Lady Class - Chapter 8

Rackley Winner.

Even Kahn, who had not been to the capital recently, knew her name.

A virtuous young lady who had taken charge of managing the Count’s estate in place of her ailing mother from an early age.

Being of marriageable age, those around him had occasionally mentioned her name.

The atmosphere of the banquets Kahn attended and those attended by the modest Rackley Winner were worlds apart. Moreover, she rarely appeared at such gatherings, as most of the Winner family’s social activities were handled by Count Winner himself.

As a result, Kahn had never encountered her at a banquet.

At a banquet, that is.

“The Count’s young lady?”

Kahn swallowed hard. A curse nearly slipped from his lips.

His ironclad rule of never spending the night with an unmarried noblewoman had just been broken.

What came to mind in this awkward situation was, amusingly, Rackley’s face—her nipples standing stiff and her cheeks flushed in embarrassment.

“I want to save my first night… for my husband.”

“Damn.”

Kahn clicked his tongue. His body was honest—whether his mind was troubled or not, his arousal remained.

He roughly rubbed his jaw.

Had she been a lady notorious for her promiscuity, he wouldn’t have been this flustered. But instead, he had just spent the night with a woman renowned for her chastity—one without a single bad rumor in high society.

And worse, both of them were of marriageable age.

If word of this got out, he would have no choice but to take responsibility and marry her.

No, wait. She didn’t seem to know who I was.

If she had realized I was a duke, she wouldn’t have told me not to put it in. Since she wants to preserve her virginity for her future husband, she’ll likely want to keep this a secret as well.

They had never met at a social gathering before, and judging from her reaction last night, she didn’t recognize him. If they both wanted to keep this quiet, the situation could be resolved smoothly.

Feeling somewhat relieved, Kahn quickly sorted through his thoughts. He rinsed his dry mouth with wine before rising from his seat.

“I’ll talk to the young lady myself.”

How could he handle this smoothly, without a scandal, and make it as if it never happened?

Even if she wasn’t his type—not that it would be easy to find a woman who didn’t desire him—if she found out about his lineage and started spreading rumors in hopes of marriage, it would be disastrous.

Marriage is out of the question.

He had no intention of getting married.

He had even endured rumors of being impotent just to avoid it. He couldn’t afford to get entangled here.

If she didn’t know his true identity, he could simply treat this as a one-night mistake and stay at his estate until news of her marriage reached him.

Since she was of marrying age, it would only take a year or two for her to wed.

The matter was settled, yet he didn’t feel at ease. Kahn knew why but chose to ignore it.

He stepped into the bedroom.

His eyes met Rackley’s.

She sat on the bed, her chest covered by the sheets, her wide eyes filled with shock. Her pupils trembled with uncertainty. She looked delicate, like a deer caught in a predator’s jaws.

Her red hair cascaded over her pale shoulders, making them stand out even more. His gaze naturally landed on the red marks he had left on her neck and collarbone the night before.

Tracing his marks with his eyes, his throat went dry, and he forced himself to look away.

Rackley Winner—the Count’s young daughter, now a grown woman.

In truth, Kahn had met her once before, long ago, when she was just a child.

 

***

 

The acrid scent of torch smoke, the stifling stench of death, the distant tolling of the mass bell, solemn prayers, and the distinct fragrance of the temple.

Amid it all stood a young Kahn.

The night before the funeral, he had spent the entire night beside his mother’s casket, which lay in the cold temple.

He cursed his hypocritical father, who pretended to grieve his wife’s death, and the family members who consoled him. Standing guard in the mortuary, he fulfilled his final duty as a son.

Before dawn, just as the darkness of night receded and the sky was tinged with deep blue, he turned his back on his mother’s coffin and left the chamber.

He had no intention of attending the funeral.

It was only after his mother—who had suffered for so long—had passed that Kahn realized what he had to do.

As he crossed the temple’s central garden, the sun began to rise from one side of the sky. Unobscured by clouds, its rays split the garden into two halves—one bathed in light, the other shrouded in darkness.

Kahn stood in the shadows. In contrast, standing in the sunlight was a young girl dressed in a gown that fell just below her knees.

It was an hour too early even for adults to be out, yet the red-haired child stood upright, gazing intently at the sacred statue.

Kneeling before the statue was a noblewoman in prayer.

Her clothes, though worn, were made of fine fabric. She appeared to be the girl’s mother. She was so deeply absorbed in her prayers that she seemed to have forgotten the child standing beside her.

Yet the girl neither whined nor cried. She simply watched her mother in silence, clutching a small handkerchief tightly in her hands.

Then, as if sensing his gaze, the girl lifted her head and looked at Kahn.

The moment their clear green eyes met, Kahn was caught off guard. He felt as if he had been caught doing something shameful. He froze, unable to avert his gaze.

Then, unexpectedly, the girl approached him.

As she walked, she plucked a small flower from a garden bed and held it out to him.

“You dropped this just now.”

It was an absurd statement.

He had spent the entire night in the mortuary, and he had only met the girl after leaving it. He had even seen her picking the flower just moments ago. What kind of trick was this?

The emotions he had suppressed began to rise violently.

But before he could respond, the praying woman stood up.

“Rackley Winner.”

“Yes.”

At the woman’s call, the girl placed the flower in Kahn’s hand before turning to leave. She left behind nothing but a faint tickle in his palm.

“Do you know him?”

“I just returned something he dropped.”

“Well done. Let’s go.”

“Yes.”

And with that, the woman and the child stepped back into the temple.

Kahn looked down at his hand.

Along with the flower, there was something wrapped in white paper, no larger than a coin.

When he unfolded it, he found two small cookies.

“Ha.”

A dry chuckle escaped him.

The girl must have packed the snacks while following her mother to pray at dawn. And yet, she had given them to him.

She had probably needed an excuse, so she pretended the flower was something he had dropped and returned it to him.

It was clumsy yet graceful.

She knew nothing of his situation, yet she had approached cautiously and offered him quiet comfort.

She was just a child, yet already a proper lady.

“Did I look hungry?”

His eyes burned.

For a moment, young Kahn pressed a hand firmly against them, standing motionless.

When he lowered his hand, there were no tears in his eyes.

That day, Kahn left the temple and joined the Order of Knights.

 

***

 

It had been only a brief encounter, but for Kahn, it was one of his few good memories.

And yet, the child from that memory had now grown into a woman—naked beneath the sheets, looking at him.

A woman with whom he had spent a passionate night.

“Do you want some water?”

She didn’t answer, but when Kahn handed her a cup, Rackley accepted it cautiously and emptied it in one go. As she tilted her head back to drink, her delicate neck, still marked with faint traces, was exposed.

Kahn swallowed a groan as he observed her.

‘This woman… is that child? The Count of Winner’s daughter. That means she really was a virgin. She wasn’t acting when she asked me not to put it in for the sake of her future husband.’

Why had a woman known for her chastity lost control so completely last night?

‘Or maybe the rumors of her being virtuous were just nonsense.’

Though they had shared the night willingly, he felt angry.

Many noblewomen had tried to trap him into marriage before, but Kahn had always managed to avoid them. Yet this time, he hadn’t.

He felt filthy—like he had been caught in a snare.

‘So she’s no different from the others.’

She protected her virginity for her husband yet indulged in reckless pleasure with another man. That was worse than women who were openly promiscuous.

His lips curled into a crooked smirk.

How should he insult her?

Suppressing the surge of bitter emotions, Kahn was about to speak—

But Rackley spoke first.

“Last night was a mistake.”

She hesitated at the roughness of her own voice, cleared her throat, then continued with a steady yet subdued tone. Her face, flushed with embarrassment, lowered as she calmly stated,

“I won’t be taking any more lessons.”

Now that her rationality had returned, she was clearly embarrassed, but she didn’t hesitate to voice her decision.

When she had woken up, she had found herself naked in bed. The raw sensation of chafed skin on the inside of her thighs stung. Before she could even recall last night’s pleasure, a wave of devastation hit her first.

She couldn’t believe her actions—her choices.

How had this happened?

Before she could analyze the cause, self-reproach flooded in. Reason returned.

“I… I never agreed to any lessons, nor did I know a gigolo was coming. Somehow, last night just… happened. I’m sorry. I appreciate Irina’s efforts, but I won’t be taking any more lessons.”

“Lessons?”

His questioning tone made Rackley tense, and she hurriedly continued.

“Just tell her you taught me properly and take all the money. I’ll let Irina know I completed the Lady Class.”

“Ah.”

At last, Kahn understood.

The Lady Class.

An excuse noblewomen used before marriage to engage in debauchery. They hired gigolos or secret lovers under the pretense of “learning,” and even after marriage, many continued such affairs.

Since noblemen were no different—meeting mistresses and courtesans—Kahn had never judged it.

But being mistaken for a gigolo himself felt… strange.

‘Does she really have no idea who I am?’

Kahn remained silent, covering his mouth, and Rackley mistook it for hesitation for a different reason. Anxiously, she made another offer.

“If Irina hasn’t paid you yet, I’ll give you the money myself. The butler said my luggage would be brought in, so once my bag arrives, I can pay you. Just take the money and leave today.”

‘She spent the night with me and now she’s rejecting me?’

That was the first thought that crossed Kahn’s mind.

Logically, her words should have been welcome. This was exactly what he wanted—no scandal, no strings attached.

Yet an unexpected sense of defiance flared up within him.

Last night, she had been passionate, uninhibited. But now, in the light of day, she was cold and dismissive.

Had he ever encountered a woman like this before?

Even the famed dancer from Cotiel, known for her arrogance, had crumbled under his touch. Unable to forget their night together, she had continued to send him letters, begging for another chance.

A noblewoman he had met during his travels had thrown away everything—status, dignity—crying as she pleaded to follow him.

Even those who didn’t know his true identity succumbed to his looks, to the allure of a single night with him.

And yet, Rackley had slept with him—shared the same fiery passion—and now, she was turning him away.

One corner of Kahn’s lips curled upward.

‘She let herself go so shamelessly last night, and now she thinks she can just reject me?’

The image of her, breathless and flushed with pleasure, overlapped with the childhood memory of the little girl who had so gracefully handed him cookies.

And at that moment, Kahn realized why Rackley irritated him so much.

The innocent child from his memory had changed.

A deep sense of betrayal burned within him.

One of the few good memories he had was now tainted.

‘She’s no different from the others.’

The cruel side of him—the one people feared—rose to the surface.

‘If she wants to hide behind propriety, let’s see how long she can keep up the act.’

“Why? Didn’t you like it? You enjoyed yourself, didn’t you?”

Her startled expression was satisfying.

“You liked it so much, yet now you want me to just leave? You were dripping wet, soaking my fingers, and now you’re saying it was a mistake?”

“…It was a mistake. I won’t be taking any more lessons, so please leave today.”

“Ah, so you’re just going to use me and toss me aside?”

Rackley froze.

He spoke with shameless ease, throwing crude words at her without a trace of embarrassment.

She bit her lip, clearly flustered, before composing herself.

“…Don’t twist my words. It was… an accident.”

“An accident? You’re saying you had a wild night with a stranger by accident?”

Kahn watched her squirm, enjoying her discomfort as he took a step toward the bed.

Rackley tensed, eyes wary.

Her shoulders curled inward defensively, which only drew his attention further.

When he planted one knee on the bed, she instinctively shrank back, pulling the sheet tighter around her chest.

But a predator’s instincts sharpen when its prey tries to flee.

Kahn leaned in, threading his fingers through the thick waves of her crimson hair. The scent of her, warm and faintly sweet, filled his lungs.

Rackley’s lips trembled, her eyes growing moist as she shrank away.

Kahn smirked cruelly.

“The lessons will continue. A proper lady like you needs her Lady Class, after all.”