Master of Lust-Chapter 205: Things are not looking good for Geoffrey [1]

Chapter - 205

"What if I told you, I possess the power to cure your husband and bring him back to the realm living?" With a teasing smiled on his face, Rick spoke to the Old Matriarch.

The moment Rick's bold declaration sliced through the tense air, a hush fell over the room, his words hanging like a delicate chandelier in the thick atmosphere. His voice, imbued with a quiet confidence, seemed to carry an almost magical weight.

The old matriarch's initial reaction was one of sheer disbelief, her skeptical mind rejecting the possibility even as a part of her yearned to embrace the hope Rick's words offered. Geoffrey, too, stood frozen, his earlier animosity momentarily forgotten in the wake of Rick's audacious claim.

The lady found herself caught in a tumult of emotions, her heart daring to hope against the rational protests of her mind. Her steps, which had been moving with the slow dignity befitting her status, came to an abrupt halt. She stood there, rooted to the spot, as if Rick's words had conjured invisible chains that bound her to the moment.

Her hands, shook uncontrollably. A storm of fear, hope, and desperation whirling within her. With a quivering hand, she reached out towards Rick, her fingers trembling like leaves in a tempest. She aimed to speak, to interrogate, to accuse or perhaps to plead, but found herself voiceless.

Her throat constricted, as if the very words were trapped within, leaving her lips to part in a silent cry of incredulity and longing.

Rick, observing the turmoil he'd unleashed, waited patiently, his gaze steady.

Regaining her composure with an elegance that seemed almost innate, the old matriarch managed to gather her strength, though her legs betrayed a slight tremble beneath the weight of her emotions.

She moved with a hurried grace, a paradox of urgency and control, as she made her way back towards Rick. Each step was calculated, her every move resonating with the kind of class and sophistication that had defined her reign.

As she took her seat again, directly across from Rick, she carried herself with a poise that seemed to reshape the space around her. Her eyes, sharp and discerning, locked onto him with an intensity that spoke volumes.

In this moment, she was both a sovereign assessing her adversary and a seeker of hope, daring to believe in the possibility of miracles.

Rick, for his part, remained the epitome of calm, his demeanor undisturbed by the weight of the moment. His relaxed posture and indifferent gaze offered a stark contrast to the matriarch's charged emotions and regal bearing.

It was a vivid tableau of two worlds colliding - her, the embodiment of centuries-old nobility, awash with a tumult of hope and skepticism; him, the unflappable outsider, seemingly untouched by the gravity of his own proposition.

"Is it truly possible?" She finally broke the silence, her voice a blend of skepticism and a whisper of hope, "Can you bring him back to me?"

Her gaze intensified, eyes widening as they locked onto Rick, who sat confidently before her. She scrutinized him meticulously, her sharp eyes scanning every inch of his demeanor for any trace of falsehood.

Yet, despite her thorough examination, she found nothing to suggest deceit; Rick's unwavering confidence and steadfastness spoke volumes, affirming the sincerity behind his audacious claim.

The room was cloaked in a heavy silence, punctuated only by her labored breathing as she wrestled with the tumultuous sea of emotions churning within her. Doubts gnawed at her, the fear of being duped by Rick casting a long shadow over her thoughts.

It was a delicate balancing act, navigating the treacherous waters between hope and despair, the idea that her husband's return could actually be within grasp seemed both tantalizingly close and agonizingly out of reach.

Her gaze remained unbroken, fixated on Rick with an intensity that bordered on desperation. She seemed to hang on to the silent moments, her breath held in suspense, heart thundering against her ribcage as if trying to escape. The anticipation built to a crescendo, each second stretching into eternity as she awaited Rick's response.

Rick maintained his cool demeanor, unaffected by the intensity of the moment. He appeared almost disinterested, his focus inexplicably drawn to the simple act of examining his fingernails. It was as though he had found something profoundly interesting in the contours of his cuticles, something worthy of his undivided attention at this pivotal moment.

His movements were slow, each motion calculated and deliberate, as if he were performing a ritual rather than merely inspecting his hands. This act of nonchalance was not lost on the old matriarch, whose patience began to wear as thin as the ice beneath them.

The seconds stretched into what felt like hours, her anxiety amplifying with every tick of the clock, her nerves stretched taut like a string waiting to snap.

All the while, her gaze remained laser-focused on Rick, her eyes scouring his face for any flicker of emotion, any glimmer of reassurance that could anchor her fleeting hope. Yet, Rick seemed to be in a realm of his own, utterly detached from the gravity of the situation.

His face was an enigmatic mask, revealing nothing of his thoughts or intentions as he continued his meticulous examination of his nails.

"Rick," the old matriarch's voice cut through the palpable tension in the room, tinged with a mix of frustration, desperation, and a barely there thread of hope.

"This is not the moment for your theatrics. I need to know - can you truly do what you've claimed? Is it within your power to bring him back to us?"

Meanwhile, Geoffrey stood a little way off, his gaze fixed on Rick with an intensity that could easily ignite the very air between them. His eyes burned with a mixture of fury and scorn, a clear testament to his disdain for the man who dared to toy with his mistress's emotions.

It was as if he was just biding his time, waiting for the slightest excuse, the smallest opportunity, to leap into action and exact vengeance on Rick for this perceived insolence.

Despite the heavy atmosphere, thick with tension and the weight of unspoken threats, Rick's demeanor remained maddeningly calm and detached.

His casual, indifferent posture seemed to amplify the silence, making the passing minutes feel like hours, each one adding another layer to the already stifling air of anticipation.

Geoffrey, ever the "devoted" butler and "protector" of the old matriarch, found his frustration simmering to the point of boiling over. Witnessing what he saw as a blatant lack of respect towards his beloved mistress was more than he could bear in silence.

His loyalty to her and the pain of seeing her anguish over Rick's cavalier attitude pushed him to the edge of his restraint.

Trying to maintain a semblance of decorum, yet unable to hide the storm of emotions raging within him, Geoffrey finally spoke, his voice a controlled growl of barely contained anger. "Enough of this, you bastard."

"The lady has asked you a direct question. We deserve an answer, and we deserve it now. Your games do nothing but show your disrespect for the lady."

Geoffrey's patience finally shattered like thin ice underfoot. His anger, a simmering pot now boiling over, twisted his features into a mask of unbridled rage. Muttering a string of curses under his breath, his favorite being a vehement, "What a useless bastard, you are!" he made his move.

Fueled by fury, he lunged towards Rick, his hand shooting out, fingers curled into a claw, aiming straight for Rick's throat. His teeth were gritted so tightly that a passerby could hear the grind. The air was thick with tension, charged with Geoffrey's palpable anger. Your journey continues on novelbuddy

But before Geoffrey's hand could so much as graze Rick's shirt, the old matriarch acted with a speed and agility that belied her age. It was as if she had been waiting for just such a moment, her own temper held in check only by sheer willpower.

With a swiftness that left Geoffrey blindsided, she stepped between the two men. Her hand, previously resting in her lap, shot out in a swift, graceful arc and met Geoffrey's cheek with a crack that resonated through the room, silencing the murmurs and casting a shockwave of stillness.

The slap, sharp and commanding, left a mark not just on Geoffrey's face but in the air of the room itself, hanging like the aftermath of a thunderstorm. The sound was so unexpected, so fiercely delivered, that it seemed for a moment as if time itself had paused.

Geoffrey reeled back, caught off guard by the sudden physical rebuke, his steps faltering as he struggled to maintain his balance. A mixture of surprise and disbelief washed over him, rendering him momentarily speechless. His hand, acting almost of its own accord, reached up to caress his cheek, the spot where his old Matriarch has just slapped her.

His gaze, wide and incredulous, swung back to the old matriarch, seeking an explanation, an acknowledgment, anything that might make sense of the unexpected turn of events. ƒгeewёbnovel.com

"Lady?" His voice cracked slightly, a mixture of hurt and bewilderment lacing his tone. Geoffrey's expression was a canvas of confusion.

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