To The Traitor in My Bed - Chapter 44

She believed the depictions in those books were exaggerated, imagined, and that’s why they seemed so vulgar.

The marital relationship she knew was more… dignified and reasonable.

A kiss, then the chest, and finally the secret area between her legs.

Ever since she had once recoiled in shock, his lips had never ventured below her neck. His hands never lingered too long in one place. In that regard, he was a man who had learned his lesson.

Yet, when her husband began to remove her last piece of underwear, she instinctively tensed up. That tension slowly eased, not so much because of his touch but because of his familiar manner.

He moved naturally, as if this was how things were meant to be, finding his way into her depths. And before she knew it, Deirdre would open herself up to him.

He was far from delicate, but in bed, he was cautious, as if aware of his own roughness. It was one of the few qualities she admired in him. And, to be fair, there was no reason to reject him based on his appearance alone. After all, he was a man with a beautiful face and body.

Deirdre, lying intertwined with her husband, ran her fingers through his golden hair. But her hand slipped, unintentionally trailing down his slender waist.

Startled, he moved abruptly, causing a louder moan to escape her lips.

“…Ah, huh!”

The sound surprised both of them.

He quickly stopped and asked,

“…Did it hurt, Deirdre?”

She shook her head. It didn’t hurt, but the place he had deeply stimulated suddenly felt as if it were boiling over. The areas where their bodies touched seemed to grow feverish.

The sensation was strange, almost as if it was something that shouldn’t happen between them in bed.

“I, I’m fine.”

But whether he thought he had hurt her or the mood had been ruined, Frederick hurriedly finished the act. He kissed her forehead and headed to the bathroom in a hurry.

Deirdre felt a little guilty.

Today was no exception to Frederick’s long bathing routine. By the time he returned and lay down beside her, it was too late to apologize for startling him earlier.

So, instead, she asked drowsily,

“Do you hate touching me, Frederick?”

“Why would you say that?”

“Because after we touch, you always spend an hour washing up…”

He muttered something in response. Deirdre was too sleepy to catch it clearly, but it sounded like he was arguing that it wasn’t quite an hour.

She was tired from overthinking, while he, as always, seemed at ease with no thoughts troubling him.

If nothing happens from here on out…

Having intimacy once or twice a month, and then, one day, naturally having a child, raising that child, living an ordinary life. That wouldn’t be so bad.

That was the thought that crossed her mind just before she fell asleep.

Frederick, holding his wife in the blanket, smiled wryly at her unreasonable misunderstanding. He was also struggling with the desire that lingered even after his long bath.

* * *

“I’ll be back soon, Deirdre.”

Frederick said this to his wife, who couldn’t meet his eyes.

She was always like this the day after they spent the night together.

It wasn’t as though they had done anything that should make her so embarrassed.

He felt somewhat frustrated and disappointed, but seeing his wife in the sable fur gown with pink ribbons and white pearls made him suppress his emotions. His cold-sensitive wife had likely layered several pieces of clothing underneath—silk, lace, and muslin, delicate garments.

If she knew how often and vividly he imagined removing each layer of those clothes, she would be quite shocked. He knew every inch of her body inside those garments. Sometimes, even he was surprised at his own desire and self-restraint.

“Don’t forget to look into that ruby ring.”

Deirdre reminded him. He nodded.

“I’ll look into it as quickly as I can. And, I’ll take up that terrible horse of yours. The horse’s shoe is causing trouble.”

In truth, he had secretly sabotaged the shoe while the coachman wasn’t looking. Deirdre, without suspicion, simply replied, “Alright, do that.”

He climbed into the carriage, receiving his wife’s farewell.

As soon as the carriage door shut, the smile vanished from his face. His silver-gray eyes gleamed coldly, almost cruelly. He rang the bell sharply, signaling to drive the carriage faster.

In reality, Frederick didn’t need to find the owner of the ruby ring. He already knew who it was.

‘Heather Glenwell.’

She wasn’t someone he expected to see at the coroner’s office in Wigmore. Heather was the second daughter of Count Glenwell and a lady-in-waiting to Queen Caroline. She spent most of her time attending to the Queen and had little contact with outsiders. Of course, Frederick knew the names, faces, and families of everyone working in the palace.

When he recognized Heather’s face, he skillfully hid his surprise. That didn’t mean he wasn’t shocked.

When he heard from the doctor that Heather was pregnant, he quickly pieced together the entire story.

‘This is Christian’s doing.’