Chapter 8

Chapter 8

He raised one eyebrow as if surprised by the suddenness of her appearance, looking down at her.

“Excuse me. I was just startled because I didn’t sense anyone nearby, Miss Blavatsky.”

“Ah, I hear that a lot. That I don’t make much noise when I move.”

He quickly composed his expression and replied politely, while Rose smiled awkwardly and took a bit more courage to approach him.

“You must be bored.”

James immediately caught on to her meaning.

“Well, yes. I tend to support reason and intellect.”

“Sometimes, embracing emotion and irrationality is necessary to keep life balanced.”

“I thought you were simply behaving politely, staying within reasonable limits. I have to admit that I’m a bit of a skeptic.”

“While some skeptics attempt to catch the trick by force and end up damaging their own tools, Mr. Dillon, you maintain the grace of a true gentleman.”

“It’s a shame when someone rejects an idea just because it challenges their perspective—that’s not the mark of a true gentleman.”

As they exchanged this trivial but polite banter, her initial tension faded. When some of her tension eased, courage began to fill the space.

She summoned all her nerve and threw out a line she considered provocative.

“Still, since you had to endure boredom because of me…”

“Not at all. It’s just a matter of taste.”

“Would you like to do something a bit more interesting with me?”

She had thought this line over, prepared, and rehearsed it.

“Something interesting, hm.”

He murmured thoughtfully, neither confirming nor denying.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

While others danced, chatted, smoked, drank, and played cards, Rose tugged on James’s sleeve.

“Where are we going?”

“Just follow me.”

The Chester Estate was quite far from downtown Romberton, so the countess, a regular client, always arranged a guest room for Rose and Arthur to stay overnight—thankfully not just any servant’s room, but the real guest room in the estate.

Familiar as her own home now, Rose gripped the man’s sleeve tighter as they used the servants’ passage to climb to the second floor. Though she kept a calm façade ascending the stairs, her pounding heart was indescribable.

Soon after, the two arrived in Rose’s room prepared by the countess, looking unmistakably like a couple sneaking away during the party for a secret meeting.

Good. We made it this far.

Inwardly cheering, Rose mimicked the proud, aloof woman’s demeanor fitting Olga Blavatsky’s character.

“Mr. Dillon, would you please close the door?”

“…For your honor and dignity, I cannot.”

Wearing a smile as if amused, he stood at the slightly open door, displaying gentlemanly behavior.

Seeing him put up a wall after following her silently stirred an unexpected challenge inside Rose.

“Honor, hmm? If you truly cared about my honor, you wouldn’t have followed me here.”

Fitting Olga’s aloof persona, Rose gave a somewhat enchanting smile and closed the door, then locked it with a flourish. Without hesitation, she stood on tiptoe and stole a kiss from his lips.

This was the first time she had kissed a man other than Arthur Granfield, so she felt grateful for the champagne she’d downed repeatedly earlier.

Caroline had called alcohol a potion of courage, and truly, it was more effective than any elixir an alchemist could make.

As she drew in a breath she’d been holding, the sensual cedarwood scent drifting from him filled her lungs.

“…!”

“How is it? Doesn’t it chase the boredom away?”

“…Do you usually do this kind of thing?”

“This kind of thing?”

“Do you get paid to be with men…?”

“Oh! Don’t misunderstand. I’m not trying to get paid by you. I don’t sell my body.”

“My apologies.”

He said so with a polite apology, but a smile lingered on his lips.

“Now, this is something exciting.”

James deliberately stepped closer to Rose. They were already standing close, but that gap shrank even more.

It was a provocation with a faintly teasing intent.

Just one step from him magnified his presence, overwhelming Rose.

Too close!

Her heart pounded violently at his sudden approach.

She tried to step back reflexively, but his large hand caught her back and pulled her close before she could fall.

“Um, Mr. Dillon.”

“Yes, Miss Blavatsky.”

His low voice vibrated through her, flowing into her very being.

Though he stood right in front of her, Rose lacked the courage to meet his eyes.

Each breath she took brought with it his hot body heat and the unfamiliar scent of a man, making it hard to keep her wits.

She no longer had the composure to act as Olga Blavatsky.

“Um… honestly, I was worried you might be bored with me.”

“Is that so.”

There was no way he could be bored.

At first, he thought she was up to some scheme, but before long, James felt a strong curiosity toward the fortune-teller before him.

Could Miss Blavatsky truly be like this? Quite daring, and not at all the delicate woman she usually appeared to be.

She boldly took the initiative, but instead of confidently crossing her arms, she nervously clutched his sleeve.

So she brought him here—to the guest room.

She created a situation easily interpreted as sexual intent, then suddenly pressed her lips against his.

A simple kiss without tongue, like a teasing goodnight kiss, then asked if the boredom had cleared.

Yet now she couldn’t even look him in the eye, helplessly flustered. Quite the contradiction.

To put it simply, she was embracing everything that would drive a man crazy, deliberately revealing just a little to torment him.

If all this was calculated, she was undoubtedly a world-class actress.

And then…

“So, did you use my handkerchief well?”

“…!”

At that question, she finally looked up at him.

Her large eyes shook noticeably.

It was obvious she was searching her mind for an answer to give.

Gone was the mysterious and aloof lady; standing there was a startled, flustered rabbit.

James admired Miss Blavatsky’s ever-changing expressions and covered a laugh with a large hand.

Such a long pause meant his guess was correct.

Still, he patiently waited for her answer.

After a long moment, she said, “No.”

Having barely answered, she even covered her mouth, perhaps regretting the reply.

He slowly loosened his grip, adding some space between them.

“You took my handkerchief in a flash but didn’t use it?”

“…I was too honored.”

“Honored? What do you mean by that?”

“It was such a valuable item, I was too afraid to use it and kept it safe.”

“Hmm.”

“Ah! Right! I have to give it back!”

The woman who had just tried to seduce him suddenly turned away and rummaged through her bag.

When James had watched Miss Blavatsky’s seance show from afar, she always maintained a charismatic, aloof, and mysterious image.

But this woman before him…

Is she the type to become silly when drunk?

He wondered if even the countess had seen this side of her. He hoped not.

“Sorry… I didn’t bring it with me.”

“Then I’ll take Miss Blavatsky’s handkerchief instead. We can exchange later.”

“Mine? No! It’s not something anyone should see.”

“A handkerchief is a handkerchief.”

After some back and forth, Rose was persuaded, flushed red, and pulled out her own handkerchief to offer him.

To an outsider, it might look like she was offering more than a mere cloth.

“It’s just an ordinary handkerchief.”

“The lace is all wrinkled… and there’s some leftover tea stains…”

“A diligent handkerchief fulfilling its true purpose.”

It was exactly as described: a humble, well-used handkerchief worn to the point of fraying.

James chuckled and put the handkerchief into his pocket.

“…How did you know? My appearance then was a mess, and my hair and eye color were different.”

“Jack Dillon.”

“Yes, that’s your name, Mr. Jack Dillon.”

“There aren’t many people I’ve introduced myself to with that name.”