Chapter 17 - A Prank

Chelsea, London – Residence of Viscount Bute

Chelsea, formally known as Kensington and Chelsea, was one of the most prestigious boroughs in Greater London. Among London's traditional elite districts, Chelsea remained a favored enclave for aristocrats, boasting a wealth of historic Victorian architecture and grand British estates. Notably, Kensington Palace—one of the royal family's residences—stood as a testament to its aristocratic charm.

The exclusivity of Chelsea came with a price, its property values rivaling those of Kensington, where Barron currently resided.

Upon stepping into Viscount Bute's residence, Barron was greeted with a warm welcome.

"Welcome, Lord Barron."

"It is an honor to receive your invitation, Mr. Bute."

As he shook hands with Viscount Bute, a delicate, pale hand suddenly extended toward him. With practiced ease, Barron took it and placed a light kiss upon it.

"Madam, your beauty could make the stars themselves fade in envy."

Chris Bute, the Viscount's wife, smiled brilliantly at the compliment. Her eyes lingered on Barron's face, her expression both amused and intrigued. Then, she pulled a stunning young woman beside her closer and introduced her.

"This is my cousin, Bonnie. She's your schoolmate."

"A pleasure to meet you, Miss Bonnie," Barron said smoothly.

As he observed Viscountess Bute's cousin, he couldn't help but acknowledge that she possessed an exceptional figure—tall, graceful, and strikingly beautiful. There was something oddly familiar about her.

"You have the figure of a supermodel," he noted, his gaze appraising. "And you seem familiar. Have we met before?"

Bonnie chuckled softly. "Thank you for the compliment, Your Excellency. I did some print modeling before, but now I'm a host at Sky TV. That might be why you recognize me."

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Inside the Bute Residence

The interior of Viscount Bute's home leaned towards contemporary elegance, a surprising contrast to his aristocratic status. The dinner had been meticulously prepared, a clear sign that this invitation was far from casual.

Throughout the meal, Bute made no mention of the land near King's Cross Station, keeping the conversation light. Topics shifted from the recently concluded Golden Jubilee Celebrations to the ongoing World Cup, and even to Michael Jackson's upcoming visit to London.

Bonnie, two years his senior, had also attended University College London, though their fields of study had never overlapped. That explained why Barron had no recollection of her from his university days.

The two found common ground reminiscing about university life. Bonnie bore a resemblance to her cousin Chris, though where the Viscountess exuded mature allure, Bonnie radiated youthful energy and enthusiasm.

She was dressed in a fitted business suit with a stylishly tailored shirt, a choice that balanced professionalism with a touch of playfulness. Her ensemble was accentuated by long, slender legs wrapped in sheer gray stockings—an image Barron noted but maintained his composure over.

Yet, he found himself stealing occasional glances.

Seated beside him, Bonnie seemed to catch on quickly. As he and Bute discussed England's shaky prospects in the World Cup, she subtly adjusted her posture—sliding her chair back slightly, allowing more of her legs to be visible beyond the tablecloth.

"We tied with Sweden in our first match, and we still have to face Argentina and Nigeria. The group of death isn't looking good for us," she said, joining the conversation.

As she spoke, she casually crossed one leg over the other, slowly lifting it just enough to make the movement noticeable—at least to Barron. The position accentuated her already striking legs, but due to the table's angle, only he had a clear view.

His gaze flickered toward her legs before returning to meet her eyes. Bonnie smirked and gave him a playful wink.

She had done it on purpose.

For a fleeting moment, Barron wondered if his predecessor's reputation as a notorious playboy had become too well-known.

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After dinner, Viscount Bute led Barron to his study for a private discussion over tea.

Barron knew this was where the real conversation would begin.

"Lord Barron, I assume you recall our previous discussion regarding my proposal to work with your father?" Bute began, settling into his chair.

"You mean the land near King's Cross—the one with the abandoned gas tanks?"

"Precisely," Bute confirmed, offering Barron a fine Cuban cigar. "This is a good one—you should try it."

Barron, well-versed in cigars thanks to both his previous life and his predecessor's habits, accepted it without hesitation. He cut the cap, patiently toasted it, and took a measured draw, savoring the rich, earthy flavor.

As the scent of Cuban tobacco filled the air, Bute finally got to the point.

"Initially, I had intended to collaborate with you in developing the land. However, I understand that financial constraints might make that difficult at the moment. Therefore, I have another proposal—you could sell the land outright and use the funds to ease your current financial burdens."

"A reasonable suggestion," Barron mused, leaning back against the sofa. His eyes remained fixed on Bute. "And what price is the Viscount offering?"

Bute took his time before answering.

"We had the land professionally appraised, and the valuation stands at..." He paused for effect, then added, "Eight million pounds. In cash. Payable immediately upon signing the contract."

Barron exhaled a slow stream of cigar smoke, watching the tendrils swirl in the air.

Now, things were getting interesting.