III

Westlin had decided to leave his home and take a walk to clear his mind. The day had been too tedious, the tasks rather monotonous, and the only thing occupying his thoughts was the recent news of his friend's imminent marriage. Symes was about to wed the Countess of Hesse, a woman who, to Marcus, was the very embodiment of the devil. How had it come to this? Who had proposed such madness? And why had Cassian agreed? Did he not care about the rumours surrounding her?

He had heard that, after her second season, she met the Earl of Hesse, and the baron had refused the proposal of marriage because of all that was said about him. Despite the refusal, they married in secret and left for France. Marcus recalled that time with anger. Although he had been too young to understand everything, he had grasped certain things, including the meaning of the word "spy." According to all the information his father, Klaus Baxter, the late Marquess of Westlin, had gathered, Hesse had come to London seeking political information about the Crown. Once he had achieved his goal, he left London, taking with him a wife who, at first glance, was the perfect cover for his plan. His father had known every detail of the scheme and, without hesitation, had gone after him to capture him. However, he hadn't succeeded in his mission, because he had been killed by Hesse's henchmen. The last clarification Marcus had received about his father's death was that not only was the Earl involved, but so was the Countess. One had died by hanging, condemned for his treachery; the other was still alive, enjoying all that she possessed. And now, as if by some miracle, she had returned to London to marry a man ten years her junior. For what purpose?

He stopped beside a streetlamp that dimly lit the corner of the street. His thoughts continued to torment him, dragging him back to memories of his childhood, when his father was still alive, when his life wasn't so consumed by vengeance.

" Hesse… " he murmured, clenching his fists.

The icy wind slipped through the lapels of his coat, but Marcus barely noticed it. The weight of his rage had always been colder than any winter gale. He wanted—no, needed—to uncover the truth about the Countess of Hesse. He had to understand why his friend was willing to marry a woman shrouded in so much mystery, a woman whose history was entwined with the downfall of his own family.

" This doesn't make sense… " he muttered as he began walking again, turning a corner without paying attention to his surroundings.

Suddenly, a figure appeared in front of him. Distracted by his thoughts, Marcus couldn't avoid the collision. He bumped into a young woman, causing them both to stumble. The girl let out a small gasp of surprise as she lost her balance, and Marcus, reacting quickly, grabbed her by the arms to prevent her from falling.

" My apologies, miss, " Marcus said in a gruff voice, looking down at the young woman now in his arms.

The girl looked up, and for a moment, Marcus was captivated by her eyes. They were as deep a blue as the ocean, reflecting a mix of surprise and fear. Her skin was pale, and her hair, peeking out from beneath the hood she wore, was a faded blonde, almost ethereal. Westlin blinked, as if to confirm that this wasn't a dream.

" No… no. It was my fault… " the girl stammered, quickly averting her gaze and making a motion to free herself from his grasp.

Marcus released her at once, feeling an odd emptiness in his hands as he did so. He watched as she quickly stepped back, and an older woman, who must have been her lady's maid, hurried over to position herself between them.

" My lord, I beg your pardon on behalf of my lady, " the maid said with a quick curtsey. " We were speaking too enthusiastically and did not notice your presence. "

The maid took the young woman by the arm, and without waiting for a response, led her away swiftly. Westlin watched as the two disappeared into the growing darkness of the street, the image of those eyes still etched in his mind. He shook his head, trying to clear it.

" Who is that girl? " he asked himself quietly as he walked away from the corner.

He had always been a man of action, someone who didn't allow himself to waste time on frivolities. Yet, the image of that young woman continued to haunt him. Something in her face, in the way she had looked at him, had left him with a strange sensation.

He adjusted his coat and started walking again, trying to focus on what really mattered: the Countess of Hesse, the past, the betrayal of his country… and Cassian's marriage. But no matter how much he tried, the image of the young woman kept returning to his mind.

" This is no time for distractions… " he muttered to himself, repeating the words like a mantra.

Finally, he arrived at the club where he knew he would find some acquaintances who could once again speak to him about the mysterious Countess. He entered the main salon, removing his coat and handing it to the footman who waited at the entrance. The warmth of the fire was the first thing he felt as he crossed the threshold, but in his chest, that strange coldness remained, the one that had accompanied him for so long.

A few middle-aged men were talking near the fireplace, their faces illuminated by the orange glow of the flames. Westlin had no desire to join in any trivial conversation. He made his way to a solitary corner of the club, where a leather armchair awaited him. He sank into it and ordered a glass of brandy. Taking a sip, he savoured the warmth as it coursed down his throat and closed his eyes for a moment. The images kept flooding his mind: the Countess of Hesse, his father… and those blue eyes that he couldn't seem to shake. He had always been a controlled man, cold as steel, but something in the young woman's gaze had disturbed him in a way he didn't quite understand.

He opened his eyes and shook his head once more. He couldn't allow that chance encounter to distract him from his objective. He had spent years searching for answers, and he wasn't about to stop now. His father had died in pursuit of the truth, and Marcus wouldn't rest until justice was served. The Countess of Hesse, whoever she was, was at the centre of it all. And if his friend was to marry her, Marcus would make sure he was there to uncover what secrets that woman was hiding.

He set the glass down on the table and stood up abruptly. He no longer had the patience to stay there or search for anyone. With determined steps, he headed toward the door, resolved to return to his mansion and prepare for the engagement party. He needed to be there, to see that woman up close, to speak with Cassian and understand what was happening.

As he stepped outside, he tightened his coat, letting the wind clear the last remnants of distraction from his mind. He had a mission, and nothing—no one—would stop him.

" Hesse… " he muttered once more as he walked through the empty streets of London, the shadow of his father ever present in his thoughts.

Vengeance was the only thing keeping him going, but for some reason, that young woman with the blue eyes continued to linger in his mind. A lapse he hadn't allowed himself in years, yet one that now seemed impossible to avoid.

When he arrived home, he gave orders to the butler to prepare a hot bath. As he undressed, his thoughts returned to the Countess and the young woman he had met by chance. Who was that young woman? She hadn't grown up in London, he was certain of that from the way she spoke. Why had she come if it wasn't yet the social season?

He sank into the hot water, allowing his muscles to relax as his mind kept working. He was more determined than ever to unravel the mysteries that life had thrown at him in just a few days. First, he would solve the case of the Countess, and then he would investigate the young woman with the blue eyes. If she had come to London in search of a husband, he might just be the ideal candidate…