My Disfigured Duke Husband Helps Me Plot My Revenge
Chapter 56: Assumptions

Chapter 56: Assumptions

After Leonor fell asleep, she slept like a stone.

She had been holding onto a lot of tension in her body and didn’t realize until it was released that it had depleted her energy. On top of the small amount of food she was able to eat and using her mana while dealing with heavy emotions, once she was able to sleep she was lost to the world.

She felt that it was late when she woke up and her heart started racing the moment she realized where she was. Her hand went over her chest and her blue eyes darted around the room.

Where is he? she wondered.

Would he be upset that she made them leave late because she slept for such a long time?

Based on the sunlight coming into the large arched window in the center of the wall, she imagined the weather had cleared up and it was good enough to travel.

Before she could gather herself or make sure she didn’t look like a mess, she heard one of the many doors in the room open. The duke walked out of the bathroom she had taken a bath in before.

The clothing he wore was extremely suitable for him. Even though the pale grey color of his outer shirt was understated, the thread throughout the edges and on the intricate design of his open collar was silvered. It drew attention subtly. His pants were black and tucked into boots suitable for travel. Leonor could tell they were well-crafted as expected of a duke.

As expected, he wore a cloak and a hood covered his head. Due to the warmer weather, it was lighter than the one he wore the day before.

Connected to a black leather belt at his waist was a silver sword with a blue stone inset in the pommel. It was sheathed but she imagined a soldier like him would carry something extremely sharp.

There were no pleasantries at first as Leonor began speaking.

"Forgive me for sleeping so late," she said. "I didn’t realize how exhausted I was. You could have woken me up if we needed to leave."

Desmond was walking towards the main door of the room but he cast Leonor a glance out of the side of his hood.

"You don’t need to worry, my lady," he tried to assure her. "Today is only a short day of travel. Yesterday was a busy day, after all."

"I appreciate your consideration, your grace," Leonor said.

While he didn’t face her completely, he remained still. He felt it was important to show Leonor that her words were important to him by being attentive.

"Would you like to eat breakfast?" he asked.

"Could I wash my face and get into something else first?" she requested quietly.

"Of course, I’ll have maids prepare clothing and water for you," he said.

"Thank you," she responded.

Their conversation felt stiff, but she appreciated him being polite.

Leonor gingerly pulled the blankets off of her and stood up to search for the slippers she had given the night before. When they were on her feet, she started in the direction of the bathroom.

However, the Duke started to approach the bed and she became nervous. He pulled at the side of the bed that was untouched considering only she had slept in it. It was large enough that she didn’t even disturb part of it.

He untucked the blankets and pulled them halfway down the comfortable mattress. Then he moved the pillows so they looked more used.

The action that shocked her the most was when he pulled a small working blade from next to his sword. In one swift movement, he sliced his palm open. It caused Leonor to gasp in horror.

"What are you–?!"

He didn’t cease his actions as he poured water from the bedside table into his hand which was pooling with blood.

At the very center of the bed, he tossed the mixture of blood and water onto the cream-colored bedding.

"I dare someone to doubt the legitimacy of our betrothal," he said through clenched teeth while putting a glove over his bleeding hand. "They would expect this sort of brutal behavior in the bedroom from someone like me."

Leonor wanted to refute his statement but she knew he was right. The rumors about him were horrible. It seemed that many never gave him a chance because of his appearance. For him to get bitter over time was becoming more understandable.

The newly appointed duchess ran into the bathroom, but it wasn’t for the reason Desmond was expecting. He thought she was going to get ready to eat but she reemerged with a strip of cloth. She found the roll of bandages he had used to wrap his head that day.

Even though she couldn’t look him directly in his face, she approached him wordlessly and held out her hand.

"Give me your hand, your grace," she said quietly.

He had already put a glove on the hand he had sliced.

"Don’t fuss over something so insignificant," he said.

Leonor cast him a desperate expression, finding the courage to meet his green eye.

"It isn’t insignificant to me," she snapped. "I’m equally a part of this as well."

At her words, he offered his right hand and she pulled off his glove, revealing skin covered in a purplish scar. The cut in his palm was oozing blood as she still expected.

Even though she wasn’t a healer, she could at least be helpful.

The sight of his scarred hand didn’t bother her as much as the sight of him harming himself on her behalf. She wasn’t shallow enough to fault someone for injuries sustained while protecting the kingdom.

Once his hand was wrapped and she felt her guilt lessen, she excused herself so she could wash her face and get into clothing more appropriate for travel.

Desmond stood there for a while in an empty room, simply absorbing the situation that had just befallen them.

He hated to acknowledge his racing heart. However, he realized when she stood so close to him that her scent hadn’t changed. There was something soft and comforting about the way she smelled.

He wished he could bury his nose in her neck and take her all in.

Then he remembered the world truly wasn’t his for the taking because she was what made up his world.