MLHBMH 11

Chapter 11

A Peculiar Hobby

Wait—what? He actually came here with a woman?

Harold Maximilian?

If it had been anyone else, Liam would have immediately assumed, upon finding a pair of women’s socks, that the man had brought a woman along. But since it was Harold, he couldn’t help but have doubts.

After all, rumors had long circulated that Harold had no interest in women—some even claimed he preferred men.

There was even a famous story that when the Empire’s most beautiful lady, the daughter of Count Artemis, confessed to him with tears in her eyes, he didn’t so much as blink.

So Harold Maximilian came to a hotel—with a woman?

And not just for the night—she was still here the next morning?

Unbelievable.

Liam found it easier to believe that Harold had developed some kind of bizarre fetish—like collecting or wearing women’s socks—than to accept the alternative.

So he asked carefully,
“Don’t tell me… you’ve developed a peculiar hobby lately?”

Harold blinked. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Liam’s gaze flicked toward the socks.

Following his eyes, Harold finally noticed the pair of socks Lily had left behind. A faint, incredulous laugh escaped him. He’d thought it would be fine as long as he didn’t let her step outside the room—but he hadn’t expected Lily’s socks to give him away.

What baffled him more, however, was Liam’s ridiculous question about a “peculiar hobby.”

“It sounds like you’re the one who’s developed strange tastes,” Harold said, his lips curling faintly.
“People only see what they already know, don’t they?”

“W-what? Absolutely not!”

“Funny, that’s what they all say.”

In an instant, Liam found himself painted as the pervert instead. He wanted to protest the injustice, but he had, after all, brought it up first. He’d shot himself in the foot.

And yet, the realization dawned—Harold had brought a woman.

Liam’s eyes sparkled like stars.

Harold Maximilian’s woman!
Now that was a scoop too good to miss.

“Which lady is she? Someone I know? Shouldn’t I greet her? She can probably hear me right now—”

He cut off when Harold stepped closer. Liam stumbled backward as the man reached past him and shut the door with a quiet click.

“A useless curiosity,” Harold murmured in his low, weighty voice, “is a quick way to shorten your lifespan.”

It was a warning not to pry further. Knowing Harold’s temper, Liam paled and nodded quickly.

“O-of course! Don’t worry, I didn’t see anything! I didn’t see a single thing! Ha ha, what could I have seen, right? Nothing, absolutely nothing!”

He babbled nervously like a thief caught in the act—then bolted the moment Harold’s attention turned to the hotel staff delivering breakfast.

Lily had already finished showering and dressed, yet she couldn’t bring herself to leave the bathroom. She could hear a man’s voice outside—a voice that wasn’t Harold’s.

That man—the one she had spent the night with—had a face as sharp and beautiful as a black panther.

“…”

Just the memory of him made Lily’s cheeks flush hot. And it wasn’t just from the steam filling the bathroom.

She needed to talk to him, to clear up what had happened last night—but she couldn’t go out while someone else was there.

So she waited.

At last, the voices outside faded. Harold’s, too, was gone.

Did he leave with that other man?

It would be a problem if he’d gone—she still needed to deal with what had happened—but a part of her hoped he had.

She cracked the door open just enough to peek through. Her eyes darted everywhere—no Harold in sight.

“Did he really leave…?”

As she pushed the door a little wider to check, a large hand suddenly reached in and pulled it open.

“Ah!”

Lily lost her balance and stumbled forward. She flailed, reaching for something to steady herself—and her palm landed on something firm and warm. Her hand bent instinctively, feeling the solid muscle beneath her fingers.

Her face tilted up—and she froze.

It was Harold’s bare chest.

Before she could react, a deep, amused laugh rumbled above her head.

“You ran from me last night,” he said, “and now you’re throwing yourself at me? Guess you weren’t as uninterested as you claimed.”

“—!”

Lily jerked upright, mortified, her face burning.

“S-sorry! I didn’t mean to—”

“I know you didn’t,” Harold interrupted easily. “No need to apologize.”

He caught her wrist lightly, making her look up again.

He smiled faintly and gestured toward the sofa table, where breakfast had been set out.

“Sit. I ordered breakfast.”

“N-no, that’s all right.”

She didn’t have an appetite—too much alcohol, too much embarrassment. Eating now would just make her feel worse.

“You should eat something,” he said simply. “Tomatoes are good for hangovers.”

Before she knew it, he had guided her to the sofa.

The table was filled with tomato-based dishes—tomato juice, tomato salad, tomato soup, even pasta with tomato sauce.

Even for someone who liked tomatoes, it was overkill. Lily stared in disbelief.

“Like I said,” Harold explained calmly, “they help with hangovers. So even if you’re not hungry, eat a little.”

So he’d ordered all this… for her.

That was oddly touching. And he was even speaking politely now—an improvement from his earlier brusqueness.

Stealing a glance at his face, Lily picked up the tomato juice and drank. It really did help—her stomach felt a little calmer.

The food was surprisingly good, too. She ended up eating more than she meant to.

Harold, however, didn’t touch anything except his coffee.

“You’re not eating?” she asked.

“I don’t really like tomatoes,” he said.

Lily blinked. “But everything here has tomatoes in it…”

“Yes.”

He said it so casually that she could only stare.

When he caught her look, he chuckled. “What, you disapprove of grown men being picky eaters?”

“Oh—no, that’s not what I meant!” she said quickly. “And it’s not a bad thing.”

“Is that so?” he said, unconvinced.

Desperate to clear up any misunderstanding, she added, “I don’t like cucumbers, actually. I always take them out of salads and sandwiches.”

Harold glanced down at her plate. Indeed, all the cucumber slices were neatly set aside.

“My adjutant dislikes cucumbers, too,” he remarked. “You’re quite alike.”

Then, without hesitation, he picked up his fork and began eating the leftover cucumbers.

“W-wait—why are you eating those?”

“It’d be a waste to leave them,” he said calmly. “Someone should eat them.”

Lily stared, speechless.

He ate them so matter-of-factly that she felt like the strange one for being surprised.

Still, she needed to bring up last night—and soon.

Sleeping with him was one thing, but asking him to be her lover had been an enormous mistake that needed clearing up.

Just as she gathered her courage, a knock sounded at the door.

Lily jumped, glancing toward it.

“Ignore it,” Harold said coolly, sipping his coffee.

“Commander, it’s me,” a man’s voice called.

Harold’s expression changed instantly.

Lily ducked behind the sofa in a panic as Harold opened the door and stepped out.

“His Grace requests your presence,” the man—Dillon—reported, bowing.

“This early?” Harold asked mildly. “And how did you know where I was?”

Dillon smiled faintly. “If I didn’t know where my commander was, I’d be unfit to serve as his aide.”

“Sounds like you’re admitting to stalking me,” Harold said dryly.

“Oh, I’d never. Just ensuring your safety.”

So, he’d followed him. Meaning—he likely knew Harold had brought a woman here.

Harold studied him in silence.

Liam would’ve been panicking under that stare, spouting excuses by now. But Dillon? He met it calmly.

Harold smirked. “You’ll keep this to yourself, I assume?”

Dillon tilted his head. “I’m not sure what you mean, sir.”

A perfect answer. Pretend not to see, not to know.

Satisfied, Harold told him to wait and went back inside.

Lily peeked over the sofa when he returned.

“I have urgent business to attend to,” Harold said, grabbing his coat. “You can rest here until checkout.”

“I—I’ll go too.”

“I can give you a ride to Viscount Benjamin’s manor, then.”

“No, that’s fine! Really, I can manage. You said you’re busy.”

“As you wish,” he said. Then, as if remembering something, he turned back.

“Ah.”

He approached her and pressed something into her hand.

“You scraped your knee last night. See a physician.”

“…”

And then he was gone.

Lily blinked after him, dumbfounded, before looking down at what he’d given her.

It was a pair of white lace-trimmed socks.