The Alchemist's Pride

Chapter 9. If walls could talk

Leyla blushes a deep red.

Oh heavens, she hadn’t even noticed the pants! But at least it was a relief to know she had undressed herself last night, and it wasn’t some stranger, Mrs. Donatelli, or one of these two!

“No, you didn’t,” came Stefan’s sudden voice suddenly.

Leyla looked at him questioningly.

“Excuse me?”

“I said, no, you didn’t dress yourself last night.”

“How do you…” Leyla’s question hung in the air as she looked at him, puzzled. Suddenly, she realized what he meant and blushed again, tomato-red.

Stefan's hearty laugh echoed over the woods of the Czech countryside, before he answered her in a suspiciously innocent manner.

“How do I know what you were thinking, you mean? Because I can read you like a book, little Leyla. Your facial expressions give everything away. First, you were embarrassed, then ashamed—probably because you hadn’t noticed the pants, or maybe you did, but didn’t put them on for some reason. Then there was relief—relief that someone brought you the clothes, and you put them on yourself. See, your little face tells me everything. But no, you weren’t entirely able to get out of that impossibly tight evening dress of yours last night. I had to help out a little. I must say, it was an interesting experience.” He winked at her, his eyes dancing with fun.

The smile on his lips widened as he saw her face: shocked and embarrassed. The girl’s innocence is so refreshingly different, he thought quietly to himself. So different from the worldly women he usually dealt with.

Before she could muster a shocked reply, Juan Marc’s voice suddenly broke in.

“If you two are done discussing your pleasant undressing session from last night, does anyone have a headache pill for me, please? Stefan, do you think I can ask that stern housekeeper aunt of yours?”

Juan Marc looked at them with such a pitiful expression on his face that Leyla burst out laughing spontaneously, despite the shocking revelation that the Duke had seen her in her underwear.

“Shame, is your head also sore? Mine is throbbing at my temples. I’m never drinking again!” She gestured with her hands toward her temples.

“You two kids should probably drink a little less in the future until you can handle your alcohol better,” Stefan’s voice reprimanded them, mockingly strict.

Leyla and Juan Marc both looked at him with open displeasure.

“And you, grandpa? Never overindulged a little?” Leyla asked sharply.

“Yes, I sometimes do, because I can handle my alcohol. Unlike certain other people I know…” he teased them, laughing.

At that moment, Mrs. Donatelli appeared at the door with a maid, carrying two breakfast trays. They greeted Leyla warmly and politely, and Mrs. Donatelli, with one eye on Leyla’s bare legs, laughingly asked if the pants she brought last night didn’t fit.

Leyla just laughed and excused herself to go put on the pants. Juan Marc, with a serious, pleading face, asked for two headache pills, which caused Mrs. Donatelli's motherly instincts to lead him into the house, fetch the pills from the medicine cabinet and made him drink the pills immediately.

Stefan watched Leyla thoughtfully as she ran into the house with her bare legs. Last night, when they arrived home, Juan Marc had curled up on one of the couches in the living room, and before Stefan could show him a room, he had already fallen asleep.

Leyla had still been quite awake after the half-hour drive to the estate, but not quite as steady on her feet as she should have been.

He blamed it on the numerous shooters the young crowd had knocked back before everyone left the party.

So, after Juan Marc had passed out on the couch, Stefan had to help Leyla up the stairs. It had been quite a struggle to keep her from tumbling down backward.

He had taken her to the room next to his, in case she woke up during the night and didn’t know where she was.

Mrs. Donatelli had already placed a T-shirt and sleeping pants in the room—items Stefan’s cousin had forgotten there—so she would have something to sleep in. Stefan had called her before they left Prague, asking her to prepare the necessary sleeping arrangements for his guests.

Stefan sighed lightly as he reflected on the previous night.

Leyla had stood somewhat lost in the middle of the large bedroom, looking to him for help.

“Is this my room where I’m supposed to sleep?” she had asked.

“Yes, you can sleep here, Leyla. My room is just next door, so just call if you need anything,” He had smiled gently at her as she stood, slightly dazed, in the light-gray room.

“Am I going to sleep here alone, Stefan?” Her voice had a slight tremor, and Stefan had to swallow twice at the sudden dryness in his throat.

He looked down into her innocent brown eyes and noticed the fullness of her young lips. She lightly bit her lower lip, gazing at him questioningly. Her eyes were childlike in their innocence, simply asking a question, but without realizing or intending it, those same eyes were both seductive and innocent at once.

It was precisely the genuine innocence that snapped Stefan back to his senses.

He turned her around by her shoulders and nudged her toward the large bed.

“Go to sleep, Leyla.” His voice had sounded hoarse in his own ears.

He walked to the door without looking back, but her voice stopped him.

“Stefan.”

He turned around and looked at her.

She took his breath away.

Literally took it away.

The subtle lighting in the room cast her in a mystical glow. She stood in the middle of the room, so unattainably beautiful in her red dress, black curls, and big eyes.

With a small smile on her lovely mouth, she gestured to her dress.

“I can’t take the dress off by myself.”

Oh, Lord, not that too, he thought helplessly, swallowing a few times. Get yourself together, man! You’re not a schoolboy anymore!

He walked over to her. There was a strange look on her face. Almost expectant. He turned her around again by her shoulders and slowly unzipped the red dress. It was clear her underwear was very skimpy. Purely feminine—lace and sheer silk. But so very little fabric, he thought incoherently.

The dress fell off her body and lay in a bundle at her feet.

The next moment, she simply tipped over.

Into his arms.

Out like a candle.

Stefan cleared his throat lightly as he took a sip of his coffee, blushing lightly at the thought of it.

He had lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bed. She had groaned softly and wrapped her arms around his neck as he tried to lay her down.

He gently loosened her arms, grabbed the T-shirt from the bedside table, and pulled it over her head, backward to at least cover the seductive curves in the sheer lace.

He had looked down at her for a long time as she lay sleeping.

Her milk-white skin against the bed linen had appeared flawless and translucent. Her black curls formed a disordered frame around her face. Her long lashes lay like fans over her eyelids, and her full mouth was slightly open. The picture Leyla formed for Stefan last night was irresistible. It took all his willpower not to climb into that bed next to her and cherish every bit of her body.

But the gentleman in him remained in control, and he had turned away with iron willpower, and walked away, just as he had done every time in the little park.