s mischievous misdirection, the unfortunate chief secretary Philip Bonard swore a desperate, pointless vow of secrecy.

Meanwhile, Rose found herself washed, scrubbed, massaged, and manhandled.

She’d barely shaken off the exhaustion of travel when a flock of maids swooped in and seized her for what she hadn’t realized would be an extended, inescapable beautification ritual.

And to top it all off—a formal evening dress.

She’d been planning to change into the clothes she’d brought herself, far more modest and manageable, but—

“Miss, the master gave strict orders. You have to wear it.”

“If you refuse, we get in trouble.”

“Please, miss, just let us help you! Stay still!”

Faced with their desperate pleading, Rose could only nod in resigned defeat.

The result was this ordeal disguised as luxury—this pampering that felt more like torture.

“You’re the guest of honor at the welcome dinner! We can’t dress you plainly!”

“That’s right! You’re the fiancée of the master himself!”

They tugged and pinned her hair in every direction, and though the process was painful, even Rose had to admit the result was stunning.

The off-shoulder gown in soft lavender and pale ivory complemented her violet eyes and sun-kissed brown hair perfectly; it was so well-fitted she couldn’t believe it had been prepared on short notice.

The fabric’s subtle luster betrayed its obvious expense.

And then there was the matter of—

‘I can’t believe they even included the underwear…’

Fine muslin chemises so sheer you could see through them, high-grade cotton drawers and petticoats, silk stockings.

She hadn’t even touched fabrics this fine back when she was a pampered young lady on Hilsy Island.

“My goodness, miss—you look so beautiful.”

“The master will fall for you all over again.”

As if James had any reason to fall for me, she thought sourly, but the mirror offered no comfort: she herself felt startled by how radiant she looked.

“Truly like a shy, blushing rose.”

Call it vanity if you liked, but she couldn’t help feeling her mood lift.

She brushed self-consciously at the curled ends of her hair resting on her shoulders, fingers lightly touching the iridescent pearls of her necklace.

“Truly, thank you. I…really appreciate it.”

Rose’s cheeks burned as she thanked the maids who had transformed her so thoroughly she could barely maintain the haughty act of ‘Olga Blavatsky.’

Then came a quiet voice at the door.

“Well, this is…unexpectedly impressive.”

James stood there, clear admiration on his face.

“You only said ‘impressive,’ but why is your face red?”

“It’s just… I’ve never really seen you dressed like that. It’s…distracting.”

“It’s…distracting?”

“No, I mean— it suits you. Very much.”

James himself cut a striking figure in formal black evening tails, the crisp white shirt and waistcoat accentuating his broad shoulders and lean build. The sharp lines of his bow tie framed that devastatingly handsome face.

The sight of him in those tails reminded Rose uncomfortably of that night.

She waved her fan furiously at her flushed face.

“You look…good too.”

“Delighted to hear it.”

His eyes drifted down to her bare, pale shoulders and simply refused to leave.

“Remember? I said an off-shoulder necromancer would be fine.”

That single remark, so casual, forced both of them to recall their first night together—the stark difference between then and now.

James found himself unable to look away from the charming curls draping over her white nape, the shimmer of the pearls at her collarbone, the subtle flush to her lips.

Almost without thinking, he stepped forward.

“Even better than I’d imagined.”

His hand lifted gently to brush her cheek, then slipped to the hair falling over her shoulder, finally tracing the line of her collarbone.

“Ah—!”

Rose instinctively pulled back, her heart pounding violently in her ears.

It wasn’t just the magic he unconsciously let seep into the touch; it was the heat of his hand, the look in his eyes that nearly made her believe he meant it.

‘Dangerous. That was too dangerous.’

She’d almost convinced herself this man truly wanted her.

Don’t be stupid, Rose Taylor. Don’t fool yourself.

She hadn’t chosen him out of love. She’d had a world to save. He’d only agreed out of convenience, to avoid scandal. Their so-called engagement was nothing but a public charade.

Worst of all, the soulmate bond forced on them—she had no choice in it. Neither did he.

She clenched her fists behind her back.

She couldn’t let herself imagine that James Dautryche liked her.

“Forgive me, Rose.”

“N-No, it’s fine. I just… wasn’t expecting it.”

She quickly glanced around for an excuse to send him out, only to realize the maids had all but disappeared the moment James entered, like smoke on the wind.

“You really do look perfect. Do you like it? The dress?”

“Huh? Oh. Yes, I do. I didn’t expect you’d go this far. Thank you.”

“You’re James Dautryche’s fiancée. This much is only natural.”

“Natural? This feels a bit excessive, honestly.”

He gave her an unrepentant smile and countered.

“You do know what built the Dautryche Company, don’t you?”

“Textiles. Fabric production.”

“Exactly. We’ve expanded into trade, shipping, railways, but the core is textiles.”

He cleared his throat and spoke with deliberate calm.

“So my fiancée, the soon-to-be lady of the house, wearing nothing but Dautryche fabrics is an important symbol, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Ah. That’s the reason.”

“Yes. That’s the reason. Every single layer—from underwear to gown—chosen by me.”

His eyes sparkled mischievously as he extended his arm in an elegant escort gesture.

“Shall we?”

Realizing just how cheeky his ‘symbol’ explanation really was, Rose’s heart sank.

She’d just spent all that effort calming herself down, and here he was provoking her all over again.

She scowled and brushed his hand aside.

“I can walk by myself.”

“In that dress?”

“Yes.”

“You’ll need me for the stairs.”

“That’s what banisters are for.”

Her sulky glare didn’t soften in the slightest.

Of course, not even one minute later, she was forced to accept his arm to descend the grand staircase.

Thus began Rose Taylor’s first night in the Dautryche mansion.

It might have started with annoyance, but the dinner itself was faultless.

Bright endive salad, melt-in-your-mouth veal steak, each course perfectly timed to make her sigh in delight. And every time she thought she might slow down, her glass was refilled with exquisite wine.

Finally, savoring a last spoonful of raspberry sherbet, Rose spoke with genuine sorrow.

“It’s such a shame this is the last course.”