A Way to Confirm Your Husband’s True Feelings - Chapter 60

With the Crown Prince’s insufferably smooth words, Beatrice’s fan suddenly came into view before Caesar’s eyes. That day, he learned for the first time that the tip of a noble lady’s fan could be more terrifying than an assassin’s dagger pressed to his throat.

“I… must decline.”

After intense inner turmoil and piercing humiliation, he ultimately did not earn the honor of having his name written on Beatrice’s fan.

Though he felt like he could’ve circled the banquet hall a hundred times holding her hand, that was an impossible dream in reality. The Crown Prince’s talk of him being ‘a natural’ was utter bull.

The exact words his dance instructor had said about him and the Crown Prince were, “In all my thirty years, I’ve never had a student as terrible as His Excellency the Margrave.”

Knowing this full well, the Crown Prince’s suggestion that he dance could only be interpreted as mean-spirited teasing or outright hazing. Otherwise, was this what passed for noble phrasing?

The heir to the Empire, with whom Caesar had become associated by chance, may have performed the role of a decent young man in public, but he had a subtly nasty streak.

In the end, Caesar, holding back tears, declined Beatrice’s fan.

More painful than the fact he couldn’t dance with her was the flicker of disappointment in her clear green eyes.

Filled with regret, Caesar, as before, could only watch like a starving dog as Beatrice danced with other men.

Watching her, it felt like every worthless young noble in the capital was swarming around her.

Men who couldn’t even compare to the tip of Beatrice’s toenail were lining up, hoping to get a word in, and it irritated Caesar to no end.

Of course, the most unpleasant part of all was that he himself had a background and status worse than those very vermin.

The more he looked at her, the more he wondered, how could she keep smiling like an angel, unfazed by all the disgusting stares and vile desires cast her way?

As he’d always thought, Beatrice Estern was simply too kind.

And Caesar Valentin was someone who knew all too well just how cruel life could be.

He wondered whether he had any right to worry about a noble lady like her, but that useless worry kept pulling his gaze back to her.

Maybe what she needed… was, yes, a dog who could protect her.

A loyal dog that could snarl at any who dared approach with impure thoughts, and if needed, bite and tear them apart.

Someone like him.

The idea was laughable, but Caesar didn’t stop entertaining it.

After their second meeting, Caesar admitted it. He liked Beatrice Estern. If possible, he wanted to stay by her side and protect her from the world.

Granted, beneath that protective instinct was a jealous fear of losing her to another man—but Caesar hadn’t yet realized that.

“If a woman offers a man a dance and he refuses… is that relationship hopeless from then on?”

On the way back to their temporary lodgings after the Hoyos Marquisate’s ball, Caesar casually brought up a personal topic to Dillon for the first time.

Dillon stared at him with his mouth hanging open before snapping to and firing off a flood of words.

“A woman? Offered a dance? Who? To whom? To you, Commander? And you refused? Why? What was the reason?”

At that moment, Caesar regretted ever thinking to consult Dillon, but it was too late.

He gave the simplest possible explanation about Beatrice.

“So you’re telling me that the youngest daughter of Duke Estern showed you that much interest, and you threw up a wall like that?”

“I didn’t shut her down, I just couldn’t dance…”

“No! Even if it meant falling flat on your face in the middle of the banquet hall, you should’ve taken that chance! Gods, what are you doing, Commander! How can you not understand a woman’s heart!”