Chapter 48
“No, I wasn’t digging into your past.”
Claudio spoke in a rush, as though the world itself would collapse if a single tear slipped from those wide eyes.
Marsha, her pride already scraped raw, scrubbed furiously at her eyes before the tears could fall.
She refused to humiliate herself any further.
“Then how did you know?”
“I’ll explain, slowly. Just… stop rubbing your eyes.”
“What does it matter to you if I rub them or not?!”
Marsha snapped, voice raised—
“Urk.”
—when a strangled sound came from beneath their feet.
Startled, Marsha’s eyes widened as she glanced down.
James lay there, utterly still.
She shrieked, a piercing cry ripping through her throat.
“What do we do?!”
She stumbled toward him in a panic, but Claudio let out a sigh and blocked her with his arm.
“Leave him. You really want to waste your energy saving scum like that?”
“Do you think I care about him?!”
Marsha shot back, furious.
“If that bastard dies, you get branded a murderer, and then what?!”
Claudio blinked, eyes going wide.
“You’re already stuck here, too afraid of the Duke’s watchful eyes to go back—are you planning on adding another scandal on top of it?!”
Grumbling under her breath, Marsha crouched beside James to check his condition.
To her relief, he was still breathing.
“You—if you’re able to move, help me lift him.”
She flicked her hand at Claudio, urging him closer.
But he didn’t budge.
Puzzled, Marsha turned to him.
His head was bowed, hand clamped tightly over his mouth.
“What’s wrong with you?”
Her mind leapt at once to the worst—had he strained his leg too much earlier?
Has his side wound reopened?
Her face paled.
Then his lips parted.
“…Ha.”
The sound was half a sigh—then his shoulders began to shake.
“Ha… ha!”
It broke into laughter.
He laughed openly, freely, the same infuriating way he’d done before.
Marsha scowled, her entire face scrunching up.
“What on earth is so funny right now?”
I’m about to burst from stress, and he’s laughing?
Every time Claudio did this, it pushed her past frustration into sheer exasperation—enough to vow never to waste her concern on him again.
And yet, each time, she forgot that vow and worried all over again.
She truly couldn’t understand her own heart.
Claudio eventually finished a rough patch-up job on James, then, without hesitation, tied him to a tree out front.
James seemed in no condition to wake any time soon, but—
“I can’t risk something happening while I’m gone.”
“Gone? Where are you going?”
Claudio gave a small nod.
“I can’t leave him tied here forever. I’ll be back as quickly as I can. Don’t go near him, just stay inside the house.”
“That’s the least of your worries. Even if wolves come and tear him apart, I’ll leave him be.”
Marsha wrinkled her nose, voice dripping with disdain.
Claudio’s lips curved into a satisfied smile.
“Now that’s the kind of spirit I like to hear from you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Marsha glared at him, but to Claudio, her face only looked like that of a little kitten throwing a tantrum.
“Be careful.”
“You too.”
“Of course. I’ll be very careful.”
Claudio let out a short laugh and left, while Marsha stayed behind, keeping watch over James inside the house.
‘Not even a twitch.’
He’s not dead, is he?
She considered checking his condition, but instead just sat back down.
If he were dead, there was nothing she could do anyway.
‘Besides, he’s probably just unconscious. If even someone shot with a gun survived, he won’t die from something like this… right?’
Or could he?
Marsha frowned, her thoughts twisting into knots, when James suddenly coughed—“Kehk, kehk…”
‘Still alive.’
She exhaled with a mixture of relief and annoyance, her mind drifting to Claudio.
Just who had he gone to fetch?
Surely he wouldn’t call the police, knowing her circumstances.
Then… was it Urian?
‘If so, then he must’ve gone to the manor…’
The manor.
Was it safe for him to show up there?
If the Duke caught sight of him, it could mean serious trouble.
Her thoughts kept chasing themselves in circles until the clock had crept toward eight in the evening.
The sound of footsteps closing in startled her to her feet.
She hurried to peer outside.
‘Ah—it’s Urian.’
But he wasn’t alone.
Knights accompanied him.
Sensing her tense gaze, Urian quickly approached, his voice calm and reassuring.
“Lord Dio has told me everything. You must have been terribly shaken. You’re not hurt, are you?”
“Ah. No, I’m fine.”
Relief softened Urian ’s features.
Then, turning toward the knights who stood in silence, he issued a quiet order.
At once, one of them hefted James as if he were nothing more than baggage and loaded him onto a wagon.
‘So what’s going to happen to him? Will he be taken to the Duke’s estate? And what if… what if news of me ends up reaching them too…?’
Marsha swallowed hard. Just then, Urian leaned in to whisper:
“Rest assured, Miss Marsha. I’ll see to it that no trouble comes your way.”
“Thank you.”
Flustered that her private thoughts seemed laid bare, Marsha forced an awkward smile and nodded.
“Ah, and I heard… that man swindled at least two people?” she asked, gesturing at James as though he were a stranger.
“Did he, now?”
Urian turned slightly, casting James a look of pure disdain, as though he were a worm crawling in the dirt.
“Rest assured, we will uncover every single one of his crimes and make sure he pays for them in full. You have nothing to fear.”
Marsha gave a small nod, the corners of her lips lifting faintly.
“And… where is he?”
“Lord Dio? He should be here shortly. Until then, I’ll remain by your side—”
But before Urian could finish, Marsha’s gaze caught the silhouette of a man on horseback.
At first, she wasn’t certain… but as he drew closer, there was no mistaking who it was.
‘That’s Dio, isn’t it?’
At Claudio’s arrival, the knights—already stiff with formality—snapped to even sharper attention.
Dismounting, Claudio didn’t spare them a glance; his eyes were fixed solely on Marsha.
“You’re late.”
“You’ve actually come earlier than expected, my lord. Lord Bisd and—”
The moment Urian mentioned another name, Claudio’s eyes cut toward him, sharp as a blade.
“Uh—!”
Urian clamped his mouth shut in panic, shaking his head frantically before fumbling to cover his blunder.
“Wh-what I mean is, we assumed you’d arrive later since you had business to attend to. But how in the world did you get here so quickly…?”
Even as he spoke, his face drained of colour.
He had just realised—the rougher, steeper path would shave hours off the journey.
“If you take the rugged trail, the wound will tear open.”
“Such nagging.” Claudio frowned, jerking his chin toward the yard.
“Go deal with that.”
“Yes, sir…”
Urian slunk away, shoulders hunched, like a scolded mastiff.
Watching him retreat, Marsha tilted her head and asked cautiously,
“…Was something urgent going on? And what did you mean by that horse?”
She glanced sideways at the mount.
Claudio merely shrugged.
“Got held up talking business with someone. That one’s mine.”
Marsha had meant to ask why he’d risked the hazardous route, but it seemed Claudio had taken her question as asking why he left the duke’s estate late.
She considered correcting him but let it go. It wasn’t worth the trouble.
“The duke’s household must hand out fine horses,” she remarked casually.
Claudio’s brows rose in mild surprise. “You can tell that one’s a thoroughbred?”
‘Ah.’
Back when Wilford dabbled in horse trading, Marsha had studied a bit, thinking it might come in handy.
She’d recognised instantly that the stallion wasn’t ordinary.
But most common-born women knew little about horses.
Realising her slip, she rushed to cover it.
“I just meant… You can tell at a glance. Handsome beast, with a coat that practically gleams.”
“…”
Claudio turned.
There stood Shun, patiently waiting, though untied, until his master mounted again.
Claudio—cold as ice to most men—held a quiet fondness for the stallion.
And yet, hearing Marsha praise him left an unpleasant taste in his mouth.
Why? When someone admires what you treasure, aren’t you supposed to feel pleased?
His own reaction struck him as strange, but he had no desire to suppress it.
Without a word, he slammed the door shut.
Bang!
Outside, Urian and the knights, ready to depart, gawked at the tiny house, their bafflement plain.
Shun too looked unsettled, the sudden absence of his master unexpected—but, clever horse that he was, he stood calmly, awaiting Claudio’s return.
“Why shut the door like that all of a sudden?” Marsha asked.
“Leaving it wide open at night is hardly wise.”
“But I didn’t even get to thank Urian properly.”
“Don’t bother. That fool will spend the rest of his life feeling guilty toward you anyway—let that be enough.”
“It’s not about that. A proper farewell… that’s just common courtesy between people, isn’t it?”
“Some courtesies,” Claudio said quietly, tapping the seat across from him, “are worth forgetting once in a while.”
Masha sat down with a pout, then asked cautiously,
“Didn’t the Duke find out?”
He tilted his head lazily, as though weighing his words.
“He did.”
“What?!”
Marsha shot forward in her chair, eyes wide.
“No, wait,” Claudio corrected himself. “As long as he doesn’t notice the injury, it won’t be a real problem… I think.”
Leaning back again, Marsha searched his face nervously.
Before she could press further, Claudio’s voice cut through her thoughts.
“There’s something I want to ask you.”
Marsha’s heart sank.
Really?
More important than the Duke?
But she knew this stubborn man well enough—he would drag the conversation wherever he pleased.
Better to let him say his piece quickly than wrestle with him over it.
“What is it?” she asked.
“The person you’re looking for.”
Marsha’s shoulders stiffened.
Of course. She’d known this question would surface eventually.
Earlier, left alone with her thoughts, she’d already cursed herself for letting her tongue run loose.
Claudio’s gaze stayed steady. He asked again, softer this time:
“Who are they? Family?”
Silence settled between them, heavy and fragile.
This time, Claudio didn’t press, didn’t prod—he simply waited.
Masha’s lips trembled as she thought. She didn’t have to tell the truth.
A believable lie would be enough to cover her tracks.
I’ll say I was searching for my grandmother’s family.
It would be a betrayal of sorts, but surely her grandmother would forgive her.
Marsha braced herself, opened her mouth—
“…I don’t have any family.”
Why had the truth slipped out?
Was it fear—that even in this dim room lit only by a single oil lamp, his sharp eyes might pierce through her lie?
Or was it something else?
The simple, desperate weariness of hiding.
Maybe she just wanted—for one fleeting moment—to stop calculating, to stop pretending.
To be nothing more than an honest woman in front of him.
