Chapter 12

“Elwin! Elwin!”

Echo, the parrot whose usual pastime was relentlessly teasing Elwin, called his name with unexpected sweetness. The bird had originally belonged to Elwin’s father before finding a home in Elwin’s bedchamber, gathering a small vocabulary over the years—some words inherited from his father, others learned from Elwin himself.

That particular call, his own name, was the very first word Echo had ever learned from his father. Whenever the bird uttered it, the pitch and cadence mirrored his father’s voice so perfectly that it never failed to wrap Elwin in a blanket of bittersweet comfort.

“Are you trying to comfort me, Echo?” Elwin murmured, gently stroking the bird’s back.

Echo tilted its head in response, nuzzling its small, rounded crown against his palm. But just as a wave of warmth and piercing longing surged through Elwin’s chest, an abrupt presence rustled in the corridor outside.

The parrot flinched, cocking its head in alarm. Elwin froze, holding his breath to listen. At this hour, the only souls stirring should have been the housemaids on their occasional night patrols, yet these footsteps sounded far too heavy, far too deliberate, for any maid.

Who could it be?

Eleanor’s chambers lay mere doors down from his own. Terrified that some interloper might be lurking near his precious sister’s room, Elwin hastily threw on his dressing gown and slipped into the hall. Yet the moment he eased the door open, he collided with the gaze of someone entirely unexpected.

“…Mr. Leon?”

The uninvited guest, casting a towering silhouette against the dim corridor, was indeed Leon. Elwin frowned. Did the man make a habit of prowling the estate in the dead of night?

“What are you doing out here? Your quarters lie in the opposite wing, Mr. Leon.”

Leon had clearly not anticipated Elwin’s sudden appearance. For a fleeting second, his usual composure slipped, exposing a rare flash of fluster. He had awkwardly thrown a heavy coat over his characteristically flamboyant night robe, as though he had been in a desperate hurry—a detail that only deepened Elwin’s suspicion.

“Why are you here? Where were you going?” Elwin pressed.

“Ah…” Leon’s amber eyes flickered, searching the gloom before settling on the brilliant full moon hanging outside the window. Seizing upon the excuse, he offered a quick, smooth reply. “Well, the moonlight is exceptionally fine tonight.”

Faced with such a baffling explanation, Elwin narrowed his eyes in a sharp glare. Yet Leon, entirely unfazed by the hostile scrutiny, spun his lie with practiced ease.

“I was merely stepping out for a midnight stroll when I caught a strange sound coming from this direction.”

“A sound? What kind of sound?”

“It sounded like a man’s voice,” Leon murmured, taking a step closer. “Did you perhaps smuggle a gentleman into your bedchamber at this ungodly hour?”

Indignation flared, and Elwin opened his mouth to demand what sort of loose character Leon took him for. But then, a realization struck him. Echo’s voice was naturally harsh and gravelly, and the bird had just been mimicking his father’s deep tones. To an outsider listening through heavy wood, it could easily be mistaken for a grown man’s voice.

Still, Elwin could hardly admit that it was just his pet parrot. Keeping a bird in one’s bedchamber was scarcely considered a masculine or dignified hobby for a nobleman of his standing. Leon, who seized every opportunity to tease him, would never let him live it down.

Adopting a mask of pure innocence, Elwin countered, “There is no one in my room but me. You must have misheard.”

Unfortunately, at that exact moment, the meddlesome Echo chose to let out a dry, hacking throat-clearing sound from behind the cracked door.

Ahem.

Leon’s eyes widened. “You heard that too, did you not? If you truly have no guests, then we have an intruder. May I inspect your chambers?”

“What? No! Absolutely not.”

Despite the firm refusal, Leon craned his neck, attempting to peer past Elwin’s shoulder into the darkened room. Mortified, Elwin stepped sideways, throwing his weight against the door to shut it completely. But Leon remained stubborn.

“But just now, Mr. Dwight—”

Before Elwin could wonder why Dwight’s name had suddenly crossed Leon’s lips, a flicker of movement caught his eye. A faint, dancing light bobbed beyond the window overlooking the rear gardens. Leon evidently noticed it too; both men froze, turning their gazes toward the glass in unison.

It was an hour when even the most diligent gardeners and stablehands lay fast asleep. The gardens below were swathed in a heavy, silent velvet. Yet upon closer inspection, a silhouette moved beneath the dappled shadows of the ancient trees. It was indeed Lord Dwight, holding a small brass lantern, standing face-to-face with a woman. Though her back was turned, her gown bore a distinctive, unmistakable pattern.

“That is…”

“Lord Dwight and Miss Selena,” Leon whispered, his voice dropping to a low, commanding murmur. “Keep quiet.”

As Elwin raised a startled hand to point, Leon suddenly threw a heavy arm around Elwin’s shoulders, pulling him down below the sill. Elwin nearly gasped at the sudden, firm contact, but clamped his teeth shut just in time.

Leon crouched low in the corridor, peering over the ledge with only his eyes visible. Elwin hastily followed suit. A sharp pang of hypocrisy stung him—he was the one who had so recently lectured Leon on the vulgarity of eavesdropping—but circumstances left him no choice. The heavy, secretive air hanging over the garden made it clear that discovery would be disastrous.

How did those two come to meet? They couldn’t have crossed paths by sheer coincidence at this hour… Was it a rendezvous? And why was Mr. Leon wandering this wing? He was about to mention Mr. Dwight earlier—did he hear him slip out and decide to follow?

A tangle of unanswered questions swirled in Elwin’s mind. To make matters worse, Leon still had not removed his arm. Elwin shot him a pointed, questioning look, but Leon remained motionless, holding his breath as his gaze locked onto the pair below.

In the garden, Dwight and Selena stood close, their expressions solemn. Selena spoke at length, her gestures animated, while Dwight seemed to press her with quiet questions. Soon, she lapsed into a tense silence.

Elwin strained to hear, but only a low, incoherent murmur drifted up to the window—far too faint to decipher. Frustration gnawed at him.

Eavesdropping, it seemed, was an art best left to professionals. Yielding to a foolish impulse, Elwin reached out to crack the window open—a reckless move that would surely betray their presence. Leon’s eyes flared with alarm.

“Elwin!”

In his haste, Leon dropped all titles, his voice a sharp whisper as he seized Elwin’s wrist. His other arm remained wrapped securely around Elwin’s shoulders, effectively pulling Elwin flush against his chest.

Why does this man keep doing this?

Elwin realized then that his sensation in the library—that Leon’s hands possessed an unusual, burning heat—had been no illusion. Wrapped in that suffocatingly warm embrace, a flush rushed through Elwin’s own veins. At the same time, a fragrance more subtle than the night itself enveloped him. It was a sweet, sophisticated scent, entirely ill-suited to the reputation of a notorious rake.

The aroma wrapped around Elwin so gently, so naturally, that he could hardly accuse the man of deliberately projecting pheromones, yet it was undeniably potent. A wave of dizziness washed over him, and his heart hammered wildly against his ribs.

Have I lost my mind? What is wrong with my heart?

He had been rattled the previous night when Leon caught him in the dark library, but being held like this—practically engulfed in the man’s arms—shattered what little composure he had left. Even through the layers of Leon’s jacket and dressing gown, Elwin could feel the broad, solid expanse of his chest and the firm press of his forearm. He couldn’t help but wonder, with a sudden rush of heat, if Leon had gone without a shirt beneath his robe once again.

Flustered, Elwin squirmed to free himself, but Leon only tightened his grip, leaning in to whisper directly against his ear.

“Elwin, stay still.”

Even amidst his mounting panic, a profound realization pierced through the fog of Elwin’s mind. To address someone by their first name, stripped of all polite titles, was an act of profound intimacy. The moment Leon breathed his name, it felt as though the man had laid claim to his very soul.

Down in the garden, Dwight had called Selena by her name without a hint of hesitation. Elwin had overheard it clearly. Away from prying eyes, their interactions were undoubtedly far more familiar.

As expected, Lord Dwight and Miss Selena are far more than mere distant relatives. Of course they are. If there were truly nothing between them, they would never risk meeting in the dead of night like this.

Is all my planning in vain, then? But I was assured there was no noble lady currently betrothed or in marriage talks with him…

Even if the branch family’s baron lay ill, if the young lady of the Moro family—who was supposedly convalescing at their estate—shared an affectionate bond with his eligible son, marriage arrangements should have naturally progressed. It made no sense. Elwin desperately tried to untangle the web of relationships, but his racing heart made coherent thought impossible.

Unable to endure the physical proximity any longer, Elwin whispered in a strained voice, “Mr. Leon. I understand the gravity of the situation, so… your hand, if you please.”

Leon seemed to register their compromising position only then. With a sudden jolt, he recoiled, pulling his hands back as if burned.

“Ahem. My deepest apologies, Sir Elwin. I merely…”

“I understand, Mr. Leon,” Elwin interrupted softly.

Leon had likely only been acting out of a desperate need for silence. Elwin chose not to press the matter of his propriety; there was simply no time.

A heavy, awkward silence fell over the corridor, punctuated only by their forced, quiet coughs. Though they sat with a deliberate, polite distance between them, Elwin felt an even more intense, prickling warmth than when they had been pressed together. He wondered if it was because that sweet, intoxicating scent still lingered in his nose.

“Oh dear,” Leon murmured, breaking the silence. “They are returning.”

Elwin looked back out. The secret meeting in the garden had concluded. Dwight and Selena had turned back toward the manor. If Elwin and Leon were caught in the halls now, it would be tantamount to a confession of their espionage.

“I shall take my leave, then. May you find peaceful rest, young master.”

With his usual effortless grace, Leon rose and slipped back toward his own quarters, leaving behind a smooth, whispered farewell. Elwin, unable to find his voice, retreated into his room.

But despite Leon’s elegant parting wish, sleep eluded him entirely. Too many secrets, and far too much heat, had filled the night for him to find any peace.

***