“They say he’s slightly weird.”

Killian opened his mouth as he loosened the tie and handed it to Rowena. Rowena, who had taken the tie after his coat, smiled at him.

“He’s a bit of an unusual guy, but he’s still an excellent teacher. He’s been a good influence on Damian.”

The man, who had used to expose his poisonous fangs even when the “da” in Damian was mentioned, was now much calmer and allowed to at least mention his name.

“He’s only been here for about a week, but he likes him.”

“That’s good then.”

Killian, who had answered casually, asked without much thought.

“What did you do today?”

“I spent some time in the salon with Countess  Céline. She said she was going to hold a charity banquet at the end of the year. She invited me to come over, and I helped her a bit.”

When she was a mistress, Rowena’s role was to bring people around. The nobles would send her invitations, hoping that the banquet they were hosting would become the talk of the town and that they would look good in the eyes of the duke.

However, she was only a “guest” in his house, and this was the first time she had been asked to help at such an important gathering like a charity banquet.

The reason for this was apparent. It was not uncommon for high-ranking nobles, who did not officially have wives but instead have mistresses, to entrust the mistress with household affairs and give them the necessary authority.

As Rowena’s position in social circles grew increasingly, it was proof that she had risen from being a woman who would be discarded whenever the man was tired from her to a woman who could match the duchess. She was worthy of being pleased, but Rowena’s expression was indifferent.

Having not noticed the gaze he was looking at her with, she began to undo the cufflinks on Killian’s sleeves.

“It seems that the last evening banquet was very impressive. It looks like I will probably be busy for a while with that work. I have to prepare the invitations, of course, and I have to invite the orchestra, and I have to discuss the menu with the chef and…”

Her voice, which had been following smoothly like a running stream, stopped at the approaching face.

Killian tilted his head towards her and looked at her from a distance where she could feel his breath. His smooth nose touched hers, and his long eyelashes were close enough to be visible one by one.

Rowena raised her gaze. His jet-black hair that fell along his forehead, the straight, neat forehead, the long, delicate eyebrows that rose neatly, the sky-blue eyes that were as cold and clear as ice… An arrogantly high nose and lips that were more pigmented than hers.

“And?”

Killian, who raised his lips into a smile on her gaze as if she was admiring his face, hugged her waist mischievously. At the same time, the tie and coat she was holding fell down.

“Du-…Duke.”

“I’m listening. Rowena.”