The Villainess's Secret Bedroom Service
Chapter 58: Breakfast

Chapter 58: Breakfast

Rosalie widened her eyes, taken aback by Damien’s unexpectedly hostile reaction. Observing the redness on his face, she finally understood that her actions might have been perceived as highly inappropriate and crossing the line. Her own cheeks flushed with embarrassment as she averted her gaze from Damien’s exposed chest, realizing that such behavior would be considered harassment if directed at a stranger.

"My sincerest apologies, Your Grace! I did not mean to touch you in such a manner!"

She attempted to take a step back to create distance between them, but the firm grip of the duke’s hands around her delicate wrists kept her in place. Rosalie glanced down at his strong grasp on her arms, then slowly raised her gaze to meet Damien’s face, which still bore the flush of embarrassment, his radiant golden eyes locked with hers, shimmering like twin flames.

"Uhm, Your Grace?"

Rosalie’s voice finally reached him, snapping him out of his emotional stupor. He released her hands and took a step back, avoiding her gaze as he covered his face with his large, calloused hand.

"Yes... I’m sorry, Lady Rosalie."

Damien murmured, his voice tinged with embarrassment.

Rosalie gazed at the duke’s blushing countenance, utterly perplexed by his sudden change in demeanor.

’This feels weird... We have kissed and even had sex already, yet he reacted like an inexperienced teenager simply because I touched him. I guess he really does not feel anything comprehensive or emotional during his seizures. It feels... rather disheartening.’

The girl decided to shake that useless thought off immediately. After all, she knew what she was dealing with, and it was unreasonable to expect anything more. Right now, all she needed was to talk to him.

"Your Grace, do you have a moment to spare? There is something that keeps troubling me, and I wish to resolve it as soon as possible."

Rosalie asked with a gentle yet determined tone.

The man glanced down at his ruined shirt, then let out a weary sigh and nodded.

"Yes, but you will have to excuse me first. I need to change into something fresh. Have you already eaten, Lady Rosalie?"

"No, I just returned from the training grounds a few minutes ago. I was watching over Logan."

Upon hearing her response, Damien furrowed his eyebrows once again.

’She accompanies him each and every morning without fail... Mayhaps it would be prudent to relocate him to the Imperial training grounds until his penance is complete.’

While this contemplation occupied his ever-restless mind, his eyes glided over Lady Ashter’s countenance, discerning the telltale signs of a red nose and weather-beaten cheeks.

’The chill seems to have taken its toll on her. Are her garments insufficiently protective for this inclement weather? Perhaps I ought to arrange for warmer attire to be procured.’

"Your Grace?"

Rosalie found herself growing restless as she observed the Duke lost in deep and silent contemplation. Determined to draw him back to the present, she gently urged him with his characteristic resounding voice.

"Well, Your Grace, might I inquire as to where we could converse in private?"

The duke considered for a moment before responding,

"Let us adjourn to the dining hall. Since I have forgone breakfast and my tea has now inadvertently adorned my shirt, partaking in a proper morning meal seems rather appealing."

Upon hearing this, Rosalie’s countenance brightened, and she offered an eager nod and a joyous smile.

"Very well! I shall await you in the dining hall then."

***

After Damien had made the necessary sartorial adjustments, ensuring a more refined appearance befitting the esteemed company of his contracted fiancée, he strode purposefully into the dining hall. There, Rosalie sat at ease, comfortably settled in the chair beside his, engrossed in the meticulous task of selecting vegetables for her customary salad.

As he drew nearer to the table, his discerning eyes caught a fleeting sight of a tiny green salad leaf clinging carelessly to her cheek. Unbeknownst to himself, he instinctively rested his palm upon the table’s edge, subtly drawing closer to her, and with surprising confidence, employed his left thumb to delicately remove the leaf from her face.

Lady Ashter found herself momentarily dazed and flustered, her eyes widening in surprise, while Damien, now fully aware of his unintended familiarity, swiftly recoiled, narrowly avoiding an awkward tumble over the table. A deep flush of crimson once again graced his awkward face.

Seeking to restore a semblance of composure and dispel any lingering unease that hung in the air, he cleared his throat with subtle poise, casually adjusting his attire, and adopted a feigned air of detachment.

"It appears, Lady Rosalie, that there was a salad leaf clinging to your face..."

The young lady, caught in a moment of self-consciousness, instinctively covered her mouth with her right hand, swiftly pivoting away from the table. With a sense of urgency, she began gathering the pristine white linen napkins, pressing them frantically to her cheeks in a flurry of desperate motions.

"How embarrassing! I was so hungry that I started eating the moment the food appeared on the table, stuffing myself like an animal."

Upon meticulously tending to her countenance, Rosalie returned the napkins to their rightful place, drawing in a composed breath in her endeavor to regain her poised demeanor. Steadying herself, she aimed to resume the conversation she had earlier initiated.

"Your Grace... I wished to discuss that particular incident at the House of Judges."

Damien poured himself a glass of refreshing water, his demeanor unruffled as he offered a composed rejoinder,

"Fear not, Lady Rosalie, I understand that the prospect of reclaiming your noble title may seem rather daunting. However, I assure you that the process itself will entail minimal involvement on your part. Once we are united in marriage, an official pronouncement from the Emperor will formalize your reinstatement. Nevertheless, let it be known that this additional honor of your noble title shall merely complement your esteemed position as a duchess."

Rosalie, her gaze drawn contemplatively toward her plate, hesitated before offering her response. Summoning courage with a deep inhalation, she continued, her eyes steadfastly affixed to the colorful leaves of her yet-unfinished salad,

"Then what is going to happen to me when we get divorced?"

The duke momentarily suspended the precise slicing of his meat upon the blue porcelain plate, raising his head to meet Lady Ashter’s gaze, a faint aura of bewilderment gracing his expression.

"I beg your pardon?"

With a composed nod, Rosalie reiterated her question.

"We agreed that our relationship would only last for a year, remember? Are you truly agreeable to such an arrangement? Additionally, we even agreed not to get married, but I made a mistake and now we have to do it anyway. Hence, I would like to know about the implications for my future and my title in the event that divorce becomes our reality."

The man’s expression contorted into a subtle grimace, prompting him to set aside his gleaming silver cutlery as he responded with an air of chilly detachment,

"Nothing. Nothing will happen. You will remain a Marquess even after the divorce. The marriage serves merely as a means of acquiring it."

His reply brought a measure of reassurance and relief to Rosalie’s heart. The truth was, the title itself held little sway over her, for she would gladly embrace the life of a commoner without qualm. Nonetheless, the acquisition of the title promised an influx of finances, and the prospect of additional resources could not be easily dismissed. After all, a surplus of wealth had never proven detrimental to anyone’s fortunes.

’The Ashter name may not bear significant weight, but whatever remnants it holds, I shall readily set aside. With the generous sum I will receive from Damien, I can embrace a life of unbridled freedom, unburdened by any financial concerns. A most felicitous scheme, indeed.’

Enveloped in the solace of this comforting notion, a gentle smile graced the girl’s countenance, and she proceeded to partake in her meal, playfully toying with her cutlery. Yet, as her happiness radiated, Damien remained oddly unaffected. He observed her with a watchful gaze, experiencing an inexplicable lump constricting his throat, while his heart palpably contracted with each passing beat.

’Why do I find myself growing increasingly vexed? What is happening to me?’