Chapter 112

The duke concluded that Ivelina was genuinely trying to protect her lover. She was soft-hearted enough to shield even a degenerate like that.

“Ah, right. Your ‘dad’s.'”

“Ha—yes.”

Ivelina laughed, embarrassed, and scratched the back of her head.

“And you expect me to believe that?”

“Pardon?”

“You’d better be honest with me. Before I find him and tear him apart.”

“‘What?!'”

Something sharp and unmistakable lit in the duke’s eyes. He pressed forward, closing the distance.

Then Ivelina understood—his fury wasn’t ‘I don’t want a woman who’s been with someone else.’ It was ‘you dare wear another man’s shirt.’

She cupped his face in both hands.

“Kael! Just—just calm down first, please!”

“Does it look like I’m in a position to calm down.”

“It’s really my ‘father’s’, I promise—Count Florence!”

“What a convenient excuse.”

“…It’s ‘true!'”

She said it with everything she had.

The conviction in those green eyes—the sheer, unembellished sincerity—reached him. The fixed, feverish light in the duke’s gaze began, slowly, to recede.

“…Count Florence?”

“Yes! It’s true!”

The duke closed his eyes and opened them slowly.

The blood that had run cold began, reluctantly, to circulate again. Ivelina was babbling her confession with a look of absolute, unperformed honesty.

“I—I snuck one of Dad’s shirts out. That’s all. It’s not another man’s. Where would I even find another man…”

Ivelina stroked his cheek gently and held her ground.

The duke had always been weak to her. When she made contact—sharing her warmth, her careful, reassuring touch—his reason returned to him.

“…Your father’s shirt.”

He let her hands against his skin settle him, and closed his eyes.

“Yes. Where else would I have gotten a man’s shirt from?”

“…”

The rough edge of his breathing softened by degrees. Ivelina asked carefully:

“…Are you calmer now?”

“Yes.”

“Thank goodness. I thought I was about to get hunted down in someone else’s bedroom…”

“You should have said so from the beginning.”

“…I kept saying it from the beginning.”

She grumbled, but she held to the facts. The duke’s tension dropped steadily.

‘Right. There’s no other man. There’s only me.’

He exhaled.

From start to finish, she was an inexperienced woman. He thought back to her first night—uncertain, and endearing in every way—and felt something like remorse.

‘What a monstrous suspicion to have about my precious baby rabbit.’

He had confirmed it: there was nothing between himself and her. No one else in the picture.

And only then—belatedly—did he actually look at what she was wearing.

Her legs were still wound around his waist. He was still bent over her. They realized this simultaneously, and Ivelina startled.

“W—wait, Kael, our position right now is a little—’AAAH!'”

The duke slid one hand under her back and lifted her cleanly off the table.

“Was the position uncomfortable?”

His mood had improved. He switched back to formal speech.

He buried his nose in the curve of her throat as though it were an oxygen supply—breathing her in, his sharp nose grazing against the soft skin there.

The baby rabbit squirmed from the ticklish sensation and wrapped her arms around his neck.

He tossed her lightly onto the bed. Like a captured small animal, Ivelina lay utterly still, barely breathing.

The duke pulled her close and held her. He focused on the rhythm of her breath.

‘My baby rabbit.’

The storm of it subsided. His heartbeat found its way back.

Even so, it was not yet enough. He needed a little more time. The possessiveness and the hunger were still at their peak—if he moved now, he would absolutely do something unreasonable.

He breathed in and out and focused on his reason—and then Ivelina reached toward his buttons. Carefully. Subtly. With tremendous delicacy.

‘Tack.’

The first button came undone.

“…”

He told himself she would stop. ‘Please let her stop.’ He ran the hopeful thought in a loop.

She did not stop. She worked her way, with great determination, to the very last one.

He opened one eye.

What he saw was Ivelina propping her chin on her hand, staring into the middle distance.

She seemed to have made a decision. She gave a small, resolute nod. Her eyes began to move again—and the duke closed his.

Then she pushed him flat onto his back.

‘…’

And climbed on top of him.

Her soft, rounded bottom proceeded to press and grind against his lower abdomen with great enthusiasm.

“What comes after this? Hmm.”

The duke’s body responded without delay. Ivelina had no idea. She shifted and wriggled and made herself completely at home.

‘I can’t hold out. I have to have her.’

He caught himself sliding off the edge.

The duke caught her thighs in both hands—firmly.

“…!”

He pulled himself upright, drawing her with him. She was facing him now, his arms wrapped around her back.

“I thought you were asleep!”

“You woke me.”

He took his time running his gaze over her. The trembling of those rose-red lips was unbearable. He needed to taste them immediately.

He pulled her in and tilted his head—

“W—wait!”

Ivelina pushed both hands against his chest.

The duke’s patience snapped.

“Why?”

He frowned.

“Why—why aren’t you disgusted?! I’m—I look completely disreputable right now, and yes, fine, it’s Dad’s shirt, but—I still undid your buttons! And I was touching you while you were sleeping! And I ‘sat on you!’ So—I mean, honestly, the truth is I might actually be a somewhat disreputable woman, when you really think about—”

It clicked.

This was why she had come today dressed like this. Why she had stayed up all night practicing with shirt buttons.

‘Bless her heart.’

The duke laughed inwardly. The baby rabbit was, without question, a fool. And this was a perfect opportunity.

“So?”

“W—what do you mean, ‘so’…?”

“What a fortunate coincidence. As it happens, I like that sort of thing.”

He drew one corner of his mouth up and let his hands wind around her like a coil.

“W—’what’?! You can’t be serious—do you mean to tell me that you have somewhat—’disreputable’ tastes?!”

“I assumed you already knew.”

Despair settled over Ivelina’s face. Her jaw looked on the verge of detaching entirely.

The duke ran his tongue in one slow, broad stroke over the curve of her ear, and murmured against it:

“My tastes are ‘very’ disreputable.”

He was telling the truth.

He had only recently discovered this about himself—entirely because of his baby rabbit.

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