The Meeting

The whole place screamed countryside to Astrid. Gone were the tall buildings and infrastructures as the place was filled with rolling lands, and small hills in its stead. Smell of different flowers permeated the air from everywhere and was enlivened with the buzzing of insects hopping from one flower to the next.

The only comforting thought to her is the large manor house in her path, the massive garden. It is big enough to offer a room for her amusement. Plans were already racing in her head on how to redecorate the manor. She somehow managed to curb her anger at the end of her journey. She decided to stay quiet for a while and seek vengeance later. The manor needs redecorating after all, and the lawns must be landscape again. A maze would be ideal for a tryst.

Anyhow, she was taking the cobblestone path, eyes lingering on the thick vines crawling the side of the wall. It is perfect for sneaking in the middle of the night. Her commoner husband-in-name maintained a commendable home. She could see the whole house was well-taken care of, boasting with good polish.

Speaking of her commoner husband, and if she remembered it correctly, he was named Nicholas. She has been waiting for him for more than a handful of minutes now. It was the reason why she decided to roam the gardens, instead of waiting for him in the parlour. She waits for no one. She also planned to remove all the servants. They were all smiling at her, looking at her directly without a thought, she hated it. It spells the lowly origins instilled in them.

Competent servants don't smile and look at nobles directly. She like competent servants, not the kind of servants who would gawk at her just because she looks ethereal. The lowly idiots had the audacity to speak amicably to her when they knew she was the Baroness. She might be a mere baroness for a title, but she has royal blood running in her veins. Anyhow, after ordering the servants for a bath since she was body ridden with grime, she left the parlour.

The Baron was still nowhere to be found after another full minute ticked by. She was about to change course when a figure emerged from the curb leading to the back of the manor. A shirtless figure.

He has a good physique. If she is going to be honest to herself, the man is moulded for bedding. Arms bulging every time he takes light steps, and such strong thick thighs could make a woman turn into a puddle. Definitely not the body of pampered nobles, the small scar on the side of his stomach proves it.

Astrid's eyes greedily trace the sweetest rifts and planes of his bare torso. He looks solid and hard. The man is tall with olive skin. He would easily tower over her, and she is known to be of tall frame. She would only reach under his chin if she looked closer. The oblivious man was humming to himself, wet midnight hair sticking on his forehead as he traversed the cobblestone, unaware of her. That's a first. He didn't possess an instant swooning face, however, he had the most striking eyes she'd ever seen.

Astrid thoroughly studied the man and breathlessly gasped when she saw his eyes. The man finally took notice of her, faltering on his steps. They are unusual, his eyes. A pale, icy blue and golden amber orbs were staring back at her. Two hues that could easily instigate fear to whomever's looking because of its uniqueness. If only the man didn't exude warmth in his eyes.

Her train of thoughts halted when another man appeared from the curb, panting.

"My lord, the Baroness is here!" Was all the man exclaimed, hands on his knees as he took gulps of precious air for his deprived lungs, oblivious to the other person in the garden, her, the Baroness herself.

The man with arresting eyes didn't falter this time, and kept his gaze trained on her. It was such a waste that the warmth in eyes disappeared the moment he heard what the other man claimed.

Anyhow, she was right. His eyes would haunt you the moment the light in them retreated just to be replaced with a cold gaze. At that moment, she knew this man would not be easy to manipulate. Regardless of the letters he penned for her speaking of undying devotion and a promise of happiness.

~

Nicholas believed that a deity just descended in front of him. She appeared unexpectedly and took his breath away. Literally. Now, that would make him look like a fool,but he discovers he did not care much.

Bewitching.

She is the definition of a bewitching, alluring woman. The lady could easily lure men to their deaths with just a mere look from her enchanting green eyes. Vivid eyes so pale like a glimmering glass you would be drawn to them without a fight. Seductive, the woman has innocent seduction in her eyes that promises good days and tantalising dreams, not to mention her frame. The woman is tall and delightfully voluptuous.

She's clearly a contradiction.

The woman is indeed bewitching, nonetheless, the long platinum white hair, unbound, falling lazily on her shoulders with flirty curls on its ends, made her look angelic. Hair so straight it's framing her small face, making her look ethereal. Although he noticed the dirt in her hair, it did nothing to her beauty. Instead, it made her look fragile, and in need of protection.

She is every man's dream. The portraits did not give her justice.

"My lord, the Baroness is here!" John wasn't shy yelling his words at him. When the words slowly sink in, Nicholas turns rigid, his appreciating eyes losing its glow.

He heard that the Baroness, his wife, was the kind of beauty no one would ever forget. Her beauty was celebrated around Clevon that the ton would like to covet her for themselves.

Baroness Astrid Krona, the definition of beauty in Clevon and its nearest continents, was standing before him.

Nicholas finally understands the deranged man who shot him years ago.

A surprised squawk came from behind him and he did not check to see John mumbling an apology under his breath. He did not stop him either when he turned tail and ran away. In fact, he envied the footman.

"We've finally met, husband. I'm exhilarated,"

She had this airy voice, breathless, like she's out for your soul while parading as a fairy of hope. A hint of flirtatiousness could be heard from it, engulfing his overwhelmed senses. He was struggling to mask his expression from this wicked temptation.

"I wish I could say the same, my lady,"

An enchanting giggle came from her, eyes fluttering playfully. A voice of a seductress but an appearance of that of an angel.

"You are interesting," Is what she hummed as he tried to keep his mind sane. He needs to draw a line with utmost urgency.

"Pray tell what a mere barony can do for you, Princess?" He asked, using her title before she became his wife.

The little pout she made could undo him. Such rosy pink lips. She did not seem bothered by his rudeness. Instead, she took a step forward. Eliminating the space between them with each graceful step. Even in this distance he could smell her heady scent of roses. Her parfum was potent and he hated it. The scent is too much.

"Your house, for instance, husband, is ideal for my amusement," she said, subtly insinuating something he doesn't want knowledge of.

Gruffly, he gives the baroness a perusing look. They are an arm's length from each other now, and he was doing his best not to step forward and succumb to temptation.

"I suggest you leave, my lady. You are not welcome in this house. As a matter of fact, this house won't be yours for long. The King already has the divorce document and is only in need of the seal of approval. I have no plans of housing you if that is your intention," He said, a little weirded out with his bare chest in front of a lady. Another thing the ton frowned upon.

It was quick, however, he saw the cold, sharp gaze of her eyes from hearing his words. It was gone in a flash that one would think he only imagined it. She did not take notice of the word divorce and only scooted closer to him.

"You will receive me with an arms wide open, husband, and house me for as long as I want. After all, you've written missives of promises intending just that," She smiled, and held out a crumpled letter in his direction.

Crumpled. His eyes turned to slits when he recognized it. Albeit old with time, he will never mistake the letter in her dainty hands for someone else's. It is the letter he wrote to her years ago. Is this her trump card?

Nicholas sneered in his head, bitter and offended that the woman would use his foolishness against him. Did she absurdly think that he is still head over heels for her?

He takes the crumpled letter, noticing the satisfied smile on her lips. With not a pause, he tore the flimsy letter into two, tearing it one more time to get his point across.

The Baroness reaches for the mutilated letter, attempting to save it. It was for nothing. The shredded paper floated down the grass, some pieces of it flying away with the cool breeze.

This time the anger in the woman's eyes showed as she bared her teeth at him.

"What did you dare do?" She gritted her teeth, glancing up at him.

"You will leave the premises of my home at this instant, or I will have the footmen assist you on your way out," He coldly said.

Nicholas never thought he would borrow Mrs. Moore's words at this moment. The defiant look on the Baroness was irksome.

"Let's see you try, husband," She said, lifting her chin up, and crossing her hands over her chest. The typical look an arrogant noble usually wore.

He smirked, "John, Allan, escort the Baroness out of the barony," He called out. He almost burst into laughter when he saw the quaking of her eyes, but she stood her ground.

Although reluctant, the footmen rounded the corner and marched in her direction. He was aware that his staff were eavesdropping. When she refused to move, Allan reached for the lady's arms. To their surprise, the Baroness' dainty palm flew and collided with the footman's cheek in a jarring slap.

Time stopped as the heterochromic gaze clashes with the vivid green ones, glaring in disbelief. One was wearing an arrogant look while the other was wearing an astonished, protective glare.

It was a start of something that one could never escape unscarred.