MLHBMH 09

Chapter 9

Will You Be My Lover?

The moment Harold’s hand brushed against her tear-streaked cheek, the teardrop that had been clinging to her lashes fell onto his palm.

‘What the hell am I doing?’

Snapping back to his senses, Harold gave a low, self-deprecating laugh and pulled his hand away. He was embarrassed—and puzzled. He’d almost touched a woman who was too drunk to think straight. And it confused him that just meeting her gaze had made him feel this way. No woman had ever done that to him before.

‘Maybe it’s because I’ve been abstinent for too long.’

Not that it was by choice. Circumstances had forced his abstinence—he had wanted nothing more than a simple one-night affair, but every woman he’d been with had wanted something more.

He’d considered a real relationship once, but he’d never met anyone who stirred him that much. Besides, he was about to leave the capital for the distant, dangerous borderlands—there was no room for romance in a place like that.

He wasn’t particularly interested in women, anyway.

So he’d thought living this way was fine… but clearly, he’d been wrong. The fact that such a small spark could stir him so easily—he needed to handle it before it turned into something worse.

Harold decided it was best not to stay near Lilliana any longer. But when he tried to stand, she grabbed his arm.

Looking up at him with those misty eyes that had ensnared him earlier, she asked softly,

“Really… it wasn’t my fault?”

It was a continuation of their earlier talk. Harold gave a small, amused nod.

“It wasn’t your fault, my lady.”

“Really? Really, it wasn’t my fault?”

How many times did she need to hear it before she believed it?

Annoyance pricked at him—but her constant formal tone bothered him, too.

“Yes,” he said, switching to informal speech. “It’s not your fault.”

“Right… it’s not my fault,” she murmured, a faint smile flickering across her lips before she clenched her hands tightly together.

“Yeah. It’s not my fault. Even if I was wrong… I wasn’t as wrong as him. It’s all that bastard Frederic Benjamin’s fault.”

Her gaze turned venomous, as if Frederic were standing right in front of her.

“You think you’re so perfect, huh?”

Those were words no sober woman of her station would ever say. But with the help of alcohol, they poured out of her freely.

“Always staying out all night, playing the lover to some other woman—and then you tell me you still think of me as your wife? Don’t make me laugh! You could at least come up with a more believable lie!”

Her furious voice echoed through the suite, so loud that Harold’s ears rang.

She must have been holding that in for a long time. Harold recalled the title society had given her—and it made sense now.

“If it’s so unfair,” he said dryly, “why not take a lover of your own?”

It was half a joke, half pity. But Lilliana actually snorted in disbelief.

“Me? A lover? And how would I even do that?”

Was she really expecting him to explain how? Harold gave a quiet, incredulous laugh.

“Who would even want someone like me?” she muttered.

“What’s wrong with you? You’re more than attractive enough.”

“…You’re the first person who’s ever said that to me.”

Harold smiled faintly. “Then everyone else must be blind.”

He meant it—not as flattery, but as fact. Lilliana was attractive. She just wasn’t his type.

“…”

Her wide eyes trembled, then softened. She stared at his face for a long moment, then reached out to grasp his arm.

“Then… will you be my lover?”

A lover?

Harold blinked, taken aback. He stared at her as if she’d said something absurd.

“…”

But she wasn’t joking. Her expression was earnest, serious. There wasn’t a trace of playfulness in it.

Which made it all the more unbelievable. No one had ever asked him something that insane before.

Of course, Lilliana had no idea he was the second son of the Duke of Maximilian. Still, the request rubbed him the wrong way.

…Or did it?

Normally, even being asked to spend one night with someone irritated him. But right now, it didn’t.

If anything, he just felt… bemused.

“You don’t want to, right?” she asked, lowering her head when he stayed silent.

Her slumped shoulders made something twist in his chest. He wanted to pull her into his arms.

And before he could stop himself, he did.

He realized what he’d done only after he felt her warmth against him. Startled, Harold quickly released her.

“…”

Lilliana looked equally surprised, but there was a flicker of hope in her eyes. Those bright, fresh green irises—glittering like spring leaves—drew him in all over again.

His self-control was slipping, devoured by the desire that had been building inside him for too long.

His body moved on its own.

Harold slid his hand through her tousled hair and pressed his lips to hers.

Lilliana flinched at the sudden kiss, but then slowly closed her eyes, surrendering herself completely to him.

That small act of acceptance fanned the flames even higher.

After years of restraint, his long-suppressed hunger surged unchecked.

The wet sound of mingled breath and saliva filled the dim hotel room. His lips trailed from hers down her neck, greedy and unrelenting. When his mouth brushed the curve of her collarbone, her head tipped against his shoulder.

“…”

The soft thud snapped him out of it.

Harold froze and looked down. Her eyes were closed, her chest rising and falling in the steady rhythm of sleep.

She’d fallen asleep. Just like that.

‘You stir me up like this… and then fall asleep?’

Unbelievable.

He shook her shoulder lightly, but her lashes didn’t even twitch.

“Ha.”

What a ridiculous situation. He raked a hand through his hair, half laughing at himself.

Still, it was probably for the best. The moment had doused the fire inside him—if she hadn’t fallen asleep, he might have lost control completely.

Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Harold lifted her gently to the bed. As he adjusted the blanket, he noticed scrapes on her palms and elbows—thin cuts that still oozed faintly.

When had she gotten hurt?

He frowned and examined the wounds before tugging on the bell cord.

Knock, knock.

A hotel attendant soon appeared. “Do you require anything, sir?”

“I need something for a wound.”

The attendant looked startled. “You’re injured, sir? Shall I summon a physician?”

Harold thought for a moment, then shook his head. “No need. Just some ointment will do.”

“Yes, sir. Right away.”

When the attendant returned with the medicine, Harold dampened a clean towel with warm water in the bathroom.

But when he came out again, he froze.

“…”

Her clothes were scattered on the floor.

No way.

He turned his head toward the bed—and sure enough, beneath the blanket, a pale leg peeked out.

The desire he’d just managed to suppress surged again, and he quickly averted his gaze. He hadn’t imagined she’d undress in her sleep.

What a terrible habit. Maybe it was part of her drunken stupor.

He had to hurry, treat her injuries, and get out of there.

Muttering the words “Control yourself” over and over, Harold knelt by the bed and carefully cleaned her scrapes. Up close, he could tell the wounds were caused by falling—her knees were bruised, too, one worse than the other.

“This really needs a doctor,” he muttered.

He almost called for one—but stopped.

If word got out that the Duke of Maximilian’s son and Lady Lilliana Benjamin had shared a hotel room at this hour, the scandal would destroy her.

He’d be fine. She wouldn’t.

So instead, he quietly applied the ointment himself.

“When you go home tomorrow, make sure you show these to a doctor,” he murmured.

Assuming she did go home.

If she didn’t, he’d make sure she found a physician anyway.

He checked her arms and legs for other injuries, and just as he was about to stand, she suddenly reached out and grabbed his arm.

Then she nestled her head against it like a pillow.

Startled, Harold stared down at her.

Was she awake? No—her eyes were still closed. And that faint, satisfied smile tugging at her lips made something twist again in his chest.

When he gently brushed her cheek, she mumbled softly in her sleep and clutched his arm tighter, refusing to let go.

There were dried tear tracks beneath her eyes. She looked heartbreakingly fragile.

But he couldn’t stay like this forever.

He tried to pull his arm free, but every time he moved, she stirred as if about to wake.

If she woke up now—sober—it would be awkward beyond belief.

He sighed quietly.

‘I’ll wait until she’s fully asleep.’

Leaning back against the headboard, Harold looked down at the sleeping woman beside him—her hand still wrapped around his arm—and waited for dawn.