The Villainess's Secret Bedroom Service
Chapter 63: Sleep Tight, Lady Rosalie

Chapter 63: Sleep Tight, Lady Rosalie

As they both settled into their seats, side by side, on the elegant expanse of the obsidian-hued couch, Damien graciously served Rosalie a generous pour of deep-red wine. As he turned around to fill his own glass, a vital admonition resurfaced in his mind, prompting him to issue a gentle caution,

"Lady Rosalie, please be careful. This wine hails from the North and wields potent strength. It would be wise to savor it in measured sips ––"

Before he could conclude his counsel, Rosalie abruptly placed the glass, its contents now a mere memory, upon the polished wooden coffee table that stood before them. She exhaled a satisfied sigh, one that bespoke a connoisseur of indulgence, and nonchalantly brushed her mouth with the back of her pale left hand.

"Your Grace, another glass, please!"

Exclaimed Rosalie with an almost mischievous glint in her eyes.

Damien’s expression shifted into one of absolute astonishment. Though he prided himself on his capacity for drink, witnessing Rosalie’s petite frame effortlessly consume a full glass of the potent Northern wine left him awestruck.

"How...? Lady Rosalie, the norm is to savor it with measured sips! The potency of this wine is not to be underestimated."

In response, Lady Ashter adopted a somewhat innocent guise, playfully fluttering her long lashes like a naively curious child, and nonchalantly shrugged her shoulders.

"Oh, I had no inkling of its strength..."

A realization dawned upon her – she had grown accustomed to indulging in alcohol due to the frequent outings with her former colleagues in her past life. As a result, her tolerance had steadily risen over time. However, in her present world, such a habit would likely attract severe judgment for a lady of noble standing such as herself.

Fortunately, and quite unexpectedly, the duke found her conduct rather amusing and responded with a genuinely warm chuckle.

"Lady Rosalie, your ability to astonish me knows no bounds. Shall I pour you another glass, then?"

The girl offered an awkward smile and nodded in affirmation, for the allure of the wine was too enticing to resist.

As Damien refreshed her drink, he leaned back on the couch and indulged in a generous sip himself, maintaining a relaxed tone as he continued,

"Are you having trouble sleeping? This is the first time I’ve noticed you wandering around the mansion like this. Could it be that you are feeling unwell?"

Rosalie cradled the glass in her palms and released a weary sigh.

"No, Your Grace, my health is intact. I find myself burdened with numerous thoughts, which led to staying up late, and now sleep eludes me."

"Would it be impertinent to inquire about the nature of these weighty thoughts?"

The girl hesitated, her mind grappling to articulate the depths of her vexing frustrations. She somehow knew, however, that Damien would be among the few who could genuinely comprehend her and offer his prudent advice, regardless of the complexity of her feelings.

"You know, Your Grace... Today, I ventured into the Capital slums alongside Altair, and I must confess, the sights I beheld shook me to my very core. These destitute souls endure a life more wretched than that of animals, and the profound realization that their plight remains unnoticed or simply ignored by many has left my heart shattered into a million pieces."

Pausing to gather her emotions, she took a deep breath, her voice now tinged with tremor, and continued, with a newfound timidity,

"I want to extend my assistance to these unfortunate people, but I am at a loss as to how. Could the Marquess’s funds possibly suffice to provide them with the stable aid they so desperately require?"

Damien emitted a subdued humming sound, thoughtfully considering his response. He then gently scratched the back of his neck before finally replying,

"If your desire is to ensure enduring and unwavering support for these unfortunate souls without the reliance on external parties, you could establish a charity under your own name. Nonetheless, you would need to assume the mantle of its administration."

Once more, uncertainty engulfed Rosalie’s thoughts.

’Must I personally oversee it? But what would happen to this charity if I were to depart the Capital next year?’

With a renewed sense of courage, she took another generous sip of wine and proceeded to pose her question,

"Is it possible for someone else to manage the charity under my name? Perhaps I could oversee it remotely?"

The duke’s eyebrows furrowed slightly, uncertain of the intention behind her inquiry.

"What do you mean? Why would you wish for someone else to manage it on your behalf?"

"Well... Consider the distant future, when I am no longer alive. Who will be there to carry on the legacy of this charity?"

Her query held a sense of practicality, and Damien acknowledged its significance. Running his long, slender fingers through his raven-black hair, he nodded thoughtfully,

"The charity, which bears a noble’s name, typically passes on to their closest relative upon their demise – for instance, their children. Alternatively, one can designate an authorized individual, an assistant, to assume responsibility."

"Ah, I understand."

Rosalie responded, finding solace in Damien’s explanation. The prospect of establishing a charity organization under her name now appeared more feasible, provided she could entrust someone else to carry on her work. However, the crucial question remained – who would be the right person for such a significant undertaking?

’It has to be someone I can trust wholeheartedly... However, the only person I truly trust here is Aurora, and regrettably, as a commoner, she cannot assume that role. But perhaps Princess Angelica could take on the responsibility?’

As fatigue slowly encroached upon her thoughts, Rosalie turned towards Damien, only to find his deep golden eyes intently fixed on her, a newfound blush gracing his cheeks.

"Your Grace, are you feeling unwell?"

Taken aback by his own uncharacteristic behavior, the duke quickly downed the remaining contents of his wine in one swift motion before mustering the courage to speak, his voice now lacking its customary assurance,

"Lady Rosalie... How close are you with Revered Altair?"

Rosalie nonchalantly shrugged her shoulders, contemplating the depth of her relationship with Altair. While her closest bond undoubtedly resided with Aurora, she couldn’t deny that, setting aside Altair’s enigmatic persona, they had moved beyond mere strangers.

"I suppose one could categorize us as close acquaintances. Considering all he has done for me, it feels inadequate to view him as anything less."

"I see... You even went on a date with him..."

Perhaps already slightly intoxicated by the power of the strong Northern alcohol, Lady Ashter couldn’t entirely grasp the subtle undercurrent of dissatisfaction and even sadness that tinged Damien’s voice.

’Why is he behaving like this? Could it be that he’s feeling jealous? But why would he be jealous? It’s not as if he has any romantic feelings for me. In fact, he appeared quite upset when I touched him the other day.’

Struggling with the increasing dizziness induced by the wine, Rosalie leaned forward, her countenance coming close to Damien’s as she endeavored to decipher his expression. Squinting her eyes in an effort to focus her blurry vision, she attempted to make sense of his emotions, but her attempts proved futile. Finally, she managed to gather her clouded thoughts and posed her question in a hushed voice,

"Your Grace, do you also... entertain the idea of going on a date with me?"

In that fleeting moment, Damien felt as though his senses had abandoned him, and time itself stood still. The resounding thump of his own heartbeat seemed to echo in his ears, while an unanticipated fervor surged within him. He couldn’t fathom why a seemingly straightforward yet unfamiliar inquiry could provoke such a profound shift in his emotions.

’Perhaps it’s the close proximity that is affecting me... Her face is so exquisitely captivating. I... I fear I’m losing control of myself.’

In a state of utter bewilderment, Rosalie maintained her gaze locked onto Damien’s, awaiting his response. Suddenly, however, her eyelids felt unbearably heavy, and the alluring pull of slumber became irresistible. Succumbing to the relentless force of gravity, she finally closed her eyes and inadvertently collapsed atop the duke, falling into a deep slumber.

The unexpected turn of events rendered Damien momentarily speechless. The light weight of Lady Ashter’s lithe form against his chest, clad in nothing but a delicate nightgown, sent tumultuous sensations coursing through his being. Attempting to gently push her away from his body, he carefully grasped her shoulders, but Rosalie, in her sleep-induced serenity, instinctively clasped her arms around his neck, comfortably ensconcing herself against his broad chest.

Defeated, the man released a protracted exhale, his voice a mere whisper as he tenderly enfolded Rosalie’s shoulders within his strong arms,

"At the very least, she shall not feel cold resting upon me... My body seems to be a veritable furnace at present."

Unbeknownst even to himself, Damien’s hand instinctively extended, tenderly patting Rosalie’s head as his fingers delicately traced through her long, silken tresses. A profound and unfamiliar affection enveloped him, eliciting a soft smile upon his handsome face.

"Well then, sleep tight, Lady Rosalie."