To The Traitor in My Bed - Chapter 24

“Good. And make sure the tea gown is ready for me to wear. The blue one, the one I like.”

The request for the tea gown over her pajamas meant that she wanted to head to the couple’s bedroom. Deirdre wanted to sleep with Frederick that night—quite literally.

The master bedroom was attached to a small tea room. After conveying Lady Rochepolie’s wishes to Lord Rochepolie, Bertha set the table with the soup brought up by the butler. The steaming tomato soup was her favorite, accompanied by warm bread and strawberries topped with fresh cream.

“Even if you’re not hungry, you need to have at least one bite.”

Reluctantly moving her already sore arm, Deirdre took a spoonful of the soup. But she must have been hungrier than she thought.

By the time Frederick entered the bedroom dressed in a white silk gown, she had finished the soup and bread, and was scraping the plate with the fork, trying to get every last bit of cream.

She quickly put the fork down when she saw him.

“Would you like some too?”

Frederick shook his head. She could smell a subtle soap scent coming from him. His injured leg was hidden by the long gown. Though he wasn’t much of a talker at home, the silence between them felt strangely awkward now. His eyes that were usually so casual, seemed unexpectedly deep.

‘It must be because we’ve spent time together in Rochepolie for the first time in a while…’

The couple only shared a bedroom about once a month. It was partly because Frederick often had to leave the house, and also because while Deirdre followed a regular routine, Frederick had a bad habit of staying up late and waking up late, long after the sun had reached its peak.

Having spent the night together in Swinton recently, she didn’t think he would misunderstand her intentions tonight. Just as the awkward silence began to stretch, Bertha returned.

The maid was holding two cups of hot chocolate.

“The butler asked me to bring this to both of you. It will help keep you warm.”

They sat down across from each other and, for a while, quietly sipped the hot chocolate.

The windows of Count Rochepolie’s residence had been designed to maintain as much of the original structure as possible while updating the functionality. Like at Edelweiss Heights, they didn’t need curtains to keep the room warm; it naturally stayed cozy. The lace curtains, more for privacy than warmth, allowed a clear view of the silver-tinted garden outside.

Deirdre loved the winter nights in Rochepolie.

“Deirdre.”

She looked up over her cup, meeting her husband’s gaze.

“I need to talk to you.”

His quiet voice made her instinctively know what the conversation would be about. At the same time, she also realized that she wasn’t quite ready to hear it.

So when he said, “Tomorrow,” she felt a sense of relief.

“You should rest now.”

Soon, they lay side by side on the bed. He pulled the blanket up to his wife’s neck.

“Goodnight, Deirdre.”

A familiar nighttime greeting. Already beginning to drift off to sleep, she called out to her husband in a sleepy voice.

“Frederick.”

“….”

“I’m sorry for hurting you.”

A large hand gently stroked her head. Whether he had turned off the lamp or not, the darkness beyond her closed eyelids deepened. Letting out a long sigh, Deirdre turned onto her side and soon fell into a deep sleep.

There was no sound from her side.

…Frederick gazed at his wife sleeping bathed in moonlight.

Her brown hair spread across the white sheets, almost appearing black due to the shadows cast by the moonlight. The thick, lustrous hair gleamed smoothly, as if waves were gently rolling over the pillow. In contrast, the skin visible through the lace nightgown glowed with a soft, creamy hue.

Frederick watched his wife’s peaceful face, the graceful neck revealed beneath her hair, and the fresh body wrapped in her nightgown for a long while.

Then, unexpectedly, he gently grasped a handful of her flowing, wavy hair and brought it to his lips.

In the eyes of the man who kissed his sleeping wife’s hair, as if it were the most precious and valuable thing in the world, were longing and passion—feelings Deirdre had never seen before.

As her steady breathing slowed, the passion that was half of joy and torment in his eyes deepened.

If anyone had seen his face at that moment, they would have believed that the foolish Count Fairchild had finally lost his mind. His expression was terrifyingly serious, his eyes darkly gleaming, and his hands, holding her hair, tenderly caressed it, as if trying not to surrender to the rising emotions.

He knew it was not yet the time to reveal his true identity to his innocent wife, nor the time to reveal his emotions.

He knew she wanted to live in the security he provided. But the feelings he held deep inside, the real him, existed in a place far removed from ‘security’. A place where she shouldn’t even know of its existence until she trusted him more.

After some time, with remarkable self-control, Frederick reluctantly released her hair. Sorrow dripped in his eyes, in his face, and in his gentle touch that was slowly letting go.

Deirdre slept peacefully, still unaware.

Being the man who could gaze at this face throughout the night was a bittersweet right of the one who married her.

He whispered.

“Goodnight, Deirdre.”