Chapter 9 Part II
I just wanted to lie down and rest, but Theodore wasn't granted even that small mercy. To his astonishment, the Duke himself had come to visit his quarters.
"Was the wine I sent not enough?"
His tone wasn't reproachful—if anything, he seemed amused, smiling indulgently. Theodore instinctively tried to mirror the smile, but the Duke's lips were the only part of him that curved upward. His blue eyes remained cold, utterly devoid of mirth. Theodore's attempt at a smile twisted awkwardly.
"I just... needed some air."
The childish whine in his own voice made Theodore clear his throat and hastily add, more formally,
"And I suppose I was kicking myself for missing an opportunity."
He thought it was a decent excuse, but the Duke simply stared at him in silence. The man radiated intimidation without even trying. Just standing there, doing nothing but looking, was enough to make Theodore's knees weak.
Like a cowering mutt before a predator, Theodore couldn't even meet his gaze, fidgeting with his toes instead. He couldn’t fathom how Laticia managed to stand her ground beside this man.
After scrutinizing him with an unreadable expression, the Duke gave a shallow nod, as if sympathizing with Theodore's reasoning.
"You said this is your first time painting something like this."
"Yes. But I’ll do my best. Thank you again for the opportunity."
"An opportunity, you say. What exactly makes it so great?"
"Uh...?"
The Duke’s muttering, dripping with displeasure, threw Theodore into a panic. He felt cornered without even knowing why. He mentally retraced the conversation but couldn’t pinpoint where he’d gone wrong.
"W-well, I—"
Watching him flounder, the Duke laughed—this time, his blue eyes actually sparkled with amusement.
"Just a joke. You’re overreacting."
The tension drained out of Theodore instantly. Whether it was the hangover or sheer exhaustion, his legs felt like jelly. Just this brief interaction had sapped the last of his energy. He still had no idea why the Duke had come to his room in the first place. Knowing it was impudent, he couldn’t help but ask.
"Was there... something you wanted to discuss?"
"Just a reminder—don’t speak a word about the painting outside these walls."
"O-of course not."
Theodore swallowed dryly. He vaguely remembered drinking with friends last night and running his mouth, but thankfully, he didn’t think he’d mentioned the painting. He hadn’t even put brush to canvas yet. Still, if one of them had asked about it, he might’ve spilled everything in his drunken frustration. The thought sent a chill down his spine.
"Oh, and one more thing."
"Y-yes?"
Andrea paused, then locked eyes with him. Theodore, caught in that unyielding gaze, stiffened like a rabbit in a snare.
"You’re not holed up in here... pleasuring yourself, are you?"
"O-of course not! How could I—"
For a second, Theodore nearly pissed himself, but his naturally earnest face saved him.
"How could I," the Duke echoed softly, his voice unnervingly cold.
Theodore vehemently denied it, his bright brown eyes the picture of wounded innocence.
"If I ever did such a thing, I’d deserve any punishment!"
The Duke’s eyebrow quirked at his fervor. Just as Theodore’s nerves reached their breaking point, the man’s expression softened, and he patted Theodore’s shoulder almost kindly.
"I’ve heard of such insolence before. A dog that covets its master’s meat must be put down. Don’t you agree?"
"Absolutely."
Seemingly satisfied, the Duke left with a curt "Get some rest."
Huuuuh...
Only after the Duke’s footsteps faded entirely could Theodore finally breathe again. He collapsed onto the bed, replaying the conversation in his head. Nothing stood out as particularly suspicious.
Clearly, the Duke had come to personally ensure Theodore wouldn’t blab about his private affairs. The question about masturbation? Well, many painters slept with their nude models—it was a fair concern. Yet, the whole exchange had felt loaded with unspoken meaning, all because of the Duke’s sheer presence.
"What the hell."
Theodore let out a hollow laugh. Broken down, the conversation was harmless—he’d just been so tense he nearly wet himself.
Still...
For all his power, the Duke was oddly paranoid. Imagine personally visiting some lowly painter’s room just to fret over gossip.
As his nerves settled, Theodore’s usual arrogance resurfaced, making the whole ordeal seem ridiculous. He hummed, swinging his legs, until his thoughts drifted back to Laticia—that insolent girl who’d turned away from him. The Duke’s visit had dredged up the memory of her kneeling between the man’s thighs, licking—
His co¢k twitched in his pants.
Groping himself with one hand, he fumbled across the table with the other, only to realize the handkerchief scented with Laticia’s perfume was gone.
Where is it?
He searched every corner of the table and bed but found nothing resembling it. Had he stuffed it into his pocket after jerking off? If so, he must’ve dropped it at the tavern or the prostitute’s place.
But did he even take it with him?
Back to square one. No other explanation came to mind. Unless... someone had been in his room? As far as he knew, only the Duke had visited.
No way.
The idea was absurd. Why would the Duke steal a handkerchief? He wouldn’t even know Laticia had given it to him. And even if he did, why take it? To Theodore, Laticia was just a living hole to the Duke—nothing more. The handkerchief must’ve fallen out of his pocket when he left.
"Tch."
He’d considered relieving himself before bed, but the mood was ruined. Theodore laced his fingers behind his head and resumed humming. It wasn’t long before his snores replaced the tune.
***
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