Chapter 9

‘If Winston pounces on me, can I escape?’

There were many ways to escape. It was just rare to do so without revealing that she was a trained spy.

Standing with her hands politely clasped at her sides next to Winston, she turned to face Sally. As her straight leg crossed over the other knee, the sharp tip of her black shoe caught on the hem of Sally’s skirt, lifting it slightly.

The moment Sally took a step back, Winston extended his empty hand to her. His foot, like a mischievous boy, lifted her skirt hem while his hand remained that of a gentleman.

“...Yes?”

Confused about what he wanted, she tilted her head, and he pointed to the ceiling with the hand holding his cigar. Following his hand, she saw a black chandelier. When she looked back down, he pointed to the chandelier with his eyes and extended his hand again.

“Please wait on the sofa for a moment...”

“Just do it.”

“Dust will fall.”

“You can clean it up.”

What’s his game? From the way he was deeply buried in the leather backrest, it was clear he was determined to take the dust from the chandelier.

‘Sure. If I can freely hit your head with the duster, I’ll gladly clean it up.’

Sally had no choice but to put down the bucket and pick up the duster.

She hesitated to grab his stubbornly extended hand, as if he were a creditor, fearing that if she stepped on the desk with her shoe, she’d have to clean up the footprints too.

Standing on the desk, she lifted one foot back. She pulled the thin shoelace and slipped it off, then gently pulled the heel of the shoe down with her hand.

Winston’s gaze never left her foot as it slipped out of the black shoe, as if it were the most interesting sight.

His eyes scrutinized even the most mundane actions.

The only way to quickly escape his uncomfortable gaze was to do as he asked and leave. Sally grabbed his hand without hesitation and placed her knee on the desk.

“Ah...”

Just as Winston’s hand slipped away and she was about to stand up, he grabbed her left foot, which was sticking out from the edge of the desk. Sally, losing her balance, quickly grabbed the desk with both hands.

In a precarious position, like a sprinter at the starting line, she turned her head over her shoulder. She was worried he might lift her skirt. She reached back to press down on the hem, but missed.

His gaze was elsewhere.

“Captain?”

Winston, still looking at Sally’s foot, chuckled. His thick thumb caressed the soft flesh through the thin stocking, tracing the gentle curve. Goosebumps ran from Sally’s toes to the back of her neck.

His touch was so ticklish that she almost let out a moan. If she did, it would surely lead to a messy misunderstanding. She bit her lip firmly.

When she tried to pull her foot away, his gentle touch changed. Winston curled his long fingers around her foot and asked,

“What are you going to do with the money I gave you?”

Caught off guard by the unexpected topic, Sally’s resistance faltered. What was his intention in suddenly bringing up money?

“For my mother’s medical bills...”

“Have you sent it?”

“No, not yet.”

If she asked for it back, he would give it to her. That wasn’t a problem. Although he seemed despicable as a large landowner, it was common for those with wealth to be greedy.

But what if it wasn’t that? If he started prying into the private details of Sally Bristol, he might notice her weaknesses.

Sally moistened her dry lips and asked,

“...Why are you asking?”

“Set aside the money for a pair of stockings before you send it.”

“Ah!”

She didn’t have time to ask what he meant. A shrill cry escaped her lips, startled by the thick thumb that had slipped inside her stocking and massaged the flesh.

“There’s a hole.”

Winston’s voice was laced with a light laugh. It was fortunate that it was just a playful gesture, but Sally couldn’t relax.

He pushed his thumb into the hole in the stocking and stirred it around, his finger probing deep and tormenting her little toe.

Rip. The sound of the hole tearing made Sally’s cheeks turn bright red.

“Just how fancy is the hospital, huh? Do I pay you too little? If not, why are you wearing stockings with holes because you can’t afford a new pair? Sally, how do you think I feel seeing this?”

“No, that’s not it... Captain, I’ll definitely buy a new pair tomorrow, so please let me go. Um, the cleaning...”

Leon smiled and withdrew his hand. Even though it was his desk, the maid hurriedly got up and fled to a corner. It was surprising that a woman who didn’t flinch at the sight of blood would turn so red over such a trivial matter.

“Interesting.”

Madman.

Sally, inwardly cursing him with every vulgar word she knew, quickly dusted the chandelier.

Bastard. Eat dust.

She unnecessarily shook the ostrich feathers at the end of the duster over Winston’s golden head. But no matter how hard she looked, no dust fell. The chandelier had been cleaned just a few days ago.

The only option was to finish quickly and leave. Abandoning her small act of revenge, she turned her back and started dusting the front of the chandelier.

“Right.”

A low murmur brushed against her calf, wrapped in the thin stocking.

“Huh?”

Startled, she turned around, and a creaking sound was heard. Looking down, she saw Winston leaning back in his chair, pretending he hadn’t done anything.

The cigar in his hand was unlit, with a gray ash clump hanging from the short end.

“No, I was talking to myself.”

“Oh, yes...”

The maid smiled politely. But the moment she turned her head, her teal eyes shouted, “I hate you.”

Leon, extinguishing his cigar in the ashtray, smiled crookedly.

White.

His dinner with the duchess that evening had confirmed his suspicion. Sally’s bloomers were white.

Having confirmed the color of her undergarments, it was natural to want to see the color beneath.

Would it be the same as in my imagination?

He ran his tongue over his smooth lower lip and suddenly bit it with his sharp teeth.

Has she been with a man before?

He ground the cigar end into the ashtray, as if erasing the eyes of a man he didn’t even know existed.

“I’m done, Captain. I’ll clean the carpet now.”

The pretense of dusting the chandelier was over. Sally quickly climbed down from the desk before Winston could say anything else.

Filthy lecher. It was disgusting to hold her hand like a gentleman after peeping under her skirt.

It was fortunate that Winston didn’t bother her further. Sally knelt on the carpet and started cleaning the black stain.

Focused on finishing and leaving, she realized quite some time had passed. Meanwhile, Winston seemed to have vanished, as there was no sign of him.

She didn’t hear the sound of turning pages or lighting a lighter. Occasionally, she confirmed he hadn’t actually vanished by the sound of his deep breaths.

The ink hadn’t dried yet, making it easy to clean. The spot was slightly darker than the rest, but it was negligible.

She stood up, smoothing out her crumpled skirt and turning to face Winston. He was leaning back, his fist resting on his chin, looking at her.

Was he done with his cigar? His right hand was hidden under the desk.

What was so interesting about a maid cleaning a carpet stain? The corner of his mouth was slightly upturned.

Where had his usual sharpness gone? His gaze, strangely soft and sticky, moved from Sally’s face to her politely clasped hands.

Had he had a drink? But there was no alcohol, not even water, on the desk.

“I’m done. Is there anything else you need?”

Winston nodded lightly.

Was there something he wanted her to do or not?

When Sally tilted her head, his gaze pointed to the ashtray below his chin. The black marble ashtray held the high-quality cigar Winston had just wasted, now a pile of ash.

‘I can leave by pretending to empty the ashtray.’

Sally approached Winston with light steps, picked up the ashtray, and froze.

A hand with prominent veins and tendons slowly slid out from under the desk. The copper-colored object in that hand also had prominent veins and tendons.

“Ah!”

Thud. The ashtray slipped from Sally’s hand and fell to the edge of the desk.