Chapter 3

“I will say this again—you must act as if it were a coincidence.”

The old nobleman, who had introduced him as Count Chaplin, repeated this several times, but Eleanor smiled patiently without a hint of irritation.

“I understand your concern, my lord.”

“We’ll be in serious trouble if he suspects that something is afoot. Things will only get more difficult if he grows wary, which is why I am extremely concerned.”

“Worry not, my lord—my identity shall not be revealed, even under the direst circumstances.”

Chaplin was still fretful, however, which she understood, given Ryan’s attitude toward others in the first half of the novel.

“I have no desire to interfere with the methods of an expert such as yourself, my lady, but... What exactly are you planning to do?”

“I will be reading a book in here.”

The two of them were in Count Ryan’s personal study, on the third floor of the Calabria estate. Count Chaplin looked unsure.

“He’s going to ask why you’re in here,” he said.

“I will tell him I visited his home on some pretext, got lost, and wandered into this room.”

The old man looked skeptical at her nonchalant reply. “He’ll have no qualms about sending you away,” he declared. “The count can be a rather... icy person.”

“Perhaps my lord could be patient and see how the situation unfolds?” she suggested. She understood the count’s worries, but his incessant questions were beginning to get under her skin.

“But you don’t know him, baroness. He’s different from any of the young men who are besotted with your appearance and would jostle for a mere word from you. He might kick you out without even giving you the chance to speak.”

“If we don’t have an opportunity to interact, then there’s no chance he’ll discover who I am,” said Eleanor, refusing to give in.

In truth, her confidence stemmed not from her plan itself but from the knowledge that the situation would resolve itself in the end. Chaplin was also wrong—Eleanor knew Ryan Calabria very well. She knew his personality, his likes and dislikes, and even his future.

“The conversation might grow longer than you think,” she remarked to the old man with a small smile.

“I have no doubt about your superior conversation skills, madam, but how will you engage a man whom you’ve never met before?”

“This is his personal study. There is plenty to talk about lying around. Isn’t this the place where all of the count’s preferences are laid bare?”

“The count is consumed with his duties and is a rather vigorous individual with an interest in swordsmanship. He’s not exactly a reader...” protested Chaplin.

“But there’s still a book he must enjoy,” said Eleanor firmly. “For example...” She plucked out a volume from the shelf. “...this.”

Count Chaplin’s jaw dropped. “D-did you just select that at random?”

There were thousands of books in the study, and the one she’d selected appeared as pristine and untouched as Ryan himself. It looked as if the man had never opened it once.

“I thoroughly research all my clients,” quipped Eleanor.

Actually, she hadn’t bothered researching at all for something that she knew would end up settling in her favor. She’d read in the original story that he liked this book, that was all. She didn’t even know what it was about.

“I see...” said Chaplin, still looking unsure, however. “Well... Best wishes, my lady.”

Eleanor successfully managed to get Chaplin off her back, and now that he’d given her the reins to take the lead, things would be even easier. Now, all I need to do is act responsible for it when Ryan eventually meets the princess.

A windfall of gold coins glimmered in front of her. Feeling pleased, Eleanor sat on a red, cushioned couch in the center of the room.

“Then, I shall see you later today,” she said, but instead of leaving, Chaplin studied her a while longer.

Why isn’t he leaving? He looked rather conflicted for a moment, then opened his mouth.

“You are much younger than I expected, madam,” he said. “And as beautiful as I’d heard.”

Why was he suddenly praising her, but with such a worried expression?

“Thank you for the kind compliments,” she said courteously.

Chaplin looked on the verge of saying something else, but then turned around and left the study without another word. Hmm... Well anyway, I should find some way to pass the time.

She had no idea when the count would turn up, so left on her own, she decided that she should pretend to be reading the book she had selected. The title looked rather boring and she dully flipped through the first few pages, but soon, her fingers slowed as she began reading with more interest.

This is really more engaging than I thought. It was an educational tome that dealt with a heavier subject, but it was injected with just the right amount of humor, and the scenarios were depicted in a way that was easy to understand. She found herself sucked into the content, really valuing the profound pearls of wisdom the text conveyed.

She was deeply immersed in the book when she suddenly felt a presence by her side. She froze, slowly lifting her head, and her eyes grew round at the sight in front of her.

She knew who this was without having to ask.

Ryan Floyd Calabria was standing before her.

His hair was a pale blond that glowed as if it contained threads of moonlight. He had skin that was as creamy as her own and a pair of rosebud-pink lips. The distinguished angles of his somber face were highlighted by a high, aristocratic nose and defined jawline. His eyebrows were sharp and groomed, and his clear violet eyes conveyed an air of enigmatic mystery.

She’d met countless personages, models, and celebrities in her strange life, but she had never encountered a man who looked like this. The extravagant praise the author of this story had heaped on the male hero’s appearance had not been exaggerated one bit.

All in all, he was a breathtaking sight—beautiful beyond comprehension and emitting a devastatingly compelling aura. Eleanor stared at him as if entranced, and Ryan didn’t say anything.

Why is he just standing there? she suddenly thought, getting ahold of herself. He hadn’t uttered a single word to her—not to tell her to move, get out... Nothing. He just stared down at her with that unreadable expression. As she gathered her senses enough to think, she thought perhaps it best for her to speak to him first.

What should I say? For her to say that she’d gotten lost (when he hadn’t even asked) was tantamount to asking him to send her on her way. Searching nervously for words, she felt once again the book in her hands and had a great idea.

“‘The idea of space is tranquil and everlasting,” she intoned. “People build walls in order to create their own spaces and carve out history.’”

One of his brows twitched at the candid words that flowed from her red lips.

“Have you ever read Sir Christopher Hansendale’s A History of Space?” she asked.

The face that had been as still as a carving finally broke into a small, poignant smile. “I like it very much.”

His voice was low and as sweet as honey—she felt her heart flutter as if he’d been talking about her and not the book.

Eleanor tried to still her hammering heart and said, in as clear a voice as she could manage, “Would you indulge in a few words of conversation with someone who likes the same book?”

She didn’t show it, but she was greatly anxious during the few seconds it took him to reply. Nervously, she watched him draw closer and closer to her. Finally, he bent his long legs to sit on the very same couch Eleanor was seated on.

“What would you like to discuss?”

With this question, Eleanor knew that she’d safely skirted the issue of being kicked out of the room, but still, the challenge remained. Now she had to use this opportunity to begin telling the man to take an interest in women and that he must approach them first...

As if he even needed to do such things.

With his face, and all of his power? He could do whatever he wished, to be perfectly honest.

He could say the dumbest joke on a first date (“What would happen if many, many Madam Pages appeared? They would become Madam Book!”) or explain for thirty minutes how a blade must be sharpened precisely 483 times on a whetstone to be at its sharpest. Regardless, the women would still come to him in droves.

If looks were tantamount to power, then this man would surely be the legendary Flautina, the great warrior-king of myth who had first united the kingdoms of the continent. Eleanor pushed down her apprehension and tried her best to keep it under control—in this situation, it would be best to proceed as if she were shameless.

I won’t see him again, anyway. If she were an unmarried lady who had a chance with him... But no, she was a widow with a shameful, dead husband. So just a little discomfort and then she would never cross paths with him again.

At the beginning of her career, after all, she’d strode to the middle of the busy market square to give recitations of her new books among uninterested crowds. If she could do that for her livelihood, why couldn’t she do this?

“In the book, it says, ‘A man with an estate must also acknowledge the hearts of those around him. If one is able to fulfill the wishes of those around him...’”

“‘...that is when an estate may be deemed good.’”

Ryan completed her sentence, and she finally managed to steady her beating heart and get straight to her point.

“Do you not wish to fulfill any dire wishes, my lord?”

“Dire wishes?”

“Perhaps...” she paused. “The throngs of women who are hopelessly in love with you.”

Ryan lifted one of his eyebrows once more, and Eleanor quickly added, lest he got angry, “With just a little interest, you’ll soon come to find that ladies are charming and lovable indeed.”

Ryan frowned, just a touch, and although she winced and thought he’d demand that she leave, what he said next was completely unexpected.

“It’s not that I am uninterested in women,” he said.

Had Ryan been interested in Princess Aileen at this point in the story? She didn’t know, as it had never been expressed. Well, what does it matter?

It was welcome news that he wasn’t uninterested in women—she could continue speaking to him, then. Eleanor was about to open her mouth when her words were cut short by Ryan suddenly bringing his face close to hers.

“I merely do not look at any woman unless she’s drawn my interest,” he drawled.

Her face flamed hot at his low whisper, and she knew that he spoke the truth. He was the hero of the book she’d loved so much and read over and over, not merely because of the plot, but because the hero had appealed to her so strongly. He was cold to most people but endlessly affectionate toward his woman. Upright and proper, but also rugged and sexy—a model partner.

He smiled at her beguilingly as he continued to gaze at her.

Why is he staring at me like that? Perhaps something was in the air. Perhaps she was imagining the peculiar light that seemed to shine in his velvety gaze.

Her heart continued to race, hammering as frantically as it had lain dull and lifeless for the past five years. Even if Ryan had been the villain of this narrative, no woman would have been able to resist the look in his eyes—not if she were the very picture of piety and an adherent of the most ascetic of religions.

What am I thinking? This man is about to get married soon. Eleanor shifted back a tiny bit and tried to put some distance between them, but he moved closer before she could get far. Soon, her back touched the armrest. She could retreat no further.

Shaken and unsure what to do, she stared helplessly as Ryan slowly leaned forward to grip the armrest behind her. Eleanor was now trapped within his arms.

What is happening... She had no idea what was going on. Was this something that had happened in the narrative? She hadn’t imagined anything like this happening when she’d been on her way over, but while she sat, helpless and confused, she couldn’t help but notice his warm, slightly musky scent as it filled her nostrils.

She felt the pit of her stomach grow warm, and the ruby pair of lips which had so captured her imagination hovered right in front of her face.

“Did you come here...” he said, in a low, caressing voice, “...on my father’s orders?”